Interrogation

"It all started about a month ago when the chap moved into the apartment next door.

He was a young guy fresh out of law school. He got his degree as a lawyer and started out as a defense attorney at the Franklins law firm, the most reputable law firm in London at the time.

Always wearing the best clothes, smoking the best cigars. There was no doubt that he came from the most wealthy family in the late 19th century, the Canterbury's.

'Righto matey, how's yee day goin',' He would say in his made up accent as he walked past every person in the building.

I most despised the man's lack of dignity as he strode about with his top hat cocked sideways and his shirt sloppily untucked.

It was a wonder to me that he was able to even get hired on with Franklins. In the end of the day, if you come from a reputable family I guess you can get hired anywhere.

The day he died or was murdered I should say, was similar for me to all the other days-"

"Hold on hold on, can you please get to the point Mr. Brunson." General Desmond growled into the smokey interrogation room.

 My eyes burned into the large muscular man with a shaved head and handlebar mustache. It made me uncomfortable to stare people down, but sometimes it was the only way to prove your point.

"I most certainly can not get to the point," The words came harshly out of my mouth, "If I am going to give you all the facts pointing to my innocence you must hear the story out from the start."

General Desmond was not pleased with my outburst, but he knew that I was not the sort of man to back down to a petty argument let alone one involving the fate of my life.

"As I was saying," My eyes caught his for the first time, "The day he died or was murdered I should say, was similar for me to all the other days since he moved in. For some reason, since his move into the apartment, I woke to a small amount of soot laying about in front of the fireplace. I assume that is due to the massive amount of thumping on the walls young Mr. Canterbury seemed to do.

On my way to use the latrine, I noticed a wet spot on the floor. The leak seemed to be coming from under the wall that Mr. canterbury and myself shared. I continued on to do my business in the latrine before returning to the place of concern.

I was most surprised when I found the floor wet with blood. I immediately yelled out the window for the nearest officer to respond.

Being a detective, I thought I may be able to persuade Mr. canterbury to allow me to have a look around his apartment. I assumed that he had gotten himself into a spot of trouble with one of the prostitutes he seemed to take a fancy with. Apparently, when you are that wealthy you don't worry about the fact that prostitutes are only there to steal everything you own.

I knocked several times, announcing that I was there to talk about a leak in the wall. When he didn't answer, I took it upon myself to pick the lock and make sure he was not injured.

Upon entering the room I found the gruesome scene. Mr. Canterbury was hanging by his feet from a hook on the ceiling. He was white as a midnight ghost as his blood had been drained.

I almost lost the contents of my stomach as I began to look the room over for evidence of what had happened. My hunt for clues was cut very short by the police agents entering the room and disturbing the crime scene. I was also very forcibly taken into custody at that time and here we sit," My admittedly long story came to a close.

"That is the whole story?" The general asked sounding frustrated.

"Yes that is the whole story, the important part is that it should line up with everything you have investigated thus far," came my most convincing voice, "So if you release me from custody we can work this case. I am your top private investigator after all."

The general was not happy at my suggestion of working the case. In fact, it seemed that he was contemplating letting me go at all.Without my detective skill, he may not solve this crime. Though, not as skilled in deductive reasoning as the fictional Sherlock Holmes, my skill was unmatched.

"OK, Mr. Brunson... I am certain you didn't kill the man," The general eyed me suspiciously, "But I do not think you are going to be able to work the case. You are simply too close to the victim, it would be a conflict of interest I fear.

I strode out of the police station without saying another word to the general. He would come to me when he ran into trouble cracking the case. In the meantime, the crime scene was in need of my keen eye for detail.