Max drove quickly back to the station.

On getting there he immediately went to the cell to speak with Jason. Michelle was nowhere to be found. Jason wasn't very excited to see him either. In fact, he was indifferent.

"So?" he asked, looking up at the detective.

"Things are not looking any brighter for you, I'm afraid." Max replied.

The boy sighed.

"You lied to me." said Max.

The boy was surprised. "Lie? I don't know what the hell you're talking about, I told you everything there was to tell."

"You were seen exiting your father's room by 3:17am and going to your room."

"Damn it, that's impossible. I was asleep by that time for crying out loud. It very well could not have been me. I only woke up this morning at six and that's the truth."

Again, Max could sense the honesty and passion in his voice and the way he wrinkled his forehead in ignorance of the allegation.

"The bottle you told me about," Max remarked, "it has mysteriously disappeared."

"Does it matter?" Jason cried. "Everyone including you, my only ray of hope, think I killed my father. My own father and the only family I have."

Max felt pity on him. All the nerves in his body were convinced there had to be another explanation. Something kept tugging at his inner consciousness, deep in his subconscious. A word, but he couldn't quite lay his finger on it.

"One more thing," he said. "When you entered his room this morning, was the window of his study open?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't really take note of that as the only thing of concern was my dad."

"That's okay."

He left the cell and went to the chief's office. The plasma TV on the wall was on and a newscaster was reading the news.

The pot bellied Kennedy was already preparing to close for the day when Max knocked and entered his office.

They both sat down and after some pleasantries, Max asked him if the police that had gone to the mansion that morning had gone near the window. It was negative. Nobody had touched the window. Then Max recounted all that he has learnt from the household.

"Can you still not see," said the chief inspector, "that the boy is simply playing on your intelligence? He killed the man with the dagger and that was how he got his fingerprint on the dagger, plain and simple. The cook saw him walking suspiciously from the victim's room at an ungodly hour. That is enough evidence to convict any man."

"I quite agree with you," Max replied. "But have you been one-to-one with the suspect? He is not stupid. Maybe a bit wreckless but not so stupid as to leave a bloody dagger with his fingerprint for everyone to find. He is more intelligent than that."

The inspector reclined back on his chair. "Well, I admit you may have a point there. But who would benefit from the man's death? Surely the son. He may have known about the will and so became impatient to lay claim to his father's wealth. Perhaps he didn't even have intention of murder. Perhaps he went to his father late in the night to discuss again and then things went sideways. Out of rage, He picked up the weapon he saw and stabbed the man twice. The boy ran into shock, left the dagger on his father's body and ran back to his room."

"I like your line of thinking, Chief" said Max. "But did you see the position of the victim on the crime scene?"

"Photos were taken by my boys. I saw them."

"You saw how the man was sitting quite comfortably in his chair with a burnt cigarette stub between his fingers. If you saw someone coming at you with a dagger, would you remain in your chair so comfortably?"
"I do not know where you're driving at," Chief Kennedy remarked.

"Okay I'll tell you. Poisoning." Max said with utmost confidence.

The chief inspector appeared taken aback. "Poisoning? But the man was stabbed, surely not poisoned? By the way who would poison someone and then stab him?"

"There are many possibilities, Chief. What do you think?"

"Well if it's poisoning, it could have been the cook. As you found out, the cook said she brought coffee to the man that night and Jason attested to that fact."

"Yes she did. But you should have seen her. She looks very scared. Not someone who would really hurt the flies in her kitchen. She couldn't have poisoned the man knowing fully well that suspicion would be on her, being that she is most often the last person to give the man something to drink every night."

"Perhaps," the potbellied inspector cut in, "she poisoned him and when he became weak, she stabbed him."

"Your theories are very biased, Chief, I'm sorry to say. You take a suspect and try to fit that person into your theory. You try to alter the facts and fit them into your theory but that ought not to be so. You have to put into account all the facts and then fit your theory to the facts, and not the other way round.

"Lets start with the cigarette stub. A half burnt cigarette was on the table. Take note; half burnt. And there was a completely burnt cigarette stub in the dead man's fingers. Could he have lit another cigarette when he had not finished smoking the first one? I don't think so.

"And also, I'll bet he never smoked the cigarette stub between his fingers. Someone else who smokes did. That person then put the stub in the dead man's hand to make fun of him, and then it burned till it got to his fingers. This smoker, that is the unknown criminal, needed to smoke as it was a cold night, meaning he spent some quality time with the victim before or after execution."

"From your inquest," the inspector remarked, "only the driver admits he smokes."

"That is so."

"Meaning there is concrete evidence against him."

Max nodded in agreement. "I'd say the same. Strong, but not enough. The gardener, Cyril has a lighter but he denied been a smoker. He may be telling the truth but who knows? Anyway we have to find motive and make a theory that fits the facts. To convict someone of murder, you have to prove beyond every reasonable doubt that they commited the crime. Facts, evidence, motive. Of all these, only the motive of the son is clear."

"The janitor." The inspector cut in. "Is there nothing against him?"

"I have given you all the details of my findings. About the floor. About his character and physical appearance. What can you make of it all?"

The inspector thought for a moment. "He limps, yes. He cleans and sweeps the house and mops the floors every Saturday."

"And?" Max was almost smiling.
The chief inspector was getting annoyed.

"Okay I'll tell you," said Max. "he mops only saturdays and claimed not to have mopped since last Saturday. Today is Thursday. When I got to the study, I noticed the floor was unusually clean. Probably mopped recently. He may or may not have mopped it, but what reason has he to lie about it? Perhaps someone else, the actual criminal, had mopped the floor to eliminate evidence."

"This gets more and more annoying," chief inspector Kennedy spat.

"There is the missing bottle which the dead man always drank at night. We do not know it's content or whereabout. And then the window. There was a recent trail of mud which must have gotten there last night, as The janitor always keeps the house clean. Remember it rained that night. Mud could not have gotten up there unless someone had gotten in through the window, therefore staining the window sill with mud which his or her shoes have picked up from the wet ground.

"The scratch I saw on the window sill must have been caused by a hook thrown by the unknown suspect in order to climb up to that floor, as you know it is a duplex."

"The cook said she saw the window shut when she brought in the coffee."

"I was just coming to that," Max quickly interjected. "Someone had opened the window. Someone from within-"

He had barely finished when there was a knock at the door and in came in the secretary with several files on her hand. She said it was for Max about everything he had asked for. She dropped it on the table and left.

Max checked the content. The first Max read was about the deceased, Anthony Murvelli. From the document, it was established that nothing was known of him until age thirty-two when he first married and started his Gold business. There was nothing about his childhood, parents or siblings, nothing at all.

***********************************

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