The Tin Can Murder

by Daniel Sheldon 

Originally appearing in Down with Crime comics #7 in 1952.

"It's not a pretty sight," Detective Rick Hanson said to the squad of laboratory technicians that he was leading through the woods. In a few moments, the group emerged into a clearing in the thick brush, and Rick pointed to a blanket that covered a man's form. "That's the victim, or rather what's left of him," Rick said. 

The technicians set to work immediately, taking pictures and gathering bits of material scattered around the area. 

"What's the word on this?" Patrolman Collins asked Rick. 

"I don't know much about it myself," Rick replied. "A hunter I know phoned me at headquarters this morning. Said he found the body of a man out in the woods. I rushed out here immediately. It looked as if a bomb had gone off in his face!" 

"Hey, Rick," one of the technicians called out, "we've got some scoop for you. This is a lulu!" 

"What did you find?"

"The guy is Geoffery Speen!" 

"What!" Rick exclaimed. "You mean the millionaire?" 

"That's exactly what I mean," the technician replied. 

"What killed him?" Rick queried. 

"Can of orange juice blew up in his hand," came the reply. 

Rick stood still with an incredulous look on his face. "Are you crazy?" he asked. 

"Nope," the technician answered. "Pieces of the can are scattered all around here, and a bit of the label survived the blast. Looks as if the bomb was concealed inside the can. It probably went off when he punctured it." 

"Looks like a pretty slick job," Collins commented. 

"Certainly does," Rick replied absent-mindedly as he stood deep in thought. "I remember now!" he said suddenly. "Speen owns some sort of hunting lodge around here." 

"We can find out where it is back at the station," Collins said. 

"Okay," Rick said. "Let's put on some speed. Fellows," he called out, "don't breathe a word of this to anyone. I want everything kept hush-hush from the papers until I give the word." 

Back at the station, a few telephone inquiries located Speen's lodge. It was situated deep in the woods and was only accessible by a narrow dirt road. 

"What's the next move?" asked Collins. 

"I've got a plan brewing," Rick said as he reached for the telephone. "Let me have the lab," he said to the switchboard operator. "Hello, John, this is Rick. Look, do you boys have a list of everything that Speen was carrying in his knapsack when he died? Swell, send someone into town and buy duplicates of all the items. And make sure you get that same brand of orange juice." 

"What's all that for?" Collins asked. 

"You'll see. It's a long hunch I'm playing, but if it's right, we'll have the murderer of Geoffery Speen behind bars in a few hours!" 

Collins stood by, scratching his head as Rick pored over a map showing the location of the late Geoffery Speen's lodge. A knock at the door announced the delivery of the items Rick had ordered. Carefully, he checked over the material and then said, "I'm all set. Now for one more phone call." 

Rick quickly dialed the number he had scrawled on a slip of paper. "Hello, is this the Speen residence? To whom am I speaking? Mr. Speen's butler? I see. This is detective Hanson at Police Headquarters. Mr. Speen was found dead of a heart-attack in the woods this morning. There will have to be a routine investigation because of his prominence. Is anyone else staying at the lodge? Just a few guests? I see. I'll be over shortly. Thank you." 

"What's up, Rick?" Collins asked. "Why did you say he died of a heart-attack? He was blown to pieces!" 

"You'll see," Rick replied as he hastily donned his hat and coat. "Follow me." 

Rick dashed out of the building and into his car with the knapsack under his arm and Collins in pursuit. At top speed, they raced toward the lodge. In about twenty minutes, they were on the narrow dirt road, and then, after about three miles, they passed between two enormous stone posts and emerged into a vast clearing. A vast lawn led up to a beautiful stone mansion surrounded by towering oaks. 

"Speen really roughed it out here," Collins remarked. 

Rick drew the car to a skidding stop, and the two men jumped out. A group of about a dozen people stood milling on the terrace as they approached. 

"I'm Mr. Speen's butler," one of them announced. "I believe I spoke to you on the phone." 

"That's right," Rick replied. 

"Is he really dead?" a young man whispered into Rick's ear. 

"Yes, he is. I'll tell everyone about it. But first I have to ask some questions. Will you all be seated, please?" 

Rick carefully set the knapsack at his feet and surveyed the members of the group as they drew up a circle of chairs around him. Three were attired as servants. One was in a gardener's uniform. The rest looked like guests. 

"This is purely routine," Rick said in an assuring voice. "I don't want anyone here to consider himself under suspicion. Mr. Speen died of a heart-attack, but because of his great social and financial prominence, we have to run a routine investigation." 

He turned to the butler. "Do you have any idea of why Mr. Speen was out alone in the woods early this morning?" 

"I can answer that, sir," the butler replied. "Mr. Speen was a nature lover. Whenever he was here at the lodge, it was his habit to rise early every morning and stroll in the woods by himself. He usually took his breakfast with him in a knapsack. I believe the knapsack you have there is his." 

"Yes, this belongs to Mr. Speen," Rick said. "To go on, did he have any enemies?" 

"I say," a heavy-set man interrupted, "he died of a heart attack. What would enemies have to do with it?" 

"I thought I had made that clear," Rick said with a smile. "If he had died in bed or near the house, we would have no grounds for an inquiry like this. But since he was so prominent and did die out alone in the woods, we have to go through this routine." 

The butler continued, "No, he had no real enemies. He was widely known, and I imagine some people disliked him, but I never heard that he had been threatened."

"Well," said Rick, "I guess that satisfies the routine. Theoretically, I should quiz everyone here, but that would be a waste of time. I'll just hand in my report, and that will close the case. I appreciate your cooperation." 

"Glad to have helped you," the butler replied. "Now, I'll have to see that arrangements are made for the funeral." 

"One more thing," Rick said. "You'd better hang onto this knapsack. I realize it's not valuable, but it does belong to the estate. The rest of his possessions are on his body." 

"Thank you," the butler said. 

"Say," suddenly Rick said with a sly grin, "we're both starved. We haven't eaten since early this morning. I noticed there's a can of orange juice in the knapsack." He pulled it out as he spoke and produced a can-opener. "Mind if we sort of make off with it?" 

As Rick fingered the can opener, a thin, intense-looking man screamed out, "Don't touch that can!" 

In a moment, Collins was at the man's side and had a tight grip on his arm. Rick, with a smile written across his face, slowly approached the man, the can opener still in his hand. "What's the matter?" he said. "You're not going to make a fuss over this can of orange juice?" 

"Don't hold that can near me!" the man screamed. 

"You'd better tell me why." Rick said, "or I'll open it this second !" 

He held the can scarcely two inches from the man's body and toyed with the opener. 

"It'll explode if you puncture it," he whined in agony. 

"As it did this morning when it killed Speen?" Rick snapped. 

"What!" the man gasped. "You said he died of a heart-attack!" 

"Sorry to disappoint you. He died when a bomb hidden inside a can of orange juice went off in his face. Why did you kill him?" 

The thin man collapsed into a chair. "I'll tell you. I manage one of his factories, and he found out that I've been embezzling funds."

"So you murdered him to avoid prosecution?" The man nodded weakly. 

"Okay." Rick said, "come with us. You've got a little trip ahead of you. Guess we might call it from the can to the chair!" 

END