SimonW
Well-known member
The second story featuring Detective Harry Stone. So far have only written what you see here. Hope to make more. Enjoy. 
For those newer to Detective Harry Stone, I recommend reading his first appearance in The Blue Locust Mystery.
Candy For A Dead Man
Mr. Keith Marley, otherwise known as The Confectionery King (due to the candy bars of his last name) had died approximately at ten past one in his office/Study of his main confectionery shipping building.
The speculation of his death was somewhat final because the doors and windows were locked. But something to Detective Harry Stone seemed somewhat amiss.
He surveyed the body of the forty five year old manufacturer and maker of Marley’s Candy Bars, the late Mr. Marley himself.
The body was dressed in a comfortable-looking grey business suit that included jacket and pants with a white shirt underneath, the collar of which was rumpled. Completing the ensemble of attire the late Mr. Marley wore as he died was a pair of dark grey socks and polished black shoes.
The body had not been disturbed, as far as Detective Stone could see. The victim was slumped forward on his desk, a wrapped brown bag looking untouched beside the hand where Mr. Marley held a half-eaten candy bar, one from his stock.
Detective Harry Stone was sitting in the chair opposite the body, observing it with great thought. Taking a puff from his cigarette, he knew the press would have a field day with this. He could see the headline now, “Candy King Killed Self In Office” or something to that effect. But Harry Stone knew he was getting ahead of himself. He was the one in charge of the investigation, despite the fact that even the crime scene boys seemed to have closed the book on this one. Purely a simple case of suicide.
It was no secret that Mr. Marley was distraught due to the fact several batches of his candy bars were contaminated. Even the employees and workers were afraid to touch a bar in case it was tainted.
‘Oh the merry king goes round and round only to find himself on the ground,’ thought Detective Stone grimly to himself.
Taking another breath in after sighing out his cigarette smoke, Detective Stone felt a nagging doubt in his mind. He was just not sure as the other police and crime scene scientists had been. And what aggravated Harry Stone most was that he did not know exactly what it was that made him so unsure.
Detective Harry Stone turned and left the office whilst still in thought as he entered the room where Mr. Marley’s secretary worked. A few other officers were around, one or two of which were interviewing a woman dressed in strict attire. She wore a grey overcoat with a white turtleneck and a long drab grey secretarial dress and smart black lady shoes.
The person who found the body was Mr. Marley’s secretary, a Miss Wilson whom seemed like a capable woman in her late fifties.
“I had found Mr. Marley at one. I was only going in to see if there was anything else I could do just before going out for my Lunch break,” muttered the distraught woman for the third time while trying to maintain her steel-like resolve.
She felt rather encumbered by the pressure of the police, not that she minded because she wanted this unpleasantness to be over as soon as possible. But the roundabout way the police seemed to be asking the same questions over and over again mildly ticked her off.
“Did Mr. Marley usually keep his door unlocked?” asked a young officer to Miss Wilson.
Miss Wilson seemed to do a sharp intake of breath lightly because this was another question already asked of her but she was not one to leave a question unanswered.
“Mr. Marley was a man who believed never to turn away visitors…even the unwanted ones. His office was like his home and his workers or family knew that if they ever needed to see him, they could at any time,” replied Miss Wilson crisply in a serious manner.
Believing they had gotten all they could after a few more questions, the officers left via the doorway to the outer hall of the Marley Bars Building.
Two patrolmen stayed outside guarding the outer door whilst Patrolman Bob Wallis stood next to Detective Stone by the inner door, being the patrolman on guard of the door to Mr. Marley’s inner office.
“Seems cut and dry sir,” remarked Bob Wallis to Detective Stone after the other officers had left and Miss Wilson looked relieved to no longer be barraged by repetitive questions.
“We shall see Bob, we shall see,” responded Detective Stone as he smirked slightly and took another puff of his cigarette.
“Oh, Miss Wilson?” queried Detective Stone as he walked forward whilst leaving a puzzled Bob Wallis to watch him in his stead.
Miss Wilson had walked to her desk and had picked up a few papers and file folders before her attention was drawn by the voice of Detective Stone. She glanced up at the shabby man wearing a brown overcoat and hat with a cigarette in his left hand.
“Yes, Detective…?” asked a befuddled Miss Wilson, her steely exterior gone for a slight moment and displayed the distressed woman who seemed to have almost run out of patience.
“Detective Stone. If you would be so kind to tell me, how long have you worked for Mr. Marley?”
Miss Wilson seemed at ease with this question and regained her composure. It was better than what the other officers had asked and this Detective Stone’s voice did not seem to have the hounding hint that she detected from the other cops. Adjusting the papers in her hands by tapping them lightly on her desk, Miss Wilson placed them down again and sat at her desk on her chair with the efficient elegance that senior secretaries possessed.
“I have worked for Mr. Marley’s company and family for over thirty years. Aside from my secretarial duties, Mr. Marley gave me the post of Housekeeper to his Estate. Any dealings with the house when I was away were taken care of by another of the Staff,” remarked Miss Wilson with an almost benevolent glare.
Detective Stone nodded slightly, almost as if he was absorbing all she said with his vacant expression.
“Yes, we know that. Did Mr. Marley expect company today?” Detective Stone asked as he took another puff on his cigarette.
“Mr. Marley’s visitors were never put on file, unless it was a new employee or company representative,” said Miss Wilson after a few seconds of consideration. “As far as I can recall, he received at least two new workers-in-training and one new company representative.”
Detective Stone rubbed his stubble chin in thought whilst holding his lit cigarette in his other hand.
“And what of old employees?” he finally asked after a few seconds of rubbing his chin before placing his cigarette back within his mouth, the tip once more aglow with renewed breath.
Miss Wilson appeared to mull the question over, her brisk business-like mind almost struggling to remember.
“As far as I can tell you, only one old employee paid a visit to Mr. Marley’s office,” she responded with a slight grimace.
“Really? That interests me a great deal. What was the man’s name?” asked Detective Stone as he rested his cigarette upon his pursed lips to allow himself to take out his notepad and pencil from the folds of his over-worn long coat.
Miss Wilson did not hold back her disdain at such an untidy appearance but could tell the detective was not one to care for personal grooming habits and merely gave a small frown of disapproval before replying.
“His name is Albert Jenkins, a senior employee,” remarked Miss Wilson, her efficient manner not deterring Detective Stone from scribbling busily into his notepad as she replied to his question.
“And your opinion of Mr. Jenkins?” suddenly asked Detective Stone, glancing up from his notepad. His pencil was hovering at the ready whilst his lit cigarette lingered smoke from between his wavering lips as he tried to talk.
Miss Wilson was caught off-guard and for a brief second or two she did not say anything before responding.
“I have no opinion of Mr. Jenkins. I do not socialize with the workers of the factory,” she said in a candid tone, her voice firm with conviction that she did not approve of “work relations” when they were not needed.
“I understand, Miss Wilson. Did Mr. Marley often get visits from his staff?” asked Detective Stone, his hand scribbling more notes.
“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. Mr. Marley was a benevolent man. He allowed his workers to see him in any time of need. Whether it be a time of crisis, work related or not,” replied Miss Wilson candidly. “But, Detective Stone, why are you inquiring into what is considered a simple suicide case?”
Detective Harry Stone glanced up after his hand stopped writing in his notepad and as soon as Miss Wilson finished with her own question to him.
“Because, Miss Wilson…it is not a simple case anymore, not to me,” he replied with an almost sly smirk as he puffed out more smoke from his slightly parted lips. “A man known to be distraught yet also known to be a fair boss and benevolent seems hardly likely in this case to be known to commit suicide. A man accustomed to leaving his door unlocked, that hardly matches with what we know to be true today,” he said as he walked over to the outer door.
“Also, I do not believe a man who would be contemplating suicide would order lunch, Miss Wilson. Good day,” added Detective Harry Stone just before pocketing his notebook and tipping his hat lightly to Miss Wilson. He walked out of the outer office with the smirk still plastered to his face, a trail of cigarette smoke lingering as he left.
(to be continued...)
For those newer to Detective Harry Stone, I recommend reading his first appearance in The Blue Locust Mystery.
Candy For A Dead Man
Mr. Keith Marley, otherwise known as The Confectionery King (due to the candy bars of his last name) had died approximately at ten past one in his office/Study of his main confectionery shipping building.
The speculation of his death was somewhat final because the doors and windows were locked. But something to Detective Harry Stone seemed somewhat amiss.
He surveyed the body of the forty five year old manufacturer and maker of Marley’s Candy Bars, the late Mr. Marley himself.
The body was dressed in a comfortable-looking grey business suit that included jacket and pants with a white shirt underneath, the collar of which was rumpled. Completing the ensemble of attire the late Mr. Marley wore as he died was a pair of dark grey socks and polished black shoes.
The body had not been disturbed, as far as Detective Stone could see. The victim was slumped forward on his desk, a wrapped brown bag looking untouched beside the hand where Mr. Marley held a half-eaten candy bar, one from his stock.
Detective Harry Stone was sitting in the chair opposite the body, observing it with great thought. Taking a puff from his cigarette, he knew the press would have a field day with this. He could see the headline now, “Candy King Killed Self In Office” or something to that effect. But Harry Stone knew he was getting ahead of himself. He was the one in charge of the investigation, despite the fact that even the crime scene boys seemed to have closed the book on this one. Purely a simple case of suicide.
It was no secret that Mr. Marley was distraught due to the fact several batches of his candy bars were contaminated. Even the employees and workers were afraid to touch a bar in case it was tainted.
‘Oh the merry king goes round and round only to find himself on the ground,’ thought Detective Stone grimly to himself.
Taking another breath in after sighing out his cigarette smoke, Detective Stone felt a nagging doubt in his mind. He was just not sure as the other police and crime scene scientists had been. And what aggravated Harry Stone most was that he did not know exactly what it was that made him so unsure.
Detective Harry Stone turned and left the office whilst still in thought as he entered the room where Mr. Marley’s secretary worked. A few other officers were around, one or two of which were interviewing a woman dressed in strict attire. She wore a grey overcoat with a white turtleneck and a long drab grey secretarial dress and smart black lady shoes.
The person who found the body was Mr. Marley’s secretary, a Miss Wilson whom seemed like a capable woman in her late fifties.
“I had found Mr. Marley at one. I was only going in to see if there was anything else I could do just before going out for my Lunch break,” muttered the distraught woman for the third time while trying to maintain her steel-like resolve.
She felt rather encumbered by the pressure of the police, not that she minded because she wanted this unpleasantness to be over as soon as possible. But the roundabout way the police seemed to be asking the same questions over and over again mildly ticked her off.
“Did Mr. Marley usually keep his door unlocked?” asked a young officer to Miss Wilson.
Miss Wilson seemed to do a sharp intake of breath lightly because this was another question already asked of her but she was not one to leave a question unanswered.
“Mr. Marley was a man who believed never to turn away visitors…even the unwanted ones. His office was like his home and his workers or family knew that if they ever needed to see him, they could at any time,” replied Miss Wilson crisply in a serious manner.
Believing they had gotten all they could after a few more questions, the officers left via the doorway to the outer hall of the Marley Bars Building.
Two patrolmen stayed outside guarding the outer door whilst Patrolman Bob Wallis stood next to Detective Stone by the inner door, being the patrolman on guard of the door to Mr. Marley’s inner office.
“Seems cut and dry sir,” remarked Bob Wallis to Detective Stone after the other officers had left and Miss Wilson looked relieved to no longer be barraged by repetitive questions.
“We shall see Bob, we shall see,” responded Detective Stone as he smirked slightly and took another puff of his cigarette.
“Oh, Miss Wilson?” queried Detective Stone as he walked forward whilst leaving a puzzled Bob Wallis to watch him in his stead.
Miss Wilson had walked to her desk and had picked up a few papers and file folders before her attention was drawn by the voice of Detective Stone. She glanced up at the shabby man wearing a brown overcoat and hat with a cigarette in his left hand.
“Yes, Detective…?” asked a befuddled Miss Wilson, her steely exterior gone for a slight moment and displayed the distressed woman who seemed to have almost run out of patience.
“Detective Stone. If you would be so kind to tell me, how long have you worked for Mr. Marley?”
Miss Wilson seemed at ease with this question and regained her composure. It was better than what the other officers had asked and this Detective Stone’s voice did not seem to have the hounding hint that she detected from the other cops. Adjusting the papers in her hands by tapping them lightly on her desk, Miss Wilson placed them down again and sat at her desk on her chair with the efficient elegance that senior secretaries possessed.
“I have worked for Mr. Marley’s company and family for over thirty years. Aside from my secretarial duties, Mr. Marley gave me the post of Housekeeper to his Estate. Any dealings with the house when I was away were taken care of by another of the Staff,” remarked Miss Wilson with an almost benevolent glare.
Detective Stone nodded slightly, almost as if he was absorbing all she said with his vacant expression.
“Yes, we know that. Did Mr. Marley expect company today?” Detective Stone asked as he took another puff on his cigarette.
“Mr. Marley’s visitors were never put on file, unless it was a new employee or company representative,” said Miss Wilson after a few seconds of consideration. “As far as I can recall, he received at least two new workers-in-training and one new company representative.”
Detective Stone rubbed his stubble chin in thought whilst holding his lit cigarette in his other hand.
“And what of old employees?” he finally asked after a few seconds of rubbing his chin before placing his cigarette back within his mouth, the tip once more aglow with renewed breath.
Miss Wilson appeared to mull the question over, her brisk business-like mind almost struggling to remember.
“As far as I can tell you, only one old employee paid a visit to Mr. Marley’s office,” she responded with a slight grimace.
“Really? That interests me a great deal. What was the man’s name?” asked Detective Stone as he rested his cigarette upon his pursed lips to allow himself to take out his notepad and pencil from the folds of his over-worn long coat.
Miss Wilson did not hold back her disdain at such an untidy appearance but could tell the detective was not one to care for personal grooming habits and merely gave a small frown of disapproval before replying.
“His name is Albert Jenkins, a senior employee,” remarked Miss Wilson, her efficient manner not deterring Detective Stone from scribbling busily into his notepad as she replied to his question.
“And your opinion of Mr. Jenkins?” suddenly asked Detective Stone, glancing up from his notepad. His pencil was hovering at the ready whilst his lit cigarette lingered smoke from between his wavering lips as he tried to talk.
Miss Wilson was caught off-guard and for a brief second or two she did not say anything before responding.
“I have no opinion of Mr. Jenkins. I do not socialize with the workers of the factory,” she said in a candid tone, her voice firm with conviction that she did not approve of “work relations” when they were not needed.
“I understand, Miss Wilson. Did Mr. Marley often get visits from his staff?” asked Detective Stone, his hand scribbling more notes.
“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. Mr. Marley was a benevolent man. He allowed his workers to see him in any time of need. Whether it be a time of crisis, work related or not,” replied Miss Wilson candidly. “But, Detective Stone, why are you inquiring into what is considered a simple suicide case?”
Detective Harry Stone glanced up after his hand stopped writing in his notepad and as soon as Miss Wilson finished with her own question to him.
“Because, Miss Wilson…it is not a simple case anymore, not to me,” he replied with an almost sly smirk as he puffed out more smoke from his slightly parted lips. “A man known to be distraught yet also known to be a fair boss and benevolent seems hardly likely in this case to be known to commit suicide. A man accustomed to leaving his door unlocked, that hardly matches with what we know to be true today,” he said as he walked over to the outer door.
“Also, I do not believe a man who would be contemplating suicide would order lunch, Miss Wilson. Good day,” added Detective Harry Stone just before pocketing his notebook and tipping his hat lightly to Miss Wilson. He walked out of the outer office with the smirk still plastered to his face, a trail of cigarette smoke lingering as he left.
(to be continued...)
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