Good Year For Murder by A.E. Eddenden Page A

father. President of STELFY. Very important man. Influential.”
    Tretheway nodded imperceptibly, still at attention.
    â€œHe was very angry. To put it mildly. Sore as a bloody bull. Threatened to use the STELFY Security Police to find the killer. His very own homicide squad. Can’t do that. Illegal. Took me aback, though. He was so polite at the funeral.”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œEh?”
    â€œYou said something about surprises?”
    â€œI did?”
    â€œWhen you first called me in.” Zulp thought for a moment. “That’s right,” he said finally. “Surprises. I don’t want any more surprises, Tretheway. Like the twenty-fourth of May. Or Father’s Day. Or this last one. St. Whatshisname’s Day.”
    â€œSwithin’s.”
    â€œLet’s get down to business. What’s all this scuttlebutt about you? Your predictions. Did you have prior knowledge of these events? A hunch? A lucky guess? As I understand it, you weren’t as surprised as me. I suggest you clear this up. From the beginning. Sit down.”
    Tretheway let his breath out and his chest down. Squatting gingerly, he squeezed between the arms of the office chair. “As you remember, St. Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day caught us all by surprise. And they were still just pranks. When April Fool’s Day came along, it set a pattern. Once a month, holidays, politicians. But still a prank.”
    â€œThat’s correct.”
    â€œIt was at this time that I said, more as conversation than anything else, that the next logical holiday for our man to strike was the twenty-fourth of May.”
    â€œWhy the twenty-fourth?”
    â€œIt seemed to fit the pattern. The flamboyance. Fireworks as the method. I made an educated guess. A lucky one.”
    â€œWhat about Father’s Day?”
    â€œAlso logic. It’s the only holiday to speak of. Now don’t forget,it was still in the nature of a guessing game. No one had been killed.”
    â€œBut what about St. Swithin’s Day? You’re the one that called out half the bloody force. On your own initiative. And too late.”
    â€œI know.” Tretheway looked worried. “I thought something would happen on Dominion Day. I’d forgotten about St. Swithin’s Day until my sister Addie reminded me.”
    â€œHow did she know?”
    â€œShe didn’t. There was a rhyme we memorized as kids about St. Swithin’s Day. Addie recited it that morning. When I asked her about it, she went into the whole story.”
    â€œSpare me that. But why St. Swithin’s?” Zulp prompted impatiently. “No one’s ever heard of it.”
    â€œI’m not sure. Maybe the killer’s trying to confuse us. Keep us off balance.”
    Zulp smacked his fist loudly into the palm of his other hand. “Couldn’t agree more!”
    â€œSir?” Tretheway was always amazed when his superior’s train of thought leaped sideways like a rabbit escaping a predator.
    â€œI’ve been doing some homework,” Zulp confided. “Come up with some facts. Startling.” He stared at the ceiling. Tretheway waited.
    â€œWhen’s the next one?” Zulp lowered his gaze. “Civic Holiday? Labour Day? Hallowe’en? Will there be another one? And who’s the victim? Would you like to guess, Tretheway?”
    â€œNot really, Sir.”
    â€œI wish you would, Tretheway.”
    Tretheway knew an order when he heard one. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’d say if anything does happen, it would be in August.”
    â€œGo on,” Zulp encouraged.
    â€œAnd, once again, the logical day would be Civic Holiday. Let’s see.” Tretheway checked the Stanley Cup wall calendar showing the World Champion New York Rangers. “The first Monday in August. Two weeks today. August five.”
    â€œNonsense!”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œAnd who’s the