AN EDDY OF MISPLACED PASSIONS, or the paradoxical death of Mr. James Camden

Reflections, part 1

Alderton was now certain that there was so much more behind what was visible. He had the feeling that Miss Camden was not telling the whole truth, but what reason could she have to hide something? Was she involved in the death? She had no conceivable motive to want to kill her brother, however, it might have been an accident. Another option was that she might be covering for someone, for Davenport perhaps; this was also not a convincing option, to think she would choose a man she was lukewarm about at best over her own brother felt preposterous. Could Mr. Davenport be threatening her to keep his secrets? Some had strange ways to express what they called love, such behavior were not out of the realm of possibilities. Considering the strength of character she had been displaying ever since he'd laid eyes on her, the detective suspected she was capable of having weaponized her tears to accelerate the ending of the questioning. Or was he reading too much into it? Whatever unusual behavior could easily be attributed to the shock of grief.

Mr. Davenport was trying to avoid touching on the discussion in the study with Mr. Camden. His manners were suspect, and there were two strong testimonies against him, plus all the others attesting to the violence of the argument erupted in the drawing room. Was he really capable of murder like some believed, though? That was a strong accusation not to make with a light heart (unless one has their judgement skewed by alcohol). His dearest Alice, his beauty, was his weak spot: may he be covering for her?

Then there was Mr. Eaton, respected by Mr. Beckwith, not so much by Hastings and Davenport, seemingly Miss Camden's secret admirer – reason enough to want to discredit the other lover, by inflating his faults. Yet, he did not have a motive to want to kill Mr. Camden.

Mr. Beckwith's position was less fixed than it would appear at first glance. Sure, he was angry at his father's protégée, feeling exacerbated by the drinks no doubt, but he also had not stated that he was sure of Davenport's guilt in an explicit manner, except for the back talking part. In more reasonable times, he might have had  a more neutral stance, or even leaning in his favor, alike that of Miss Camden – who was talking to the man of the house just when the detective was entering the drawing room for the first time.

A theory he hadn't considered much was that Mr. Camden might not have been the intended victim, making it so that anyone could have (or not have) a conceivable reason to carry out a planned homicide.

Somehow, there was an eddy of seen, unseen and misplaced passions blurring the truth, driving motives, complicating his investigation.

Incapable for the moment of ridding himself of doubts regarding this human nature conundrum, he decided to turn back to the side that could be made understandable by observation, although still a huge question mark too: the paradoxical death of Mr. James Camden. He was killed by the coincidental falling of a bookcase over the table, trapping him in an inescapable wooden snare. The big problem with this was that it seemed such an easily preventable death: even while intoxicated a man could have moved enough to save himself if he saw the heavy piece of furniture faltering. And how did such a sturdy object fall at the right moment? The whole situation appeared to be crafted to be incriminating, yet also enough of an accident to make it hard to implicate anyone.

As he was looking back at the crime scene, he remembered an important detail: a pot had been broken in there. Mr. Beckwith probably enjoyed a symmetrical space, which meant that the old plant was placed at the opposite corner of the one still present. With the way that the fallen bookcase was placed, there wouldn't be space for a pot the same size. He went near the left side of the desk: it did not align with the corresponding bookshelf. He looked over to the other side: the fallen angel of death took up the whole width of the table and some more. It had been moved. While sprinting toward it, his foot touched a non-carpet texture. Kneeling to get the paper, concealed from the front of the room by the draped chair, he caught a detail out of the corner of his eye: a round indent on the carpet beside the table legs. He got up, then got down again: why did it bother him? 

An indent on the carpet is formed when an object sits on it for a significant amount of time. Said object could be a table. 

The legs were cylinders, which explained the circular form. But why was he seeing them? An indent sits at the bottom of its object until it is removed from its place. Therefore, the desk had been moved too. Mr. Alderton got up again, fixed his eyes on the fallen bookcase. What was he looking for? A sign that it wasn't in its original position? No, he didn't need that. What he needed was an indication of why it had fallen. He tried to lift it: it was quite heavy, would be even more with all the books in it, so it would only fall with a strong push or pull. Why would Mr. Camden pull on it? The sole reasonable explanation was that he had lost balance, which would corroborate the accident theory; he was intoxicated too, so it was plausible. Except it did not sit right with the detective, for some reason he wasn't sure of yet. Once it was all the way up again, the books and the body fell on the ground. He moved all of them to be able to inspect the area further, moving the carpet, touching it, until he realized there was an oily substance under both corners.

The man got up again, slowly; with a headache of ideas, he looked out of the window, leaning on the sill, hoping to find a blank slate in the darkness of the night he could use to organize his thoughts. He fixated on a spot on the ground;  as his head tilted something over there moved too. What was it? A shine, the light from the chandelier reflecting on a surface. With no internal debate, he opened the window and jumped out. Crouching down, he searched until his hand touched a metallic object. Moving it into the light, he realized it was a watch. What was it doing there?