The Witness (Simplified)

It was late at night — 11:22 p.m. on January 7, 1999. Ms. Jane Webb called the Toronto police. She said that her neighbor had killed himself.

Twelve minutes later, a police car stopped in front of her house. It was a small house on a quiet street. Two police officers got out of the car. Ms. Webb was at the door. She was wearing a warm coat because it was very cold. She pointed to the house next door, on her right. Then she walked with the officers to the front door of that house.

The front door was not completely closed. They went inside. Ms. Webb showed them the way to the study. It was at the end of the corridor, on the right. The door of the study was open too. They saw a man’s body on the floor near the desk. The man was dead. There was a small round hole in his forehead, just above his right eye. A gun was on the floor next to his right hand.

The officers looked around the room but did not touch anything. Then they went outside with Ms. Webb. One officer told her that she was an important witness. He asked her to stay in her house and wait. Then he called the homicide division and gave them the address.

Inspector Coderre arrived fifteen minutes later with a team of experts. He looked carefully at every room in the house before he was satisfied.

It was almost 2 a.m. when he rang the doorbell at Ms. Webb’s house. She offered him a cup of coffee. He was happy to accept. They sat down at the kitchen table. While the coffee was brewing, she told him her story.

“I was sitting in this room. I was drinking a cup of cocoa — I do that every night before bed. Suddenly, the light came on in Mr. James’s study. I saw him through the window. He came into the room and walked to his desk. Look — you can see his study from here. You can see everything inside.” Inspector Coderre looked out of the kitchen window. She was right. The study had bright lights and he could see his colleagues working inside.

Ms. Webb continued. “I saw Mr. James open a desk drawer and take out a gun. I was shocked. I could not move at first. Then I saw him point the gun at his head and pull the trigger.”

She was upset, but she continued. “I was in shock. But I knew I had to do something — even though I knew it was too late.”

“What did you do?” asked the inspector.

“I ran to his house. I tried the front door. It was locked. I tried the back door. It was locked too. I checked all the windows. They were all locked. So I picked up a stone and broke a small basement window. I climbed in. I know it was not a good idea, but I did not want to break one of the big windows.”

The inspector nodded. “We saw the broken window. It was very small. You are lucky you did not cut yourself.” Ms. Webb agreed and continued her story.

“The basement was very dark. But our houses are very similar, so I found the light switch quickly. I went up the stairs. I ran straight to the study. I opened the door, turned on the light, and went to the body. I wanted to help Mr. James. But of course there was nothing I could do. Then I left the house by the front door. I left the door partly open so the police could walk in easily. I came back here and called the police.”

She stopped talking and began to shake. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Mr. James was more than a good neighbor to me. He was also my boss. I work at his company as his accountant. I knew why he was so unhappy. The company was going bankrupt. This morning I gave him the bad news. I feel responsible for his death.”

The inspector looked at her. He did not look sympathetic now. He stood up and walked to the front door. He picked up his coat. Then he turned and spoke to her in a cold voice.

“I think you need to come to police headquarters with me. There are one or two small details in your story that do not make sense.”