With apologies to Richard Osman, Isaac Asimov, Enid Blyton and probably many more – imagined with the help of ChatGPT

Curtains at Intermission

Every detective needs a companion. Sherlock Holmes had Watson, Morse had Lewis, and the Famous Five had Timmy the dog. At Pegasus Heights — a later-living development with underfloor heating, cautious optimism, and an active murder mystery club — their companion was 'Peggy': an AI voice-enabled support chatbot with no hang-ups whatsoever, unless you count the occasional flaky Wi-Fi.

Residents liked to say life at Pegasus Heights was never dull, though occasionally it needed a nudge. So when a message appeared in the residents’ WhatsApp group during the weekly film night intermission that read, “Why is there a towel under the Guest Suite bathroom door?”, things happened promptly. By the time Ethel arrived — floral trolley in tow and a level of excitement not seen since the car park repainting consultation — half the block was buzzing.

It was Mary 2.0 (so called because she was the other Mary in the building, and also claimed to have beta-tested Alexa) who finally pushed open the bathroom door, balancing a tray of lemon barley. Inside, a man lay crumpled by the sink, very much not moving. She sniffed. “Smells like the swimming pool.”

Colin peered in. “Window shut. Towel under the door. Vent grille taped.”

Martha tapped her phone. “Peggy, hello dear”

“Hello, Martha. How can I help today?”

“Peggy, we want your help with a murder…”

Peggy’s voice, gentle but firm, came through the speaker. “I’m afraid I can only assist with matters relating to Pegasus Heights.”

“In this case,” Martha said, “the murder took place at Pegasus Heights — in the Guest Suite bathroom. The crime happened right under our roof.”

There was a tiny pause, as though Peggy were adjusting her electronic spectacles. “Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps my knowledge of calendars, rotas, and all the appliances and services here can assist. I can answer any questions faster than you could find the manual…”

“Peggy, is there any gas in our apartments?” Martha asked.

Peggy clicked a bit and responded “Apartments are fitted with electric appliances—Bosch oven, ceramic hob, etc. No domestic gas supply listed.”

“So not carbon monoxide,” Frank said. “And the fire alarms didn’t go off.”

Mary 2.0 leaned in. “Peggy, do our alarms detect anything besides smoke and heat?”

“Smoke/heat detectors trigger on smoke particles or high temperature. They do not detect chemical fumes.” Peggy offered.

Martha pointed to the chrome towel rail. “Look — pitted, as if scrubbed by an angry bee.”

“Never use bleach or harsh acids; they damage chrome and release harmful fumes. Prolonged use of acidic descaler causes pitting,” Peggy supplied.

Colin nodded. “Bleach and acid. Chlorine gas. Nasty in a small room.”

“Plus,” said Nora, “someone taped the ventilation unit. Peggy?”

“The MVHR. Blocking grilles prevents removal of steam and fumes and is dangerous.”

“Sealed room, toxic brew,” Martha said grimly, holding up a bottle of 'SuperFast Limescale Destroyer—Act Now!' and, from the bin, a bleach wipe packet.

From the victim’s pocket, she pulled a card: “Urgent Banking Security Visit—today only. Courier will collect your card for safe destruction.” Surely a scam.

“Peggy,” Colin asked, “what should residents do if someone like this turns up?”

“Do not hand over cards or PINs. Call 159 to reach your bank safely. Report to Action Fraud. High-pressure, today-only language is a hallmark of scams.” Peggy warned, with the serene patience of a chatbot who had explained this a hundred times before.

Mary 2.0 pursed her lips. “Two outsiders came earlier. One had those courier leaflets. The other was selling ‘same-day descaling’. He had a rucksack full of bottles and, I’d swear, tape."

“Peggy,” Martha asked, “what happens if you pour acid into a loo that already has bleach?”

“Mixing hypochlorite with acids releases chlorine gas. It's extremely dangerous in enclosed spaces.”

Frank pointed at the taped vent. “The descaler chap knows bathrooms. He’d know vents matter.”

Colin folded his arms. “So, the courier and the descaler were in it together, scamming residents. The courier’s carrying the fake leaflet, the descaler’s lugging his rucksack of bottles and tape. Something goes wrong — maybe money, maybe nerves — and as they say, there’s no honour among thieves. Either way, the courier ends up in the Guest Suite for a ‘demonstration.’ Bleach and acid, the vent taped, towel under the door, window shut. Ten minutes later, it's curtains.”

Mary 2.0 sighed. “And the alarms wouldn’t squeak.”

Peggy added gently, “Police may also wish to check his chrome-pitted tools. Very incriminating.”

“Peggy,” Frank asked, “when did the Doris Day double bill start?”

“Tonight’s film night began at 6.30 pm, intermission at 7.20 pm.”

“Then the gas was set just before intermission,” Frank said. “Empty corridors, quick in and out. Calculated.”

Martha patted her phone. “Thank you, Peggy. Only you could foil a killer with a cleaning instruction and still sound reassuring.”

“You’re welcome, Martha. Please remember: never mix cleaning products, or underestimate the AI Assisted Murder Club.”

– The End –