Euphemia Peterson, also known as Mrs. Peterson or Effie (as her village neighbors called her), lived alone in her house.
She was of advanced age, well over eighty, but appeared to be a sprightly, hardworking old woman. She wasn’t tall and was of average build. What set her apart from other elderly women in the village was her unusually long nose, which immediately caught attention upon meeting her, and a slight, noticeable stoop from old age.
Effie lived frugally and modestly, never indulging in extravagance. Her home was always clean and tidy. Her parents, long before their passing, had taught her: “Whatever you undertake with effort will shine.” Effie loved to repeat this saying. She kept a small homestead: a goat, a few chickens and ducks, and a garden behind the house. She had never shied away from work in her life and rose with the morning roosters, managing everything on her own. In summer, she ventured into the forest to gather mushrooms and blueberries, which she took to the local collection point in town.
The money she earned was modest, but that didn’t deter Effie. “I’m not going to lie around at home on the stove!” she always replied to sympathetic passersby. In winter, she knitted beautiful, warm, patterned mittens and socks from wool, which she sold at the local market. The wool was given to her for free by her friend and neighbor, Mary Thompson (also known as Mrs. Thompson), who, in addition to a goat, kept a couple of sheep. People bought Effie’s handmade goods, though sometimes she stood in the cold all day without selling a thing. Exhausted, Effie would fall asleep quickly in the evening.
Waking up, Effie couldn’t immediately grasp what was happening: someone struck her chest forcefully, pushing her onto the bed, and began roughly twisting her arms. A flashlight’s beam shone directly in her face, blinding her. She wanted to scream but couldn’t; someone clamped a hand over her mouth. Terrified, she squeezed her eyes shut, thinking, “This is it, they’ve come to kill me.” While one intruder pulled a thick fabric sack over Effie’s head and stuffed a rag in her mouth, the other bound her hands and feet with rope. Mentally preparing for death, Effie silently recited the Lord’s Prayer in her head.
Then the intruders stepped away from her and began searching the house. Effie realized there were two of them from the shuffling of their steps. She lay still, not making a sound, a faint hope flickering in her heart that they might leave her alive. “They’re probably looking for money. What if they find it? What then? Maybe they’ll leave without hurting me further? If they wanted to kill me, they would’ve strangled me already,” she reasoned to herself. Though she couldn’t see through the sack, she clearly heard them tossing aside the rags she used to cover her chest, the clatter of the chest’s lock being broken, and the rustle of a plastic bag. She knew that rustle well, as she often took out that bag to count the money she’d saved from her pension for a rainy day.
Every month, Effie added small-denomination bills to her savings: some from selling goat’s milk, some from berries and mushrooms, and, on the fifteenth of each month, a portion of her pension always went into the plastic bag. Suddenly, silence fell. “They’re probably inspecting their find,” Effie thought, silently praying to God that they would leave soon. And the thieves did leave, leaving Effie bound on the bed with the sack over her head. She heard their hurried steps fading away outside her window.
It was nighttime. Silence surrounded her. Effie lay there, crying from fear and resentment (she had saved that money for years, denying herself everything). Yet, at the same time, she was relieved to be alive, grateful that the robbers hadn’t tortured or killed her. She tried rolling onto her side, which felt easier, as she had been too afraid to move while the intruders were in the house, terrified of drawing attention and fearing she might end up paralyzed, her hands, feet, and neck numb. “I just need to wait until one of the neighbors comes,” she reassured herself. “Mrs. Thompson is supposed to stop by at seven in the morning; we agreed to take the goats to graze,” Effie recalled, but seven in the morning seemed an eternity away.
Silence enveloped her, her hands, feet, and entire body grew cold and numb, her cheeks wet with tears, breathing difficult, her head aching. Effie felt her blood pressure rising, a lump of tears in her throat, and the rag still in her mouth. It seemed to her that those few hours until morning were an eternity, and she began to doubt Mrs. Thompson would come. Effie lay as if in a delirium, unsure whether she was imagining or dreaming: she and her neighbor Mary sitting on the grass in the shade of a birch tree on a sunny day, their goats grazing nearby on the green meadow.
Suddenly, two tall, burly men approached, one shouting:
— Give us the money! Now!
Effie snapped awake, trembling even more, thinking: “The robbers are back, they’ve come to finish me off.”
— Effie, where are you? Still sleeping? Let’s go graze the goats! — her neighbor Mrs. Thompson shouted from the yard.
Hearing her friend Mary’s voice, Effie was overjoyed but couldn’t respond due to the rag in her mouth, managing only a faint moan.
— Go around to the back, Mary, through the yard! The door’s unlocked. The thieves left it open, — Effie mentally urged her friend.
But Mary stood at the front door for a few minutes, then knocked on the window. Getting no response, she lingered a bit longer before making a call on her mobile:
— Hello, John, there’s trouble. Effie’s passed away. I’ve been knocking for half an hour, and she’s not answering, and she doesn’t have a phone. Can you come? We need to do something.
Effie was relieved to hear this, even though Mary had already assumed her dead. “That means help will come soon, I just need to hold on a little longer,” Effie thought.
Half an hour later, a vehicle’s engine rumbled outside, sounding like the truck of the local council chairman, John Wilson. Everyone in the village recognized that sound. Effie then heard Mary’s voice again, repeating to John what she’d said on the phone. They entered the house but didn’t immediately notice Effie until they turned on the light. Mary, horrified, rushed to free her friend:
— Oh, you’re alive! Who did this to you, Effie? What kind of monsters would do this?
Effie couldn’t speak, and only after the rag was removed from her mouth and her hands untied did she point to the kettle on the stove. John quickly understood and brought her water. After a couple of sips, Effie burst into tears. For forty minutes, Mary comforted her while John stepped out to the porch to smoke and talk to someone on the phone. Returning, he asked:
— Well, Mrs. Peterson, tell us what happened.
Sobbing, Effie replied:
— They stole my savings.
— How much did they take? — John asked.
— Four hundred eighty-five thousand! — Effie answered.
— Wow! What did these crooks look like? — John continued.
— I couldn’t see them; they shone something in my eyes, a flashlight, I think. I only knew there were two of them by their footsteps, — Effie replied, wiping her tears.
John immediately called the police and reported the incident.
An hour and a half later, a police car pulled up to Effie’s house. Out stepped Investigator James Flint and the local constable, Officer Paul Reed. Both were tall and dressed in uniform. Flint was new to the investigative department, having transferred to the area six months ago, but he had already earned a positive reputation, having solved many cases. He was strict and reserved but dedicated to his work, as he had no family yet. Reed was older and lazier but knew every dog and bush in the area. His precinct covered several nearby villages, and as a long-time constable, Flint often relied on him for assistance. They questioned Effie for about fifteen minutes, then spent another fifteen inspecting the house and the broken chest. After taking her statement, Flint and Reed headed straight to the house of Stephen Walsh.
Stephen Walsh was hosting his close friend, Alexander Holt. Both had criminal records and were intoxicated at the time. Flint suspected them of the robbery and assault on Effie. They were immediately arrested and taken to the district police station. Rumors spread in the village that Effie’s robbers had been caught, and no one doubted it was Walsh and Holt. At the station, they were heavily interrogated, pressed to confess and reveal where the money was.
But the two stuck to their story and had an alibi. On the night of the robbery, they were drinking with two women, Margaret Kline and Anna Thornton, who later confirmed their story. Their neighbor, Victor Lane, had also come by to complain about loud music that night and later verified their alibi to the constable. By evening, Walsh and Holt were released. Flint was frustrated that the investigation was hitting a dead end and decided to visit Effie again.
— Maybe I missed something? There’s no one else in this village who’d rob her; it’s just a handful of pensioners, those two repeat offenders, and a couple of wayward divorcees, — he mused to himself.
The next day, he visited Effie again to question her in more detail. She confirmed the robbers didn’t smell of alcohol. Flint asked if she’d noticed anything unusual that night.
— Yes, it struck me as odd that the robbers entered the house so quietly. I didn’t even hear them, — she replied.
Flint sensed a lead in her words and prepared to head back to the station to review everything again.
— Young man, please try to find my money. I was saving it for a rainy day. What if I fall ill or die, and no one will care for me or bury me without money? — Effie pleaded.
— I’ll do my best. Don’t worry, social services handle elderly care these days. Don’t you have any family? — Flint asked.
— I have a daughter, — Effie replied.
— What’s her name and where does she live? — Flint pressed.
Effie gave her daughter’s name and address: a street and house number in the nearby city. That evening, Flint requested surveillance footage from the city’s police department for the night of the crime. It was confirmed that a car registered to Effie’s daughter’s husband left the city at one in the morning and returned around four. During a search of the garage at the daughter’s home, they found a bag with the stolen money.
Not all the money was there; the culprits had already spent some. Effie’s daughter, Ellen, later confessed that she and her husband wanted to renovate their house and buy a new car but lacked the funds. She considered her mother stingy and didn’t ask her for money.
A few months earlier, Effie had visited Ellen. Ellen asked her mother to take a bath, which Effie reluctantly agreed to, bringing her bag along. Ellen, offended, said:
— Mom, what’s that for? Why take your bag to the bathroom? Are you afraid we’ll steal from you?
Effie listened to her daughter and left the bag in the hallway, a decision she regretted. While Effie was in the bathroom, Ellen checked the bag, found the money, and was stunned to discover nearly half a million.
— Does she live on air, saving all her life? — Ellen wondered. — Though, with her garden, goat, and poultry, her expenses are minimal compared to city costs. After eighty, pensioners get a higher pension. She’s eighty-four. Where would she spend all that money? She’s saved a fortune.
After Effie returned to the village, the money haunted Ellen’s thoughts. She reasoned:
— Mom’s old and not all there anymore. If she dies or becomes incapacitated, someone will rummage through her house, find the money, and take it. There’s no proving it was hers. Asking her for money is pointless; she’s too stingy to help her own daughter. She’d rather choke than share. Why does she need all that money?
Ellen crossed a line. Her husband didn’t need much convincing; he liked the idea of a quick boost to their finances. They acted swiftly, knowing Effie’s house like the back of their hand. Ellen could navigate it blindfolded and find what she needed. They pulled it off quickly and returned home with the money before dawn.
Only one regretful thought, tinged with anger, lingered in Ellen’s mind:
— Why did we hide the money in that cursed garage?
Though Effie’s health had been declining lately (her blood pressure often spiked, and her hand and leg tremors worsened), she still attended the trial. Ellen couldn’t even lift her head to meet her mother’s eyes.
— Your Honor, it’s my fault. I didn’t give them money. They did it so others wouldn’t steal it. I’m old, I’ll die soon or, worse, become bedridden. My children will have to care for me and bury me. They didn’t mean harm; please let them go, — Effie pleaded with the judge.
The judge glanced at her, mentally smirked at her words, and delivered the harshest sentence.
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