Candy For A Dead Man

( chapter 4, part 3… )

“Sorry for the intrusion, sir. Thought you might want to see this,” announced Patrolman Bob Wallis as he stood in front of the sitting down Detective Harry Stone and produced four files from his police jacket that had the same file folder system of Joey Marley’s employment record.
Patrolman Bob Wallis allowed the files he held to fall on top of the late Mr. Marley’s desk in front of Detective Harry Stone, whom looked at the top of the files with mild interest.
“And what exactly are these?” the lead detective asked whilst gesturing towards the four files with folders in front of him.
“Miss Wilson thought they may be of help, sir. They are the work files of the workers that had an appointment with the victim,” Patrolman Bob Wallis stated with tact.
“True, she did say he had several visitors. Thank you, Bob. And if you see her again, thank Miss Wilson for these too,” Harry Stone muttered as an afterthought as he started musing his thoughts once more.
“Will do, Sir,” replied sharply Bob Wallis before saluting and retreating back towards his post, leaving Detective Harry Stone back to his thoughts and the new evidence in front of him.
The Manila folders seemed to taunt Detective Harry Stone, as if daring him to try and find a breadcrumb of a clue within them. Undaunted by the unsaid challenge within his mind, Detective Harry Stone took a resolute puff upon his lit cigarette before he took the topmost file within his hands and opened it to read the contents.

( to be continued… )
 
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( chapter 4, part 4… )

The file had a dossier of sorts, showing a list of achievements and accomplishments within. The files of white papers were at least six pages long. Raising his eyebrow with scepticism at such glowing accolades, Detective Harry Stone merely skimmed over the detailed text and focused upon the initial first page for reference. Apparently, it was the file for one of the newly hired employees of Marley’s Candy Bars, a confectionary maker and chef of some kind called Denise Rose Dupree.
She grew up in France before getting an accolade of awards as a sweet maker and confectionary chef before coming to America to, in her own handwritten words for reason of employment, “broaden my horizons outside of France.”.
A photographic picture was attached showing a white hatted woman looking to be mid-twenties with a determined smile plastered upon her face with a curler bun tying back her golden brown hair and a look of optimism within her hazel green eyes.
“Pretty,” remarked Detective Harry Stone idly to himself as he glanced through the rest of the file before he was content that there was nothing else of interest within the bulky file folder of Miss Denise Rose Dupree. He closed the folder and placed it to the side as he took hold of the next file folder from the remaining three he had yet to look through.

If the last one was too bulky, the next file folder almost seemed too light within his hands. With a grimace, Detective Harry Stone exhaled another puff of his cigarette before he opened file folder number two and began reading.
The name on the file was somewhat not all that surprising to Detective Harry Stone, a Mitchell Abrams, a name Detective Harry Stone knew all too well from the District Attorney’s Office. A hotshot lawyer with nothing but integrity, Mitchell Abrams was an up and coming lawyer of youthful renown and making a fast name for himself with over twenty law cases won and only suffering two losses. And of those two losses, it was only because one of his clients did not show so the case was awarded to the plaintiff and the other was seen as thrown out due to unforeseen circumstances out of Abram’s control.
Still, it was a slight surprise to see Mitchell’s name pop up in this case and was intriguing enough that Detective Harry Stone paid extra attention at the two sheets of paper within this file as he had detected earlier it was lighter to pick up.
First, he noticed the first page was not a simple employee worker page but it held a similar photograph, possibly for reference, to that he saw within the other files he saw of Joey Marley and Denise Rose Dupree.
The photo saw a smiling Mitchell Abrams within a business attire suit holding a book of law in a full body profile picture to the side, possibly a photo copy of one the thirty-two year old lawyer used for an in depth interview about his upward trajectory within the District Attorney’s Office.
The spectacled lawyer had slick backed black hair and looked somewhat bashful in his brown eyes from behind the prideful and upright depiction when first Detective Henry Stone glanced at it.
The first page itself held not much interest except a small photocopy of what looked like a contract of sorts with the Marley Bars Company, but depicted a notary signage of a third party, not Mitchell Abrams himself.
It wasn’t until Detective Harry Stone read the second document that it soon made sense. It was a typed up letter from Mitchell Abrams that he had to renew his contract with his client, a silent investor and newly formed shareholder in the business of Marley’s Candy Bars and acted upon his client’s behalf as a legal interpreter of sorts between Mr. Keith Marley and his client.
Again, Detective Harry Stone let out a resolute puff from his mouth as he closed the file. So, Mitchell Abrams acted as the new representative that had signed up to Mr. Marley’s company that Miss Wilson had talked about earlier. It made sense, in a way.
Putting the second file aside, Detective Harry Stone let himself ponder over this fact, a sense that something in the curt way Mr. Abrams had sent this letter to Mr. Keith Marley and requested an in person interview on the day of his death…
Shaking his head that he was overthinking things, it was plausible that there was something Mitchell Abrams needed to discuss with Keith Marley about in person as, the letter stated, he had to act in his client’s best wishes.

( to be continued… )
 
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( chapter 4, part 5… )

With a noncommittal deep sigh, Detective Harry Stone placed the two documents back within the file folder before closing it and placing it atop the other two and reaching out for the next file folder.
This file was a bit heftier than the Mitchell Abrams folder, but not as much detail as Miss Dupree’s, as Detective Harry Stone soon found out when he opened it.
The photo was a headshot of a greying haired man with a weather-beaten face, whom looked to be in his early sixties. The name in his work employee papers was Donald Russel, a mechanical tradie of sorts.
‘This must be the old employee of the company Miss Wilson spoke of,’ mused Detective Stone to himself, easing himself into a more relaxed pose within the deceased Mr. Marley’s chair.
An engineer of respectful reputation, Mr. Russel was employed with the company for over thirty years, holding the position of Head Mechanical Engineer in high standing with little to no trouble within the company of Marley’s Candy Bars. A testament to old fashioned loyalty as he had stayed within the good graces of Mr. Keith Marley and the company, even with the ups and downs crisis that almost made the company bankrupt due to the factory being overcome with union rioters or the recent “poison rumours” floating about.
Detective Harry Stone did not need to be told any of this, as snippets of these events were cut out of old and recent newspaper articles within Mr. Russel’s work folder. They were with circled in black sharpie pen of several accounts of witness statements and crossed out “facts” that were in possibly Mr. Russel’s own scribbling, hence why they were in his file folder.
These were the only interesting things Detective Harry Stone could detect for the moment, closing the third file of the day with contemplative thoughts swirling within his mind.

( to be continued… )
 
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( chapter 4, part 6… )

Detective Harry Stone held the last file folder and opened it with trepidation. There was meagre to none clues gleamed from the other file folders aside from investigative speculation He was not sure at all what he was searching for, but he was thinking it was better to be well prepared for the sort of people were that visited the victim on his last day upon this mortal coil.
That sense of pent up expectations soon deflated as he briefly read through the file folder of the last new employment file of a Sammy Fritz, a new trainee on the line. The picture depicted a teenage girl looking rather unremarkable in her late teens. She beheld a face of regretful melancholy with her attire being what Detective Harry Stone assumed to be a line worker’s uniform of sorts. The picture showed it was a hairnet holding her hair back in an auburn bun of bunched up curls. The outfit also consisted of a pair of pink rubber gloves, an off-white dress smock with a black apron bearing the Marley Bars lettering motif and some under stockings of sorts with unremarkable worker boots in brown. At least her work employment form for the company stated in typed print that she was nineteen, employed barely a month ago as a worker on Packaging Line Two to inspect packaging of the Marley Bars just before they get passed for the Foreman on her line would do a final inspection before shipping.
There was no sudden revelation or moment and that made Detective Harry Stone ponder in puzzlement as he checked and double checked the file again of Sammy Fritz. With a dejected sigh, Harry Stone closed the single paper file folder with a grim look of acceptance. Sometimes the fact that no new insights or clues were the new clues in of themselves.
With this underwhelming thought, he placed the file on top of the others he had gone through and resolutely leaned back in Mr. Marley’s office chair as he resigned himself to this thought.
The cigarette was being idly held within his left hand to the side of himself, the draped wrist limply resting upon the office chair sidearms. Closing his eyes, Detective Stone allowed himself a short moment of calm solitude as he pondered upon the developments of the case.


End of Chapter 4.


( to be continued… )
 
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( chapter 5, part 1… )


Chapter 5: Sweet Evidence

The toxicology report of Mr. Keith Marley had been hand delivered to Detective Harry Stone by Patrolman Bob Wallis within the hour that Detective Stone had given himself respite.
He dismissed Bob Wallis with an unenthusiastic wave of his hand as he sat back upright within Keith Marley’s office chair. The hardened wood squeaked with the sudden movement but held firm as Detective Stone had renewed strength of body and mind that the report in front of him would undoubtably hold some answers.
With bated breath, Detective Stone opened the report file and began reading with interest at the findings within the corpse of Mr. Marley.
Mr. Keith Marley had no problems with his health, as the wife had claimed, just a slight sugar spike that Detective Stone attributed to the fact the man was a candy maker.
Amusing himself with this thought for a moment, Harry Stone continued reading the report within his hands. Then, a brief smirk emerged upon the detective’s lips. There, under detected toxins, was a drastic spike even higher than the sugar level. Printed clear as day, a large amount of Strychnine was within Mr. Marley’s stomach. The report went on to read that Strychnine is a poison used in small doses within households to kill small rodents dating as far back to the early 1900’s. There was high traces of the poison detected within the half-eaten Marley Bar that the dead man had clutched within his dying hand. No traces detected within or on the brown packed lunch bag or its contents that was sitting upon Mr. Marley’s desk.
“Huh, so that’s how it was done,” Harry Stone muttered to himself as he placed the toxicology report down with an air of satisfaction that his initial thought about this case being a Homicide was right.
But, even with this self-satisfied air about himself as he lit his freshest cigarette of the day, Detective Harry Stone’s countenance turned to a serious frown. Murder was still murder and now it was officially his jurisdiction as he was the lead investigator in the Poison Department of the force.
‘The poisoned chalice brings the King down, heavy no more to wear his crown,’ Detective Stone thought, interlacing his fingers in a pondering stature as the severity of finding a resourceful killer crossed his mind.

( to be continued… )
 
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( chapter 5, part 2… )

Detective Stone gave a non-committed sigh with an intake of breath, his half finished cigarette end alighting anew with this particular action of morbid curiosity within his sharp mind.
He haphazardly continued reading the toxicology findings, the second page a reference to the evidence at the scene of the crime going into more detail about what was diagnosed within the half eaten candy bar within the victim’s hand.
The ingredients contained within the Marley Bar were nutmeg, condensed sugar, glucose sugar, wheat extract, honey, powdered malt, nougat, cocoa powder, milk and milk chocolate extract.
‘Nothing fancy, except the poison of Strychnine laced within the confectionary,’ thought Detective Stone to himself in an ironic tone.
Having not been fond of sweet things like candy bars himself, it was not lost to Detective Stone that the prospect of glancing at these ingredients of what was actually made within the Marley Bars made his stomach do a slight flip of nausea and wondering why anyone would willingly eat something overtly sweetened to begin with.
Shaking his head slightly at this prospect, Detective Stone found nothing else aside from the lunch contents of the bag that had been documented and tested, as per regulations when poison was discovered at the scene of the crime. An apple, a juice cup and a packaged tuna casserole sandwich wrapped in cling film were the only things of note within the lunch bag, no poison detected upon the surface or within.
‘Casual lunch fare,’ noted Detective Stone as he put the papers down as that was all that was written about the toxicology report of the victim and evidence at the scene of the crime.
With a serious expression upon his face, Detective Harry Stone allowed his cigarette to burn out as he reflected in contemplative thought before he got up from the victim’s chair and left for the day, knowing that tomorrow would be his official duty at investigating this murder case.


( to be continued.., )
 
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( chapter 5, part 3… )


The next day, Detective Harry Stone decided to do several interviews with the workers he had files of that had met with Mr. Marley on the day of his death. It was a long shot, but Detective Stone felt it best to leave no suspects unquestioned.
He had no misgivings of the impromptu questioning of these factory workers, despite the slightly unorthodox location of these particular employees in the dead man’s office space where Mr. Marley met his deathly demise.

Mr. Mitchell Abrams looked sternly at Detective Harry Stone with a contemptible glare behind his focused eyes. He was sitting stiffly in his tailored suit and brushed back his already sleeked back black hair with a nervous habit that Detective Harry Stone noticed as he gazed back at the thirty-two year old man.
“You requested to see me, Detective?” he asked in a simple yet weary tone that started the interview process.
“Yes, Mr. Abrams. I trust you know why I summoned you?” Detective Harry Stone said in reply, idly lighting up his second cigarette of the day.
Mr. Mitchell Abrams let out a sigh of frustration at the question pointed at him. His shoulders lightly slumped as the lawyer let his shoulder muscles slacken with ease.
“You have probably been through my file at Marley Bars Company, so I trust you already know, Detective. I represent a party interested in Marley Bars as a client. I can’t divulge anymore than that, through conflict of interest, you understand of course,” stated back Mitchell Abrams with a hint of stern business like lawyer speak edged within his voice.
Detective Harry Stone mulled this response by a few seconds, allowing himself two inhales upon his lit cigarette before replying.
“This is a murder investigation, Mitchell. No matter how you phrase it, I got to know,” Detective Stone boldly announced, his gruff and stern exterior emitting from his cold brown eyes with a steely gaze of resolve.
“This will be bad for my clients if word ever got out, Detective. All I can be willing to say is that the day Mr. Marley met…his unfortunate end, so to speak, I left him alive and well. The transaction of the contract was smooth and has no bearing upon your case,” Mr. Abrams stated matter of factly as he rose from the chair he was sitting in with ease. “Is that satisfactory to you, Detective?”
“For now, yes, that shall be fine, Mr. Abrams. But, whatever the price they pay, murder will always be the more expensive option,” Detective Stone said as he gave a small graceful bow of his head as a form of dismissal to Mr. Mitchell Abrams.
Despite these passing words, Mr. Abrams left the interview with a dissatisfied countenance of contempt upon his face. He did not respond to the bait but left feeling more agitated than he intended, slamming the office door behind himself as he exited the room.


( to be continued… )
 
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( chapter 5, part 4… )


“I find this all rather frightful,” muttered meekly the second suspect, a formidable bearing man of old muscle and greased up palms that wrung his overworked oil rag across his crestfallen face to mop up the sweat from his dirty brow.
Whatever Detective Stone had envisioned for the old engineer and mechanic of Marley Bars Company, it was not the gentile and forlornly type of man Mr. Donald Russell to convey. But, the spectacle Detective Harry Stone was witnessing of the fifty-five year old man sitting across from him told a tale without words of loyalty, hardship and perseverance.
“I am sorry for your loss,” murmured Detective Stone in reply, his countenance depicting a sincere and honest opinion.
“I’m not worried about me, Sir. I worry for the company now that he is no longer here,” forlornly stated Donald Russell as he habitually stuffed his greased up and sweat filled oil rag into the front pocket of his work overalls.
“Were the two of you friends, then?” Detective Stone asked pointedly, but made the effort to make the question a soft one.
“We were, that’s truth enough. Thirty years we built this place up, made me living on being a mechanic of sorts for his very first treadmill conveyor. Good times, now gone,” mused Donald Russell as he seemed to revel in the past for a brief moment before focusing back his mind to the present. “Sorry, got me-self sidetracked there for a second. Is there anything I could tell you to help with this here investigation?”
“Well, for starters, Mr. Russell, what was your meeting with Mr. Marley about on the day he died?” asked Detective Stone bluntly.
“First off, just call me Donald. All the lads and lasses do. Secondly, well, that is easy enough. I had noticed a wee bit of a problem with one of the production lines. Some sorta new gear works or computer error of a sorts. Was getting the production line of conveyor three out of balance. No shipping if the whole product was bunged up, ya know? I wanted to present a solution towards Keith in the hopes of saving him some trouble,” answered Donald Russellwith a serious face of determination that seemed to wash away his earlier worries a minute ago.
“And did you?” asked Detective Stone plainly.
“Did I what?” Donald questioned back.
“Save him the trouble,” muttered Detective Stone with a sigh that exhaled the smoke out his mouth from his cigarette.
“Oh, that? Yeah, it was no trouble at all. Keith took to my idea, like he usually would and that was it,” Donald Russell said simply with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I see. Well, Donald, was there anyone, anyone at all, that had a reason to kill Mr. Marley?”
Donald Russell allowed the question to sink in for a few seconds before replying.
“No, nobody at all. Everybody here loved Mr. Marley as a boss,” Donald said with an edge of conviction in his voice.
“As a boss, huh? What about personally?”
“Detective Stone, I may be old, but I ain’t daft in me head. Are you implying something….?”
“Not at all, Donald. It was just a follow up question,” interrupted Harry Stone with a comforting smile plastered upon his face. “You know how it is. I just wanted to cover all bases, so to speak.”
Donald Russell did not look content with this answer but nodded his head slowly in thought.
“I assure you, I have to leave no stone unturned, no candy bar unwrapped, if you pardon my analogy,” Detective Stone stated to ease the suspect’s concern in the moment.
Mr. Donald Russell did not respond but stood up from the chair, his old age no hinderance to his defined body build as the greying haired man looked at Detective Harry Stone with purpose.
“I hope for Keith’s sake you find his killer, Detective Stone,” murmured Donald Russell with candid simplicity.
“Believe me, so do I, Donald,” stated Detective Stone just as candidly with another sigh.
Donald Russell gave a curt nod of understanding before exiting the workplace office of his business partner and friend of thirty years.


( to be continued… )
 
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A couple minor criticisms of a mostly excellent story: about the form rather than the substance.

You would do well to reduce the number of run-on sentences; and you _need_ to separate the paragraphs.

Next, _not_ a criticism, but noticing an apparent Easter egg for the readers. You say that a _businessman_ by the name of _Marley_ has died. Charles Dickens reference, anyone? (-:
 
Copperfox said:
A couple minor criticisms of a mostly excellent story: about the form rather than the substance.

You would do well to reduce the number of run-on sentences; and you _need_ to separate the paragraphs.

Next, _not_ a criticism, but noticing an apparent Easter egg for the readers. You say that a _businessman_ by the name of _Marley_ has died. Charles Dickens reference, anyone? (-:
Click to expand...

Yes, understandable, Copperfox.

I do tend to ramble on the odd occasion or two with my writing style. It is a habit some writers struggle with.

As for my paragraphs, I see no need, as you notice I opted to either use a long text which needed it known by spacing out the post accordingly or notice they are hidden within each part as cut off points when my post ends or starts, hence the space bar marks or no text intervals in between posts. I thought that was a given indicator, but maybe I was wrong and need to do dashes or more bolden strokes to let it be more plainly seen.

As for the aforementioned “easter egg” you seem to have alluded to it in an earlier post, near the beginning of the story, if I recall.

Thanks for the advice. 😀
 
( chapter 5, part 5… )


The atmosphere was stifling as a lengthy pause was had between the two people within the office space of the late Mr. Keith Marley.
Detective Harry Stone just looked across the desk at the nineteen year old sitting opposite him. She made no indication to speak, just glaring with deep eyeliner at the detective with bored vindictiveness.
‘Now, what did I ever do to you?’ was the thought that passed through Detective Stone’s head before he delicately brushed the cigarette ash into Mr. Marley’s crystalline ashtray.
“I know nothing,” suddenly announced the nineteen year old girl named Sammy Fritz, her mouth in a perplexed frown of defiance.
As if trying to prove her point, Sammy crossed her arms in front of herself in an act of protest.
Detective Harry Stone did not react to this blatant show of passive aggression and merely leaned forward to cradle his still burning cigarette upon the top of his fingertips.
“That remains to be seen, Miss Fritz,” Detective Stone said calmly, adjusting his arm to lift up his cigarette to his mouth once more.
Sammy Fritz’s reaction to this was a scoff of disgust in Detective Stone’s direction.
“Darn cops, always with the drama,” she stated with an icy tone of contempt that was not lost to Detective Stone.
“So, how do you know the victim, Mr. Marley?” Detective Stone asked with casual ease.
“I didn’t, well I did, but not personally, ya know? He was just my boss, I guess,” responded back Sammy Fritz with an air of boredom with the underlying scepticism she conveyed.
“I see. It just bothers me, why would he call you into his office?” Detective Stone asked, an air of pondering in an almost innocent tone.
“Why would I know? I just do what I’m told,” Sammy Fritz replied with thinly veiled hostility returning to her voice.
“And no harsh words were spoken? No arguing of any kind?”
“Not that I know of. He just wanted to welcome me into the company. I did not feel comfortable, just to be honest,” snidely remarked Sammy Fritz in reply.
Detective Stone paused his questioning for a few seconds, taking in this hostile girl’s mindset. There was animosity there, yet that did not convey the act of poisoning. If Sammy Fritz was the perpetrator of this crime, it would be more than likely she could have acted rashly in the heat of the moment, as far as her temperament seemed to imply.
“Can I go now?” Sammy Fritz suddenly asked with spontaneous exasperation as the detective stopped with his inane questioning.
This made Detective Stone step out of his stupor and brought him back to the present. With a sigh, he gave a brief nod of his head.
Taking this as a sign of dismissal, Sammy Fritz got up out of the chair, her teenage angst satisfied by this subtle nod.
“Oh, Miss Fritz?” came the voice of rational thought from the detective.
“What now?” came the voice of a girl done with the world but made her pause at the door.
“Nothing major, I assure you. I just wondered, what made you take this job in the first place?”
Miss Sammy Fritz glanced back over her shoulder as she opened the office door.
“Not that it matters, but a girl’s gotta make a living somehow,” she replied with a snarky undertone just before she left the office and the detective behind her.


( to be continued… )
 
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( chapter 5, part 6… )


If Sammy Fritz was the bitter almonds of this case, then Miss Denise Rose Dupree was the refreshing sweet cream.
That was at least Detective Harry Stone’s opinion as he observed the stout but short woman sitting across from him.
The French pastry chef had glided into the room with ease, her moniker chef ensemble outfit crisp and white with slight residue of cinnamon, nutmeg and the faint smell of honeycomb wafting from her like a confectionary perfume.
“Did I know Mr. Marley well? No, Monsignor, I did not. Was I happy to work for him? Yes, I should say I was,” Miss Dupree said matter of factly with a slightly broken English accent that betrayed her almost fluent speech patterns by one who recently came from France.
Detective Stone figured as such, the bright spark of animated talking showing an interest in the relatively young chef’s eyes of interest. But that bothered him slightly internally.
“You seem grateful of this opportunity, Miss Dupree. To be working in America, I mean,” Detective Stone muttered with open sincerity as he jotted down a note in his pad.
Miss Denise Rose Dupree’s hazel eyes followed the movement of his pen for the brief moment before registering Detective Stone’s response. As he stopped, she gave a small brief smile of recognition.
“Yes, I am grateful. Mr. Marley was a kind man,” she said with genuine feeling, a sad undertone as she answered the question within Detective Stone’s statement.
“But, why America? Why not Switzerland or Germany where candy gets made every day?” questioned Detective Stone with a look of befuddled amusement at the female chef.
The grin did not waver from the confectionary chef’s face, her oval shaped cheeks straining to contain a stifle of laughter from her eyes.
“Because, Detective, I do not turn down a challenge. America, land of opportunity and possibilities. It just, how do you say? Ah, that it just speaks to me!” exclaimed Miss Dupree with a passionate vigour that made her ball up her pudgy fists in excitement.
Detective Stone remained unmoved by this outburst from Miss Dupree, merely jotting down another note with ease.
“I see. Understandable, Miss Dupree. What did Mr. Marley wish to say to you on the day of his death?”
At this, the excitement died down within the passionate twenty five year old woman. She demurely regained her composure and gave a contemplative frown of thought at the question posed to her.
“Mr. Marley, he speaks to me about my job, welcoming me to the factory,” she finally replied after a few seconds.
“And anything else?” prompted Detective Stone as he took this reply down with interest.
Denise Rose Dupree gave a hesitant shake of her head then a dawning of recollection came upon her face.
“He said nothing else to me, Monsignor. But there was something odd he did. He had taken a bite out of one of his chocolates in front of me.”
Detective Harry Stone raised his eyebrow slightly, taking feverish care to not tip his hand at this important revelation.
“Really? Was it a big bite or a small one?”
“It was a small one, I think. I did not stay long enough to notice anything else as Mr. Marley had dismissed me with a kindly wave of his hand,” the Frenchwoman stated plainly.
“As he should have if his mouth was full. Thank you for answering my questions, Miss Dupree,” Detective Stone said.
“No problem, Monsignor Detective. I hope I was of some help,” responded Miss Dupree as she stood up from the chair to leave.
Detective Harry Stone did not respond, merely watching as the diminutive woman left the office of her former employer with an ease almost as swiftly as she had entered.

Glancing down at his notebook, Detective Stone gazed at the notes he had taken of the four interviews of the suspects. It was only logical that one of those four had the means and opportunity to poison Mr. Marley’s chocolate bar. There just did not seem to be any other way.
With a sigh as he watched the remnants of his second cigarette of the day go to ash within the ashtray, Detective Harry Stone reflected all he knew of the case at hand. But, despite his reflecting and best efforts, he had to admit he was at a loss how to proceed.
‘Parting the waves of the ocean is by far easier if the King decrees, than letting a Kingdom fall to it’s knees,’ mused Detective Stone solemnly to himself as he relaxed within the dead confectionery king’s throne.


End of Chapter 5.

( to be continued… )
 
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( chapter 6, part 1… )


Chapter 6: Untangling The Threads


It was near late afternoon and Detective Harry Stone had not stirred from the crime scene, his mind addled by the facts currently within his brain and notepad. He hurriedly glossed over his scribbling and the files laid out of the four current suspects on the table in front of him.
All that was needed was a thread of evidence, anything to link a clue or lead towards one of the four. But, simply staring at this mesh of netting was like a tangled web that would not unravel when you could not see it in front of you, no matter how hard you try.
This thought flew through Detective Stone’s mind with a grimaced frown that made him sit back in Mr. Keith Marley’s office chair and snort at his frustrations. Closing his eyes, Detective Stone reflected and for the moment, allowed himself a moment of calm within the cacophony of restlessness of this case.
‘I have missed something,’ Detective Stone finally thought to himself as he opened his eyes and gazed down at his notepad with renewed determination.
He flipped the pages back and reread his notes with a fresh look at the case at hand, like revisiting a tough puzzle that needed a new perspective.
The uneaten lunch, that was what started it all as a catalyst towards his investigation. Was there anything new there? On the surface, possibly not. The forensics had gone through everything, including the discovery of the poisoned Marley Bar. The only indication was the obvious, that the dead man was planning to eat lunch on the day that he died. There was no way around it, Mr. Marley was murdered by someone. Logic dictated the supposed rumour of tainted or “bad batch” of chocolate bars to be true, though that was merely propaganda.
‘Started by whom, I wonder?’ Detective Stone mused thoughtfully within his mind, the question left unanswered in his brain as he moved on to the next point of interest.
Miss Wilson, the housekeeper and secretary of the late Mr. Marley. She seemed well put together, even in this time of crisis. Detective Stone lingered upon his thoughts of Miss Wilson, letting himself potentially consider her a person of interest in this case. She had the plausible means and opportunity certainly, but motive lacks her need to kill her long time employer. And she did not seem the type that would be brash in anything, let alone poisoning the person whom she owed her job and livelihood to.
‘No, she’s not the type,’ thought Detective Stone but did not dismiss her entirely from his mind as a possibility.


( to be continued… )
 
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( chapter 6, part 2… )

The next note of consideration was the victim’s living relatives. Despite the ostentatious housing of Marley Manor, the house itself was merely a backdrop to the eccentric kin of the departed within.
Starting with the odd and sickly Mary Marley, the only Marley sibling of blood relation to Keith Marley aside from their brother, Kendall Marley. If reasoning was to be beheld as a leap of logic, she and Kendall would be entitled to a share of Keith Marley’s wealth. But, as Detective Stone thought this, he solemnly shook his head at this thought. If anything, it was more likely the lion’s share of the fortune would go to Ruth Marley as the surviving widow, at least that or a three way split between the two siblings and wife of the deceased.
Considering the two nephews, Patrick Marley and Joey Marley, the two brothers were like two opposites in regard to each other and were not what Detective Stone considered applicable suspects. But, the sheer amount of suspicion upon Joey Marley seemed to be like an aura of melancholy that made Detective Stone take a moment of pondering before attributing it to the “black sheep curse” that Joey Marley radiated like a bad chill.
With a sceptical look upon his face, Detective Harry Stone mused the family Marley without much issue before leaving a big question mark surrounding them within his mind. At first glance, there were still too many unanswered questions regarding this motley band of mostly English people that almost seemed too hard to grasp. But, Detective Stone decided to let that go for the time being and focused upon his next point.

The four likely candidates for suspects with opportunity were the employees of Marley Bars Candy Company. The lawyer, Mr. Abrams, was an odd duck of a fashion. Detective Stone mulled him through his mind but decided that the lawyer was not a likely candidate for murdering his client. If what he said was true, Mr. Marley’s mysterious “prospective partners” would hardly commit murder if the deal was a profitable one.
‘But that…depends on what sort of business people Mr. Marley was dealing with,’ Detective Stone thoughtfully stated in his mind to himself that made him tut lightly at his mental observation.
Shaking his head lightly at this amusing yet baffling thought, Detective Stone made a note in his open notepad in front of him that he needed to look into whom these business people were before he went onto the next suspect on his agenda.


( to be continued… )
 
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