Max went to see the chief inspector in his office.

"How did it go?" inspector Kennedy asked.

"Ah," replied Max, I've yet done nothing but I'll like to speak with the accused officially. I know how sure you are of your conclusion of the crime and the criminal, but could you please give me the benefit of doubt to interrogate the suspect?"

"That should be the duty of the court at the trial, but if you wish I'll authorize you to speak with him in the interrogation room. But I promise you he's either going to keep denying and lying, or he'll offer you nothing but silence. Go on, satisfy your own curiosity."

"Thanks, chief," Max bowed and left the office.

********

They were seated at the dimly lit interrogation room. Max faced the slim built suspect seated opposite him, a rectangular table stretching between them, and he weighed the boy.

The boy seemed uneasy, at the same time placid. He had the composure of a confident man, yet when he spoke, nervousness and apprehension was under his breath.

"I know you all think I am a murderer now," he said breaking the silence. "I'm gonna hang, ain't I?

"That's if you are truly a murderer," Max answered."

"Is that not what you all think? They already told me whatever I say may be used against me in the court of law. You are here because you want to get something from me, perhaps manipulate me to admit guilt of the crime. I know what you detectives do."

"How do you know I'm a detective?"

"Do not ask me."

"It would be helpful for us both if we don't get on each others nerves."

"Suit yourself," Jason said with a fling of his arm.

Max could perceive the apprehension masked beneath the boy's cockiness.

"You are Jason Murvelli, only child of Mr. Anthony Murvelli?"

"Right," Jason nodded.

"You are aware that you stand accused of murdering your own father. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"I did not kill him."

"Then who did?"

"I do not know."

I've been told what happened and I've read your statement but I also want to hear everything from you lips."

"Everything? Isn't the most important thing the identity of the actual criminal? But unfortunately I cannot help you with that. I know nothing save for the fact I would never kill my own father."

Max took his time before speaking again. "Well, would you be so good as to relate to me the series of events since the day you came home up till this morning?"

"Very well then, I will."

Max got out his notepad ready to jot down.

Jason leaned back in his chair, placed his cuffed hands on the table and turned his gaze away from the detective before speaking.

"I had come home from school that Tuesday afternoon, the day before yesterday," he began. "There was Usman the security, Beatrice the cook, and Martin the janitor, who told me that Cyril the the gardener was away tending to his sick daughter. There was my dad's wife as well.

"My father returned from work late in the evening and we had dinner and small talk and that was that. The next day which was yesterday, my dad's wife got out of town. That night I went to my dad's room to talk with him during which we got into a little argument and I returned to my room. This morning at about six, I woke up and I went to my dad's room. He was dead, stabbed twice to be precise."

"You say it with little or no emotion whatsoever." the detective remarked.

Jason shrugged.

"What did you and your father argue about?" Max had stood up and walked over behind Jason.

"I think that's a little personal."

"This is a police case and it's a matter of life and death. Your life or death! I think nothing should be considered personal or inconsequential now!" Max almost did well to conceal his annoyance with the suspect.

"Well," said Jason, throwing a quick glance at Max, "I actually had come home because I was in need of money for funding my final year school project. I kept pleading with him to help me out but he wouldn't bulge. I mean for Christ sake he was my dad and it was not as if he didn't have the money but he was always being so hard on me and I guess it got me so angry that evening." The frustration was evident on his face. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.

"And then you killed him."
Max had been pacing behind Jason but now he stopped and watched him closely.

Jason sighed: "No matter how angry I get, I still couldn't have brought myself to murder my own father."

"I see." Max held a finger to his lower jaw and started pacing again. "So after the argument what happened?"

"I stormed out of the room in anger and went to bed. I received a call but I was too mad to pick up. Yes, I remember my phone was displaying 9:17pm. There were rumblings in the sky as well telling of an impending storm."

"And you never went into the room again?"

"Not until this morning at past six."

"Why?"

"Oh Christ!" Jason fumed. "Let's just say I woke up with a heavy heart and I needed to make peace with him. I went to greet him and probably apologize and then I discovered the calamity."

"You said you received a call last night. From who?"

"My girlfriend. But I didn't want to talk so I never picked up."

"She never mentioned that when we talked."

"You've met her?"

"Maybe I wouldn't have been trying to help you if I hadn't."

"You call this help?"

"What's the position of your room to your dad's?" Max ignored the rudeness of the lad.

"There's a spare room opposite his, and mine is adjacent to the spare room. My room is at the far end of the right wing of the mansion."

Max scribbled that down.
"Did you hear anything during the night?" He asked.

"Just the rain and the hissing of the wind."

"That means you were awake."

"Well it was hard falling asleep. I didn't know what to do."

"Amidst that you heard nothing at all? Nothing?"

"I've already said-" Jason paused. "oh well," he continued, "I guess that doesn't count."

"What doesn't?"

Jason wrinkled his forehead and then dropped it on his cuffed hands.

"My father often keep late nights. I've often noticed him working on his computer or reading books till past 1am in his study. He takes coffee every night, coffee brought in by the cook. He also has a bottle of liquid medicine which he drinks too. It keeps him from sleeping. You'll find that on his shelf in his study."

"So?"

"I remember hearing a knock most likely on my father's door. I suppose it was the cook bringing in the coffee."

"Do you remember what time it was?"

"I can't say exactly but it couldn't have been more than an hour after I had left the room."

"Let's put it as at between 10pm and 11pm then. Come to think of it, did your father always leave his door unbolted so that anyone can come and go as they will?"

"Not really. He locks it sometimes. Other times he leaves it unlocked but then you have to knock and get permission to come in. Says he doesn't have anything worth stealing in his chambers."

"Thank you. How many people lives in the house?"

"Myself, my dad, his wife who wasn't around yesterday, the janitor, the cook, and the security. The gardener sleeps in the mansion once in a while but only seldomly. My father has a driver but he doesn't live in the house. He only comes in the mornings and evenings."

"One more thing," Max asked, "The weapon of murder, the dagger, have you ever seen it before?"

"No I haven't."

"How then did your fingerprint get onto it?"

Max was watching the boy very keenly. He noticed his thumb twitch before he replied: "I really do not know."

"Are you sure?"

"I swear to God I did not kill my father and I do not know who did. I was the one who discovered him dead and that's all I know." Jason was almost mopping.

It was in Max's will to believe him.

"When you discovered him dead, how was he positioned? Tell me what you saw."

Jason sighed. "What I saw... What I saw was gruesome, horrifying. As I entered into his study, He was seated on his chair, quite comfortably, with his back towards me. I was surprised that he was still seated in his study at such an early hour. It was when I saw blood on the floor that I realized all was not well. I ran forward and saw what had happened. His face was white as snow, eyes bulging out of their sockets, mouth opened in fright, with blood on both sides. His clothes were soaked in blood. There was a stub of cigarette in between the fingers of his left hand and a blood stained dagger lying upon his thighs but I swear to God I didn't touch it. Then I screamed and called in the household."

Max was glaring at the boy, imagining his expression when he had seen the whole thing. Max agreed it was quite horrifying. He looked away.

"Did your father smoke cigarettes?" he inquired.

The boy was about to answer and then hesitated and wrinkled his forehead as if an idea just hit him. "Come to think of it, my father hardly ever smokes. I've seen him a few times smoking marijuana though. Cigarettes, hardly."

"That will be all for now." said the detective.

At that instant Max knew there was more to the case.

*******

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