In honour of National Short Story Week, I’ve collated all the twisteries written so far. A round dozen:
The locked room was empty apart from the smell of decomposition. They ripped up the boards to find a corpse clutching a strong magnet.
It looked like suicide: both hands on the gun, the barrel in his mouth, head blown apart. Something about the face proved it was murder.
There was sawdust around the body. The only footprints belonged to the dead man. Who stabbed him and how did they get away?
The dead man held an empty envelope. According to hearsay, the police found 20 identical letters on or around the corpse.
The killer gave himself away by removing a small piece of flesh from beneath the victims’ noses. It was as good as a confession.
The murderer sent Dalgliesh an orange. The famous detective immediately knew where to look for the body.
He was shot in a supermarket. CCTV showed only 1 possible suspect, Bashmachkin. But he had both hands on his trolley, no gun in sight.
The carpenter and the potter had an explosive relationship; fatally so after he gave her one of his old aprons.
His wife was next door when he was killed. A blow to the head; bloody marble bust nearby. Neighbours heard Mahler 8.
“As you lived, so shall you die.” The death threat to the writer was baffling. The choice of murder weapon unravelled the mystery.
No other vehicle was involved when he drove his car over the cliff. But a jar lid was found in the engine wreckage.
When the police recovered 100 incomplete packs of playing cards from his house, they knew they had their man.