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Hassett (shooting):I was on my way here. Heard two shots, I did. Right at the stroke of noon.
Hassett (clock):Bullet hole in the clock? That's a new one. It could have already been there when I arrived at noon. Or maybe it was the second shot I heard.
Hassett (banner):Prescott put that up in memory of the time he lead a sortie across the Pra River to outflank Ashanti warriors. Things turned out badly that day. Horrific. We lost several of our comrades. Prescott wanted us to remember them.
Abberline (shooting):From what I can gather, Prescott was shot almost exactly at twelve o'clock noon.
Abberline (suspect):The young lads across the street were fooling with a pistol they'd found. A bullet must have gone astray through the wooden fence. Hit Mr. Prescott smack in the chest. Bloody unlucky for all concerned.
Abberline (clock):Apparently they put the clock there while doing some repairs. It still runs, I notice.
Abberline (factory):When Col. Prescott retired from the army, he used his connections and started this munitions factory. He wanted the men that served with him to have work when they left the army.
Curtis (Prescott):Him and me liked to insult each other. I was a lieutenant under his command in Africa. I loved the army, no one questions you when you wear a uniform! Anyways, every morning when he arrived, we'd call out and joke with each other.
Curtis (military):Ah, yeh. Well. Prescott led a flanking sortie that went wrong, lots of casualties. Some men called the Colonel a coward, but it were really just bad luck. Anyway, he resigned. To make amends, he offered work at his factory whenever one of us left the army.
Curtis (attic):I admit it. I sell stolen rifles and pistols. All very hush-hush. Black market.
Curtis (shooting):I made that shot. Early this morning, Prescott challenged me to plug the 12 from my shop. I missed just low. No one witnessed it, it was too early in the morning.
Curtis (Whitworth):I brought that gun back from Africa. I was a sniper fighting the Ashanti. I used that gun this morning for Prescott's challenge. It's the only Whitworth we have, I'd never sell it.
Earl (shooting):We stood right there on a mark and shot the target. I went to shoot but there was a loud bang! I was surprised and missed the target completely. It wasn't me who killed the man, I'm no murderer!
Earl (gun):We found a revolver underneath the lumberyard window. Don't know where it come from.
Bennett (Prescott):Saw him each morning as I drove by. Seemed like a good sort.
Bennett (beer):We lost an entire barrel of beer, damn it! I heard two loud bangs, but thought nothing of it. Later, I find a bullet hole in a barrel! Imagine that, a bullet hole! My lad, Samuel, might know more. He's around back, tossing trash in the river.
Bennett (Samuel):The poor lad. Fell on my doorstep a few years ago. He's in a bad way, has some sort of malady. Rides in the back while I make deliveries. Hard worker—very determined.
Samuel (Prescott):I just drop off beer. Don't pay much attention to people along the way.
Samuel (beer):There was a hole in a barrel. I've got no explanation for that.
Samuel (disease):That's for some sickness I picked up a while ago. Can't remember the name of it.
Whitworth Rifle – The first sniper rifle. Has an astonishing accuracy. This particular one smells as though it's been fired within the past few hours. Also, a regimental insignia is carved into the stock: "11th Regiment of Foot – Gold Coast."
The murderer was Samuel, who was embittered over the death of his army comrades.
Case Summary
An army sharpshooter watches his friends die in a bungled military maneuver and vows revenge! Slowed by a tropical disease contracted on the Gold Coast, Private Samuel Frye spent years planning his vengeance on Louis Prescott, the colonel whose cowardice meant death for his companions. He taunted Prescott with the symbolic white feather and then, at the stroke of noon, took his final revenge. Many bullets flew that day: a bullet from the shop attic lodged in Prescott's factory clock; a bullet from the revolver found by some children lodged in a passing beer cart. And the bullet fired by Samuel from the back of that cart struck Prescott directly in the heart. – Henry Raymond
