Case file 114. Status: closed. Outcome: unsatisfying.
My name is Chief Inspector Whisker Noir, and I run the Hiss and Tell Detective Agency. We find what you lost and what you did not. On a grey Monday, a woman named Ms Delacroix entered my office and placed a single question on the desk. “Where,” she asked, “is my hair tie?”
The scene
The hair tie had last been seen on a bathroom shelf. It was black, elastic and unassuming. By Tuesday it was gone, and by Wednesday Ms Delacroix was wearing her hair in a pencil.
I attended the scene. The bathroom was small, tiled and smelled faintly of lavender and regret. I noted the following:
- A shelf, at a height I could reach with a jump
- A faint scuff on the edge of the shelf
- A tuft of fur, orange, near the sink
The suspects
I interviewed three suspects.
- The cat, Marmalade, who denied everything with a blink
- The husband, Gerald, who denied everything with a shrug
- The dog, Biscuit, who denied everything with a bark and then a lick of my face
I eliminated Biscuit at once. A dog could not have reached the shelf, and a dog could not keep a secret.
The interrogation
I took Marmalade into the hallway. The light was poor, which suited me. I stared at her for six minutes without blinking. She stared back for seven. She won.
But as she turned, I saw a thing. A small black loop, clinging to her tail.
The solution
The hair tie had been on her the whole time. She had taken it from the shelf, worn it as a trophy, and hidden it in plain sight, as the best criminals do. It had slipped to the floor only when she had stretched, in the kitchen, and rolled under the fridge.
“It is always the one who loves you,” I said, to nobody.
Resolution
The hair tie was recovered. Ms Delacroix paid my fee in full, in tuna. Marmalade was given a warning and a stern look.
I returned to my office. The rain began. The case was over, and I was hungry.
Fictional case. No actual hair ties were harmed.