As the heavily clothed Cyril came into the interrogation room, the first thing Max observed about him was the black eye patch tied around his head, covering his right eye. He was not a tall man, was thick set with an air of immense agility about him. Also there was a deep scar at the back of his neck.

He kept his head completely devoid of hair. The tip of his fingernails were quite dark, the detective observed, having sand underneath each of the nails. 'Gardening?' Max thought.

Also the top of his right ear lobe was torn. The rest part of his body was much covered.

Max could feel that sensation again, something nagging on his subconscious. Something seemingly obvious.

They shook hands and sat down.

"You're the Cyril, the gardener," Max said, "Correct?"

The man sitting before him nodded.

"How long have you been in the service of the deceased and how much do you know him?"

"I've been here for about a year and half now. I was badly in need of a job as I am a single dad so I went from place to place seeking for whatever job I could get. As I was uneducated and inexperienced it was hard getting anything really good whatsoever. But at last I heard a gardener was needed at the Murvelli mansion and so I came along in a hurry.

"I know little about the man save that he was wealthy and very successful, and had a son with his first wife. I am not always present in the mansion so I know little of him personally but I can tell you he seemed to be a very good-natured fellow."

The man spoke in a foreign accent clearly. Max asked him where he was from and he said Benin Republic. He came to Nigeria being a neighboring nation, in a quest to seek greener pastures.

"Perhaps, you didn't really like your employer and you had to kill him." the detective was lighting a cigarette dmas he said this.

"For the love of God! why in the world would I want to get rid of the only person who pays me more wages than I deserve?" Cyril exlaimed, throwing his arms in the air. "By the way how could I have done it even if I wanted to?"

"Hmm." Max throated and puffed a ring of smoke from his lips and stared into the eyes of the gardener. "Do not ask me that question."

Cyril shook his head and said nothing.

"Who do you think murdered your employer?" Max asked.

"I thought you people already arrested the prime suspect. I don't think anyone else has a reason for killing him."

"And why don't you think so?"

"Well, from all I know he seems to be of good repute and honor."

"Hmm, I see. So tell me all you know from the day the boy came to the house up till this morning."

"That's quite simple as I have very little to tell, and nothing of importance I may add. I wasn't at the mansion when he came that Tuesday. I only saw him the next morning when I came to trim the flowers and remove the weeds. Madam was not in the house when I came and I left again early as I had to take care of my sick daughter. I rushed down here as soon as I heard the sad news."

Max got up and paced about with slow strides.

"I'm sorry about your daughter. Did Murvelli know she was sick?"

"Yes, I told him."

"And?"

"And he gave me money to take her to hospital."

"Is she at the hospital now?"

"Some drugs were recommend which I bought. She's as home and responding quite alright."

"I'll like to come see her to give her my heartfelt wishes," Max cut in.

"Well, the doctor says for her to rest and have enough sleep. Here's her photo though. But if you insist I can take you to the house."

He brought out a little photograph from his pocket. He was in the picture with an arm around a skinny and innocent looking girl of about 8 who just stared remotely at the camera.

"That's alright," Max said satisfactorily after observing the photo with much scrutiny. "Pray tell me, how did you get blind in one eye and sustain such injuries that left such horrible scars on your body?"

"Scars. Bloody injuries. They make me look very ugly don't they? A bastard hurt me real bad in a kickboxing fight. Real bad, I tell you. But damn it was my all fault. I never saw it coming."

There was much resentment in his voice as he said it.

"Can I see it?" Max asked. "The eye I mean, if you don't mind."

"Of course," said the one eyed gardener.

He removed the piece of eye patch from his head. In the place where an eye should have been was a monstrous layer of skin, where the lids have been patched together. It gave the man such a horrid aura and Max asked him to place the mask back on.

"You do smoke, don't you, Mr Cyril?" asked the detective.

The man looked shocked. "No, I don't. Why?"

"Then what do you do with the lighter in your breast pocket?" The man was broadchested and his shirt fitted him quite tightly. Max had seen a rectangular outline on the man's breastpocket, the size of a cigarette lighter and had made a good guess.

"Oh, that," Cyril chuckled. "You should know as the gardener I have to burn the unwanted plant materials I cut off. When I cut the grasses and trim the flowers, I burn them. For that, I have this lighter handy.

Max smiled and bowed. "Of course," he said standing up quite satisfied.

It was almost four pm when Max dismissed him and called in the last witness, the cook.