Thirty minutes to midnight

11:30 PM: Half hour to midnight

          Dark clouds littered the sky as far as the eye could see. Not that it would have made much of a difference at this time of the night, but a little moonlight was always appreciated. Fat droplets of rain fell fast and steady to a memorable beat. Leaning against the window pane, Private Eye Sly exhaled heavily, fogging up the glass. His fingers twitched with the familiar need of holding a pipe between them. “Damn, what I wouldn’t give for a good smoke right now”, he wistfully muttered to himself.
          “What’s that now, sir?” piped up Officer Cole from the back. Sly turned around, recalling that there were a few other men sharing the lounge with him. Heck, for that matter, he hadn’t even realized he had spoken out loud! The lack of nicotine in his system must really be affecting his senses, he mused.
          “Oh, just that, no matter what my little niece says, those damn clouds remind me of sweet puffs of scented smoke, rather than cotton candy.”
         Officer Cole made a noncommittal noise and went back to keeping an eye out. Sly normally didn’t care much about who he smoked around, but the old man who owned the manor had strictly forbidden it. Or so the good doctor had informed him. Go figure.
         Looking out through the window at the officers covering the driveway, he frowned. At least they had the option of burning some leaf. And he wouldn’t have minded the rain too much, not with his pipe in his hands. But he needed to stay in here. After all, old man Lambton was counting on him to save his life.
         Mr. Lambton, age 75 and a retired solicitor, had received a rather peculiar letter with his Monday morning mail; a letter stating that he would die whence the clock struck midnight on Saturday.
          Sly dug out his pocket watch. The arms showed twenty five to midnight. Strange as it was that the supposed killer would let known the time he intended to carry out his deed, stranger still was that there was no intention or motive stated for wanting the old man dead. Mr. Lambton had no heir to inherit the vast fortune he had accumulated over the years. Being the youngest in a family of nine, all his bothers and sisters had passed away long ago. Dedicating the majority of his life to the law firm, he had found little time to court a lady of his liking and had grown distant from his nephews and nieces over the years. In the event of Lambton’s demise, the government will seize all of his assets, including the manor, and do with it what they deemed necessary. No one was appearing to benefit from having the old man dead. Which is what piqued Sly the most.

11:40 PM: Twenty minutes to midnight

         Sly sipped at his coffee as he examined the letter Mr. Lambton had received.  He was hoping the caffeine would make up for his withdrawal from nicotine. A poor substitute, in his opinion. There were other officers sitting around the kitchen table as well, some chewing on hard biscuits while sipping coffee. More than enough hands were around the manor for this bunch to deserve a break.
         “What do you make of it, sir?” asked officer Gales, nodding his head to the letter.
         “Hmm?”
          Gales had short blond hair, lean and tall, he could almost be called gangly. Sly liked Gales. He was inquisitive, full of curiosity, always asking the right question, working his way towards a presumptive conclusion. He would have made a good private eye.
          “Just trying to understand our good friend here...what kind of person sends a memorandum for murder to his victim? He’s got to be a real dare devil…or a total whack job.”
          “It’s possible that he might not have contemplated on Mr. Lambton contacting the police, Sir.” Cole, who had decided to join Sly on his break, suggested.
          “Which would make him a whack job, Cole.”, and Sly doubted he was dealing with any other kind. His initial thoughts had led him to believe he was dealing with a thrill-seeker. Someone who committed homicide for the rush of seeing if they could get away with it; they would plan every move, time every step, consider every variable and leave clues to gauge and taunt people like Sly and the authorities.
          It was those types that had made Sly’s job very interesting once. Accepting the challenge of catching a cautious and calculating killer had let Sly experience the same sense of rush they had in committing such a crime. But it had been a long time since Sly had encountered such an individual. A vanishing breed, they showed up less often – better for society, Sly thought grudgingly – and those who did, weren’t even a shadow of the kind Sly had once dealt with.
          Sly’s eyes scrolled to the bottom of the letter; it was signed and initialed ‘Death Harbinger, D.H’. A wry smile crept over his face. A whack job, indeed!

11:45 PM: Fifteen minutes to midnight

         Thunder roared outside, rattling teacups and windows inside the manor. “As if the rain wasn’t bad enough…” Sly began.
         Suddenly, a cry broke out from second floor. Quickly reacting, the officers and Sly ran through the kitchen and made for the staircase. Taking the steps in two, Sly raced in front of the others. Shadows spilling from the door to the master bedroom told him other officers had already made it. As he rushed into the room, he saw Doctor Woods trying to calm down a shaken Mr. Lambton. The two officers already in the room carried mixed expressions of confusion and wariness.
         “It’s alright officers; I can take it from here. He’s just had another one of his panic attacks” said Doctor Woods while trying to soothe Lambton back into his bed.
         And sure enough the old man was shaking from head to toe. “Here, take your pills Mr. Lambton. They’ll help calm you down.” Old man Lambton had difficulty holding onto a glass of water, even with Woods’s help.
         As the two officers made their way out, Cole and Gales caught up with Sly. “Gales, tell the others that it’s under control.”
         Gales took a quick look around before replying, “Yes sir.”
         This was the sixth time Sly had been around to experience one of Mr. Lambton’s panic attacks. The guy had the nerves of a chicken in a fox’s den. Doctor Woods had explained to Sly that his condition had grown worse over the years, and having a weak heart condition didn’t help. Anything from an audible noise to sudden movement would get his heart pumping and blood racing. Heck, Sly was surprised the poor man hadn’t dropped dead after reading the letter.
         Woods made his way to Sly, leaving the old man to catch whatever was left of his breath. “I apologize for that. The sleeping pills should have had him dead asleep, but I’m afraid those ear plugs were no match for Mother Nature.”
         “Now, now, good doctor, let’s try not to use the ‘D’ word in reference to the old man tonight. . .the Goddess of Irony just might choose to pay us a visit.”
         Sly figured if the storm lasted the night, this would not be the last time Lambton wakes up screaming.
         Just then, Gales came back into the room. “Excuse me, Sir, but a delivery truck just pulled into the driveway”

11:50 PM: Ten minutes to midnight

         “Yes, yes, I did indeed send over a grandfather clock to Westby’s Clock Renaissance for repairs, but I was most definitely not expecting it back this soon. I was informed that the earliest it might be ready by was Monday,” explained Mr. Lambton to confirm what the truck driver had told the officers below. “It is rather odd, to be delivering at this time of the night?”
         “The truck contractor is refusing to renew Westby’s lease, so they’re trying to deliver what goods they have to their customer, lest they suffer from a bad reputation,” replied Sly.
         “Well, I am rather glad it is back this early!” said Lambton, brightening up noticeably, as if he hadn’t just jumped out of his pajamas. “That grandfather clock brings back fond memories of my childhood,” he shook his head reminiscently. “Growing up in the manor, Father ran a very tight ship with my brothers, sisters and I. He expected us all to be down for breakfast at six sharp, out the door for school at seven, back and washed up for lunch at two and in bed by nine. Ho, that grandfather clock was what kept us on our toes, and spared our bottoms from a strapping! Every time that clock hit a note, it would ring out through the entire manor, and you would hear it no matter where you were hiding, and before it rang its last chime, be it six o’clock, two o’clock or eight, we made sure we were where we were suppose to be.”
         Sly didn’t doubt his words. The way the house was built, with its long narrow halls, and thin sturdy yew wood, it made for perfect acoustics. 
         “Unfortunately, that clock has not rung a chime since I came back to the manor thirty years ago” Lambton sighed. “I wanted it repaired so that I may hear it once again while I’m still alive. It remains standing, as one of the only relics of my childhood with my father and siblings. For me, its value falls far beyond that of master craftsmanship.”
         If Lambton had his own way, he’d be off to see the clock right now, but Doctor Woods had advised him against it. He hadn’t fully recovered from the thunder incident, and all this excitement might get his heart racing again. Instead, Lambton had asked for the clock to be placed in the library on the second floor.
         Sly went down to see how the officers were handling the situation. To his surprise, three of them, including Cole and Gales, were helping the delivery man haul the huge wooden coffin across the dining room. It was a Grand grandfather clock, made of heavy, polished dark oak, tall enough to dwarf Gales, and wider than Coles’ belly. A few clumsy steps with the hefty clock and the four men were sweating with the effort.
         “Oy, you got rocks filled in here, mate?” grunted Gales.          
         “No sir. Just your regular grandfather clock with a new brass pendulum, that’s all”, said the panting truck driver.
         “The old man wants it in the library, first door to your right on the second floor.”
         “Jeez, sir, hauling this thing up the stairs is going to take a whole lot more muscle” retorted Gales.
         “Well, then I suggest you get some more men and get down to it,” replied Sly.

11:57 PM: Three minutes to midnight

         The delivery man had left, leaving a bill for repairs, and five panting officers who had to return to their posts immediately. Sly took up his position by the window overlooking the driveway.
         Any minute now, it would be revealed: A fool’s ploy or a spineless bluff. If all went as Sly hoped, he should be home within the hour, picking out a good mystery book to read with a pipe in his hands. Of course he would leave a few officers behind, just to keep the old man assured, if nothing else. As each second on the clock ticked by, he became surer of himself that the night would end without incident. Probably the plan all along had been to scare the old man to death with the letter. And it was a plausible idea; he’ll give the supposed killer that. But then, why would he choose to state Saturday midnight, which was five days from when the letter was to be delivered? And what possible gain could anyone have by seeing Lambton dead? Sly was hoping the fool would show up, just so he could beat the stupidity out of him. Of course, he would rather he not show up as well, which would save everyone here some trouble. But if he did make an appearance, there was no way he was going to get past all those wary eyes. Officers were guarding the driveway, the back entrance and the third floor. The only way anyone was going to get to Lambton tonight, unnoticed, was if they were already…already in the…
         Sly reeled around and shouted, “Cole! Gales! He’s in the grandfather clock!”

11:59 PM: One minute to midnight
         Like the thunder outside, but not quite, officers stormed up the wide staircase.
         “Cole, take the other officers and head to Lambton’s room. Gales, you’re with me.”
         Sly took a sharp right on reaching the second floor landing, coat flying behind him, and Gales close at his heels. They burst through the library’s double doors and rushed over to the grandfather clock on the opposite wall.
         As they approached the clock, Sly cautioned Gales with his eyes and they both pulled out their revolvers. The feel of steel felt comforting in Sly’s hand.
          Both men positioned themselves on either side of the gigantic clock. By this point, Sly was only aware of two things; his beating heart and the second hand moving on the clock. Tick, Tock, Bub-bub, Tick, Tock, Bub-bub. They both complemented each other in a memorable rhythm. Almost like the rain outside, Sly mused hysterically.
          Sly cocked his head towards Gales, never letting his eyes off the clock.
         With one hand still on the revolver, Gales moved forward to open the front panel door. . .

12:00 Midnight
         Thunder crashed outside as the deafening din of metal burst through the manor.
         Ding, Dong, Ding, Dong the pendulum struck again and again. Sly and Gales jumped back in shock. Ears ringing something horrible, Sly tried to get a grip of himself as his vision started blurring with tears.
         A pendulum. A perfectly brand new brass pendulum in the grandfather clock. In fact, you couldn’t fit anyone in there anyway, unless they were a seriously malnourished sixteen year-old. The clock continued to ring as Sly stared dumbfounded.
         “Gales, shut that thing up!”
         Sly rushed out of the room, to get away from the sonorous metallic ring more than anything else, leaving an indignant officer Gales behind.
         As Sly made his way to Lambton’s room, he saw officers waiting outside.
         “Everything’s under control sir, there’s nothing to . . .” Sly paused at the sense of uneasiness in the room.
         “Coles, what’s going on?”
         “Uhh, sir . . . it’s Mr. Lambton. . .”
         Sly noticed doctor Woods was beside the bed, with his index and middle finger pressed lightly Lambton’s throat.
         “There . . . there’s no pulse. . .”
         As Doctor Woods moved back slowly, Sly saw a wide eyed look on Lambton’s face, mouth partially open, and his left hand slightly grasping his chest. “He didn’t even manage to get a scream out. I’m not sure if it was that last  thunder strike or the clock . . . or both.”
         And with that, Doctor Woods pronounced him dead, time: 12:00 AM
         Sly walked slowly towards the bedside, almost in a dream like state, all the while staring in to the old man’s now lifeless eyes. As he got closer, he noticed Lambton was holding a sheet of paper in his right hand. He pulled it out easily enough.
         It was a bill for the repair and delivery of the grandfather clock. At the bottom, where it said ‘Delivered by’, it was initialed “D.H.”
          As comprehension dawned on him, a small grin crept over Sly’s face.
         “Sir, is something the matter?” whispered Coles from the corner.
         “Hmm? No . . . Nothing at all . . . it’s just that . . . I haven’t been this excited about catching a killer in a very long time”.