Next, Max called the janitor, Martin into the improvised interrogation room as usual, he tried to read the man before him as he sat on the chair.

He was a rather tall man with good physical alertness but as he walked towards the chair, he limped on his left leg. He had a big scar running across his right cheek. His head was completely devoid of hair. His expression was serious and purposeful and every move he made even as he walked and sat was with a definite purpose. He wore a long sleeved shirt which he folded to expose a scarred forearm.

Max welcomed him and sat on his own seat.

"You are the janitor of the house, Martin?"

The man sitting before him nodded.
"So tell me what little you know about your late employer." He added.

"Okay," Martin replied, "well I've been in his service for over two years and all I know is he's a very successful and hardworking man with a small family and routine lifestyle. You know, He really does treat us workers well and never let us lack. It's so sad that he's dead which I still find myself with in difficulty to believe.

"But you see, as the saying goes, the good ones never lasts. I really do hope you find the killer, detective. Nevertheless, the wrathful vengeance of God shall inevitably befall all unscrupulous and cold blooded murderers." He spoke quite passionately.

Max regarded him. The man had a slight accent, like someone who's mother tongue was not english but yet spoke the language well.

"Where are you from, Mr Martin?" Max asked.

"The southern part of the country, sir. The Itsekiri tribe."

Max admitted he didn't really know much about the people.

"Well, I can see You speak with so much passion, Mr. Martin. You must have been really close to him."

"Well, you see, detective, we all loved the man. He was that good to us all."
"I quite understand. you say he has a routine way of life? Can you be more elaborate?"

"My boss, may his soul rest in peace, was a very hardworking and principled man. He kept to time, woke up early and stayed up late most nights. Do you know he kept the window of his study open when he read at night? Says the night air is refreshing, medicine to his aging bones, that's what he said."

Max eyes lit up. "And how did you come to know about this, Mr. Martin?"

The janitor shrugged: "Of course, I have been here long enough and he had often rang me to his study at late hours.

"Do you think that's how the murderer had come in, through the window?"

"As a matter of fact, sir, all I can say is it is indeed plausible."

"If I follow you correctly, you are not perfectly sure Jason committed the crime if you think someone could have gained entrance from the window."

"Well, it's not for me to say, sir."

Max gave up that line of interrogation. "Were you in the house all through last night?"

Martin nodded.

"Tell me all you know from the morning of yesterday up to this morning," said Max.

"Madam traveled yesterday morning," the janitor replied. "I remember her saying she may not return till today. The driver came and drove Mr. Murvelli off to his day's activities. Everything was normal. The gardener came and left early as he was tending to his sick daughter. It was myself, Jason and the cook, Beatrice in the house. I swept the compound and inside the house.

"Everything was normal until the evening. Mr. Murvelli returned from work at about five in the evening and after dinner about 9pm we could all hear the man and his son raising their voices at each other. It was obvious it had to do with money. Not very long after that I heard the man ring the bell, summoning the cook for his customary coffee at night. Nothing was heard again and I went to my room by eleven after making sure all the doors were locked. It had started raining and I was quick to fall asleep. I experienced nothing in the night until I woke up this morning due to the cry of Jason at his rather gruesome discovery."

"How many times do you clean the house?" Max asked after a pause.

"I sweep everyday and clean the furniture but I only mop the rooms on Saturdays."

"And since you mopped last Saturday, have you mopped again up till now?"

"Of course not. I'll be due next tomorrow again being Saturday."

"Does anyone else mop or clean the house other than you?"

"No sir, the duty falls entirely on me."
Max felt silent and thought for a moment before speaking up again.

"Mr. Martin. I want you to be honest with me. Did Jason kill his father?"

"If he didn't, well, It will be a very strange affair indeed," the tall man replied.

"You said yourself that the deceased sometimes leave his window open at night. Perhaps Someone could have had a reason to kill him, and had come in through the window? Envy, perhaps. You said so yourself."

"Well, detective, I do not know much about the people he meets when he's out of the house. I'm mostly indoors as I have no family of my own."

"What about his employees here in the house. What do you think of them. Do you think anyone of them could have murdered their employer?"

Martin sprang up from his chair. "I loved and admired the man. He was good to us all, kept us fed and clothed, what reason would anyone of us have to murder him?"

"You're speaking for yourself, Mr Martin."

"But of course," the tall limping man exclaimed, "only myself, his son the cook and the security at the gate were at home that night. The cook is a frightened woman, you should see her."

"Jason was the one who discovered his father death, right?"

"Of course, he was." There was deep emotion written all over the janitor's face. One of loss and bitterness.

Max was about saying something. He thought for a moment and changed his mind. "Before coming into the service of the deceased, what were you doing?"

The tall janitor was slow to speak. "I was the only child of a poor couple. I lost both parents in a train accident. Ever since I've done odd jobs for people such as cleaning and waiting at hotels and restaurants until getting this job here."

"Have you ever done strenuous and laborious work?"

"Not really, sir. I've always worked at restaurants and hotels."

"What happened to your left leg?" Max asked, pointing a finger.

"My left leg? Oh, that. I--It was during an accident actually." the janitor chuckled sheepishly while glancing at the leg. "Yes, I fell off a steep flight of stairs when I was 18. How stupid and careless of me."

Max rose up from his chair and walked up to him.

"Do you smoke, mr. Martin?"

The janitor shook his head. "No no, I don't."

"Good. It's not a very good thing for one's health, you know. Well, that will be all for now, Mr Martin. Thanks so much for your time and do accept my deepest condolences."

He reached out to shake the man's hand, gently rubbing and feeling his strong coarse palm.

"It's my pleasure to help the police in any way I can, detective." Martin smiled as he pulled his hand away from Max and turned towards the door.

"Please, call in the security as you go."