Detective Stories

A small city gallery was preparing for the evening opening of a contemporary art exhibition.

There was very little time left before the guests arrived. The staff were finishing the last preparations: checking the lighting, moving materials and getting the galleries ready.

Before the opening, staff and volunteers had been asked not to publish photographs of the exhibition. The only exception was the photographer.

Shortly before the opening, one of the lights in the second gallery began behaving erratically. The gallery was closed to visitors while the lighting was checked for around twenty minutes.

At 18:20, shortly before the inspection began, one of the main works, the painting “Quiet Shore”, was still intact. The photographs prove it.

When the inspection ended and the gallery was opened again, a broad streak of dark blue acrylic paint was already running across the light part of the canvas.

Paint in the same shade was kept in the gallery’s staff workshop. The workshop had been opened several times during the day, and staff had gone inside to collect materials and equipment.

After the incident, the workshop was locked, but one tube of dark blue paint was missing.

Someone used the final minutes before the opening to deliberately damage the painting. Now there is only one question left: who?

The snow had started earlier that afternoon.

By evening, the road from the mountain hotel Belladonna to the town was almost completely buried. The guests stayed for the night, and after dinner Madame Aurora suggested holding a small séance.

Stories about Room 113 have circulated around the hotel for years.

A famous singer named Celine Armand once stayed there. One winter evening, she disappeared. The next morning, the room was empty, the window was closed, and all of her belongings were still inside.

The room has not been used since. Tomorrow, it is due to be opened for the first time in many years before restoration work begins.

At 22:05, the séance begins.

Madame Aurora shows everyone a blank hotel card and places it on a silver tray between two candles.

A few minutes later, words slowly begin to appear on the paper:

“DO NOT OPEN ROOM 113.
THREE KNOCKS – THEN SILENCE.”

Konrad Stein, the owner of the hotel, visibly reacts to the final words and almost immediately asks for the séance to be stopped.

No one present understands where the message came from or why it affected Konrad so strongly.

1936.

An evening live broadcast is underway at the small radio station “Radio Aster.”

Tonight’s guest is Madeleine Roche, daughter of the late composer Armand Roche. At the end of the program, she performs his most famous work, “Night Waltz”.

After the performance, the host announces a short music break.

The sound engineer takes the prepared sleeve B-12, removes the record, places it on the turntable and lowers the needle.

But instead of orchestral music, an old man’s voice comes through the broadcast.

Madeleine recognizes her father.

“‘Night Waltz’ was written by Clara. The publisher put my name on the score, and I allowed it. She begged me to tell the truth. I never did.”

A few seconds later, the recording is cut off.

The program continues, but there is no way to undo what has already happened.

The record containing Armand Roche’s voice had been stored in the station archive for many years under the number C-41.

B-12 was supposed to contain entirely different music.

Someone switched the record.

And each of the three people who are still at the station had the opportunity to do it.

1959.

At the high-altitude Mont-Rouge Refuge, a small expedition is preparing for an early-morning crossing over the pass.

The main group of climbers is spending the night at a lower camp nearby and is expected to reach the refuge before dawn.

They need to set out at first light. If they miss that window, the crossing will have to be postponed for at least several days.

Late that evening, a red signal flare suddenly lights up the slope.

It rises high into the air, opens beneath a small parachute and slowly drifts toward the ravine.

Those at the refuge assume someone is calling for help.

A rescue party heads out to search the area.

But there is no one in the ravine.

While the search continues near the route, the expedition cannot leave for the pass.

By morning, the short window for departure is already gone.

It also becomes clear that the flare was launched much closer to the refuge.

Someone deliberately raised a false alarm.

And each of the three expedition members who stayed at Mont-Rouge that night had the opportunity to launch it.

The toy store has been closed to customers for the day. Inside, the staff are carrying out inventory, rearranging merchandise, and getting everything ready for tomorrow's opening.

Everything is going more or less smoothly.

Until 20:00.

At exactly eight in the evening, around thirty children's alarm clocks on a large shelf suddenly start ringing at full volume, almost all at once.

Within seconds, the store turns into a small corner of hell with a cheerful soundtrack.

The employees jump, someone nearly drops what they are holding, security rushes in from the shopping centre corridor, and people from the neighbouring stores are already making their feelings very clear about children's alarm clocks, the people who make them, and the day in general.

When the last alarm finally falls silent, five thoroughly frazzled employees are left standing in the store.

And they are all looking at one another.

The store has been closed to customers all day. No outsiders have been inside. Which means someone here spent quite a bit of time setting up this entire idiotic stunt.

Why? And why exactly at 20:00?

The store manager arrives after hearing the commotion. Fortunately for him, a detective he knows happens to be at the shopping centre, so he asks them to find out what on earth happened.

There is just one problem: all five employees handled the alarm clocks at some point during the day.

And it soon becomes clear that the alarm clocks are far from the only thing the staff would rather keep quiet about today.

Late 19th to early 20th century. Somewhere in a fictional country, a war is underway.

At a small military cipher centre, an urgent telegram arrives. It is decoded, turned into an official document, and sent on to headquarters.

A few hours later, the enemy opens fire on Hill 74.

Fortunately, no one is there anymore.

The command post had been moved to a completely different location, so no one is hurt this time. But headquarters quickly notices something far more dangerous.

In the document that was delivered, the number 74 has been crossed out and corrected to 47.

The mistake appeared only after the message had reached the cipher centre and was corrected before the document ever left the building.

That means the enemy received information that appeared neither in the original message nor in the final order.

It existed for only a few minutes.

And only here.

A military counterintelligence officer arrives at the centre. Six people were working there that evening. Any one of them could have learned about the number 74. And every one of them has something to hide.

Now the officer must determine not only who passed the false hill designation to the enemy.

But also how the information managed to leave the building at all.

The 1970s. A major theatre is preparing for the premiere of a new production.

There is very little time left before opening night. This evening, the actors and theatre staff are rehearsing several key scenes and finishing the last preparations.

The rehearsal is tense. The theatre's leading actress is unhappy with her new scene partner, argues with the staff, and makes no secret of the fact that there is a lot about the production she does not like.

In one of the scenes, a young actor is supposed to pour a drink from a decanter and hand her a glass.

During rehearsal, he does everything according to the script. The leading actress takes a few sips, almost immediately begins coughing badly, and before long it becomes clear that her voice has been seriously affected.

Before the scene began, the decanter and glasses were standing on a prop table backstage. All seven people present had been near it at some point during the evening.

And everyone backstage had reasons of their own to hide something: old grudges, bad decisions, ambitions, and things that would have been better left unmentioned that particular evening.

Someone deliberately tampered with the leading actress's drink shortly before the scene. Only one question remains: who?