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Inspector Kramer sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair in the office, looking at my boss, World Famous Private Investigator Harry Slothe. The inspector was handcuffed to Bob Infinity, a sullen seventeen-year-old who, when he opened his mouth, showed off a latticework of metal that would have made Buck Minster Fuller green with envy. It was Bob's orthodontal work that accounted for the handcuffs. When his father was found murdered in his office while recording dictation, the last word he uttered before the gunshot was "braces." So naturally, the police put two and two together and came up with Infinity. Bob was the Inspector's prime suspect.
The third guest in the brownstone that evening was Wilmot Chevalier, and he was there because he was Mr. Slothe's prime suspect. Chevalier was in his mid-fifties, fidgety, with a full head of white hair. He wore the expression of a man who would rather be anywhere but where he was. Chevalier had been the elder Infinity's business partner, who now stood to inherit the company. "Really, Inspector," said the impatient man, "I must protest this abuse of power. Clearly you have your culprit. The voice of my dead partner pointed to his son, and yet you persist -"
"Mr. Chevalier." Mr. Slothe adjusted his smoked glass and drew in a bushel of air. "Inspector Kramer is here because he acknowledges my nose for crime. And I smell a rat in this case."
"Are you calling me a rat?" the old man objected.
"If the whiskers fit -"
"Alright, Slothe," the Inspector grumbled. "I've humored you this long, but as far as the police are concerned, this case is closed. Bob Infinity had motive, means and opportunity."
"So did Mr. Chevalier."
"But what I don't have," the nervous man trumpeted, "is my partner's voice on a Dictaphone naming me as the killer."
"Neither does the victim's son, sir."
"This is preposterous! I have business to attend to, and I refuse to waste my evening -"
"As I was saying, if you'll indulge me a moment longer, the victim's dying utterance was 'braces,' not 'Bob' or 'son' or 'you ungrateful little bastard.'"
"Yes, but to miss the connection, one would have to be blind," insisted Chevalier.
"I am blind, sir, and so is justice. The word 'braces' could refer to a number of things."
"Mr. Slothe, the Inspector has checked my background thoroughly and found no connection with anything even remotely brace-like. Now, really." The old man stood.
"Robert, what is your grade point average?" asked the gigantic sleuth.
The anxious man protested, "What in heaven's name -"
"Answer the question please, Robert."
The juvenile cleared his throat. "I have straight A's"
"So what, Slothe?" the businessman exclaimed. "I had straight F's when I was his age. What does that prove?"
"It proves you are probably an idiot. And in young Mr. Infinity's case it is highly suggestive. Picture Robert, walking into his father's office on that fateful evening. Drawing his pistol, he is about to fire; smiling, perhaps, and showing off his braces - a condition about which he is already painfully self-conscious. He hears his father speak the word as he pulls the trigger. Then what does this straight A student do? Does he destroy the incriminating tape? No. He leaves it for the police to find."
"You said yourself, Slothe, he's a clever lad."
"Robert, do you attend public school?"
"Yes."
"Then not clever enough, Mr. Chevalier. But his father, privately tutored abroad, may have been."
"What do you mean?"
"The victim, with his last word, wished to leave a clue to his killer's identity."
"We already know that, you overgrown Sherlock Holmes!"
"But with the killer present, he had to be circumspect."
"Oh, this has gone on long enough! Inspector, I beg you!?"
Mr. Slothe pressed on forcefully. "His clue had to name the killer without the killer knowing it."
"Ridiculous!" The old man's voice was cracking. "I've had all I'm going to take!!"
"You will take one more thing, Mr. Chevalier: the connection between you and the word 'braces' that clearly makes you the killer!"
HOW DID MR. SLOTHE EXPOSE WILMOT CHEVALIER AS THE KILLER?
Let's return to the scene as Mr. Slothe continues:
"In England, 'braces' are suspenders. And the most famous suspender-wearer is Larry King. Of course, the King was Elvis, whose home is called Graceland. And if we rearrange the letters in 'Graceland' we get 'anger-clad.'" The color of anger is red, and who do we know who is clad in red? Santa Claus!"
"He was killed by Santa Claus? Are you insane?" squeaked the frazzled business partner.
"No. Because in France, Santa Claus is Pere Noel or 'pair, no L.' What common pair has no L? Pants!"
"What are you saying, you fool. That the killer wore pants?!?"
"Let me finish. It will soon be summertime, and the most popular pants in the summer are Bermuda shorts, which call to mind the Bermuda triangle. Besides a triangle, what else has three sides? Football. Onside kicks, offsides penalties and sidelines." Chevalier was tearing at his white hair. "Arguably, the most famous football player was Johnny Unitas. And in 1860, who chose to 'unite us' as a nation? Abraham Lincoln, who, as you will recall, was born in a log cabin, which is a brand of syrup used on pancakes, also called flapjacks. Flap jacks. Jack Frost. Frosty the Snowman. Corncob pipe. Uncle Remus. Brare Rabbit. Rabbit stew. Stuart Little. Little Women -"
"AAARRGGH! Stop it! I admit it. I confess! I killed him! I shot my partner!! Just stop!!! STOP!!"
"Point, game and match," muttered the gigantic detective.