Dawn Of The Dead

It was a dark and stormy night in Centerville. Jagged bolts of lightning wracked the sky above Detective Murphy's house. "Glad I'm not out there tonight," Murphy thought. He gazed out his bay window at the thick, frozen fog that had engulfed the landscape. As his yard vanished and was replaced by an eerie, foggy void, Murphy guessed it was maybe five degrees outside right now. It was too cold for anything but coffee and a book by the fire.

He took the last gulp of his cup of strong Peruvian Organic, and headed to the kitchen to make another. His mind was elsewhere as he poured the coffee, but a sharp piercing scream yanked him back to reality. He jumped, spilling boiling coffee on his hand, but he hardly noticed.

His thoughts were centered on the scream. He waited for another, but no sound came. "Just a loon," he laughed, and went back to his chair, fire and book. His phone rang ten minutes later, making him jump again. It was Logan, the desk sergeant at the precinct. "Murphy, we have an apparent homicide at one-two-seven Apple Blossom Rd. Will you check it out since you're so close?"
"Sure," the detective replied, stunned by the awful realization the scream he'd heard was not a loon after all.
"Thanks," said Murphy. "Officers Briscoe and Greevy are on the scene now."

Murphy only had to drive around the block to get to the stately home of Diva Dawn, pop culture rocker with the eclectic personality of any rock star. He drove up the long driveway, passing a small guest house which was about sixty feet from the bigger one. He parked in front of the main house's big bay window and walked inside. He entered the house and was greeted by Briscoe, who led him into the study with the big bay window he'd parked under. Only the desk lamp was on, giving the room a shadowy appearance. Inside was Greevy, holding an evidence bag containing the murder weapon, a large bloody axe.

The body of Diva Dawn was in the middle of the room, covered with a sheet. On the sofa sat a woman in a white nightgown, and a man in pajamas, both disheveled and spotted with blood.
"What happened here?" He asked the woman.
In a voice choked from tears she said, "I'm Dagmar, the maid. I live in the guest house on the drive and my front window faces this bay window. I heard a scream as I was getting ready for bed. I looked out my front window and saw Edwin struggling with Dawn. I raced in here to stop him, but she was already lying on the floor." She began to cry again. "I tried to pull the axe out and save her but he attacked me too. The whole staff knew he hated her. They were dating up until a month ago, when she broke it off. He seemed fine, but we all knew he would try to get revenge."
"What?!" yelled the man sitting next to her. "She is a liar!"
"Calm down sir," said Murphy. "Why don't you tell me what happened."
"I am Edwin, the butler. I live in the guest house out back. I heard the scream and ran in the back door. When I got to the study I saw Dagmar standing over Dawn's body. I rushed over to Dawn, and tried to pull out the axe, to save her, but Dagmar attacked me. I loved Dawn. I would never hurt her. But Dawn had found out that Dagmar has been stealing from her. Dagmar watches out her front window and spies on Dawn in the study. When Dawn is occupied, Dagmar goes into the house and steals from her. She was about to be fired," said Edwin sadly.
"Lies!" screamed Dagmar, jumping to her feet.
Greevy took her by the arm. "You're going to need to calm down ma'am." Dagmar sat back down, whimpering.

"What do you think sir? Both their fingerprints will be on the axe and I've never heard two such conflicting stories," said Briscoe.
Murphy thought a moment. "Take Dagmar into custody. She's obviously lying."
How did Murphy come to this conclusion?

Scroll down for the answer.

Dagmar may have spied on Dawn most nights, but not this night as the fog made it impossible to see anything outside.