Chapter 1

“I wish I’d been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. So all I can tell you is why he was murdered.” The scraggly-bearded old man spoke seriously to the two Scotland Yard detectives staring intently at him.

The detective sporting spiky hair held a pad and a pencil ready to note down important details while the other man who was smoking a cigar leaned back in his seat.

“Why?” the relaxed detective asked with a raised eyebrow.

Swallowing visibly the butler, for that is who the speaker was, started speaking, “To understand that, you need to know what kind of man Master was.”

Receiving a nod of approval from the two men he began the tale, “My master, Mr. Derek Johnson was the cruellest man I knew. He ruled this quiet countryside with an iron fist. He ran a drug-dealing gang and had a host of bodyguards as loyal as hounds to him. But most of all, he loved having someone at his mercy. So, he lent money with huge interests to the poor and then proceeded to torture those couldn’t repay him.”

Taking a sip of water from a glass the butler resumed, “Anyone living in this village would have gladly put a knife in the master.” Grimacing with the remembrance of an old memory he continued, “Even I would have killed him without a moment’s regret. But as my family had served his family for generations; how could I dare go against my ancestors’ teachings? Now, I have failed to protect him and dishonoured my family.”

The man buried his face in his hands.

“I understand your feelings but to catch his killer we need details. You might be able to help us there, Mr. Brand. So, please tell us all you know.” The other detective requested twirling the pencil.

Heaving a loud sigh, Brand related an old event.

“Once, some thirty years ago, Master starved a family because they couldn’t repay him. The family had two children and one, a boy named Tören escaped. He threatened that he would return to kill Master before running away. In anger, Master whipped the rest of the family to death.”

The two detectives winced at the last sentence. They had witnessed some heinous deeds in their line of work...but death is not something one can used to.

“I see. You believe that this Tören murdered Mr. Johnson, don’t you?” The detective taking down notes asked sceptically.

“Yes sir! And with good reason,” the butler added quickly reading their unbelieving faces. “A few weeks ago, master started receiving death threats via letters and phone calls where the intimidator identified himself as Tören. The butler turned to the smoker, “Sir, You were the last person to see Master alive.”

“Hmm, I understand. Let’s examine the bodies.” The detective put out his cigar and stood up.