The Murder of Eric Daryl

3. The Murder Of Eric Daryl

          Everyone was in utter shock except me at three o'clock on this very morning. Mr Eric Daryl was found dead, sitting on his armchair and with a slitted throat, dried and thickened blood rolling down his neck and reaching his blood-soaked collar. I gave an unnoticed simper and watched over the ambience. Everyone was horror-stricken along with terror-filled faces. They completely were google-eyed and open-mouthed. The maid was standing outside the barricaded door along with her usual clothes, drowned into tears and both hands covering her mouth. I placed my hands on her shoulder for comfort and could perceive her palpitation.

His daughter, Claire Daryl, was downstairs, sitting down on one of the chairs around the dining table, sobbing out vehemently, plunging her face into her smooth-surfaced palms. I didn't contemplate in her situation but in her beauty. She was dressed in a normal-looking white-coloured dress. She was terribly gorgeous and soft-skinned. She had an hourglass-shaped and pimple-free body. I came to her and slid both hands on her shoulders with support. She would glance at me with her tear-soaked face and say, sobbingly, "Please, bring him justice. Find the killer. Do something or I'll seek the help of a private investigator at any cost." 

But I could not reassure if it was suicide or murder, it was like between the head or tail of a coin. So, I didn't say anything. But my opinion would stay for a murder. I left her at her side and went to the crime scene again upstairs.           

The forensics came two hours later, at five o'clock along with their bulky-looking white-coloured jumpsuits, google-fixed facemask, hairnets, gloves and booties, looking like yetis. 

We have not much work to do so I and Kingsley made up our mind to go to the neighbouring park named, Myles Park. We entered through the wide-opened gate along with big bold upper-case letters, written in curved letterings:

Welcome To Myles Park 

 We strolled down the stone walkways among the magnificently manicured chlorine-coloured grass ahead of my feet. There were also groups of leaves-scattering deciduous trees over the horizon along with people doing many different activities like jogging, exercising, patrolling or playing frisbee with their dog.

 We finally occupied an oak bench and sat down with a sigh of relief. Kingsley sat in a cross-legged position and me in a cross-armed one. 

"What do you think? Is it murder or suicide?" I asked, launching myself into a conversation, turning my face to Kinsley who then turned his too. 

He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, replying me back, "Well, can't really say. Should be probably a murder."

"I bet for suicide. I bet it." I said, confidently, forwarding my chest slightly out, "He must have killed himself just because of being a mere suspect of his wife's death." I pronounced these words out of my mouth chucklingly, watching at a boy playing at frisbee with his dog over the horizon. The boy would toss the frisbee with all his effort and the dog would gambol and scamper all the way at the far-flung frisbee and jump up as high as it could to catch it with its razor-sharp canines. 

There was a pause of silence for a moment or two and abruptly a low-voiced Kingsley murmured something out that I didn't understand, "This...a case... for..."

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," I told, frowning frantically. 

"No, nothing. I was just wondering that this should deserve to be a case for Blake Edward." Kingsley reiterated. This time more firm and clear. 

"Blake Edward? Who's that?" I questioned, my mind absorbed in finding the answer.

"You don't know Blake Edward?" he told as if the name was not merely a name but a big name. I could see Kingsley astounded with blinking eyes, "Seriously?"  

 "Well, never have I heard of him. Who is he?" I interrogated, my mind going round with pressure as if I was the only person not knowing him. 

"Blake Edward the famous detective who had recently solved the Meghan Street case. Haven't you read of it in some article in the newspaper?" Kingsley turned my question into another.

"Well, no... not really." I said, eager to see him face-to-face, "I'd like to meet him." 

"Well of course. Let's go." Kingsley said, standing up along with me and going off. While we walked off, I restarted to interrogate just like my sister, "You know him?"

"Yes. Of course." Kingsley responded, "I know where he lives, 115 B.E. same street."

"And how did you meet him?" I went on.

"On my first case when I was young itself. The Murder at Funland, I am sure enough that you know about it?" he said and I simply nodded my head slightly, "Well, he was helping me to solve it and here we are, both close friends. I'm sure that you'll probably like it."

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