The Key to Deception

 Jordan Kingsley was a man with some bad habits but a good sense of business. His fortune had afforded him many advantages, including various artifacts and awards that adorned his large hall. However, the most prized possession he had acquired in his lifetime was a set of ten rare beads, each worth a million dollars. This fact wasn't a secret among his acquaintances, who included his elder brother, Benjamin Kingsley, his wife, Harriet Kingsley, and their son, Clinton Kingsley. Unfortunately, Clinton was autistic, though remarkably creative, and Jordan felt a special bond with him, sponsoring his education out of genuine love rather than pity.

Jordan was selective about those he let into his heart, reserving his true affection for those who earned it. This often excluded his own brother, his brother's wife, and even his business partners. Harriet, aware of Jordan's distant relationship with her son, made efforts to keep Clinton away from Jordan, fearing that the uncle's indifference might lead to resentment.

As for the ten invaluable beads, they were prominently displayed in Jordan's hall but kept secure inside a safe, as befitted their worth. Jordan had acquired them at auction, paying a staggering fifteen million dollars despite their combined original value of ten million. He believed fervently in their supposed power to bring good luck, attributing their creation to ancient Greek mythological gods. The beads, purportedly five thousand years old, held immense historical and personal significance for Jordan Kingsley.

However, life's twists often defy expectation. Benjamin had been overseas for a week and returned on April 20th, 2009, only to find a scene of horror awaiting him. His brother lay dead on the floor, sprawled beneath the open safe from which the ten beads were conspicuously missing.

Benjamin's scream of shock roused Harriet and Clinton from their sleep, and they too were stricken by the sight of Jordan's lifeless form. Benjamin, his hands trembling with grief and disbelief, could barely manage to call the police. When he finally did, the call was answered by none other than Inspector Charlie Spencer.

Benjamin, struggling to maintain his composure, relayed the grim discovery to the inspector, his voice thick with sorrow. "Please, you must come quickly. My brother... he's dead."

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Charlie Spencer, in his regular uniform, entered the crime scene with his forensic team to determine what had happened. "I'll have coffee, two tablespoons of sugar, and extra milk—I like my coffee milky," Charlie joked lamely, ending with a giggle aimed at Harriet Kingsley. Harriet, with a dull expression, went into the kitchen to prepare coffee for Spencer, who immediately felt ashamed of his request but justified it due to his busy morning. Last night, he had to solve a missing boyfriend case, which ended with the conclusion that the boyfriend had intentionally ghosted the girl due to her clinginess. "This is the standard of crime that usually falls into my hands," Charlie often exclaimed, but this case might be different.

"So, Mr. Benjamin Kingsley, when did you return this morning?" Spencer asked.

"I don't remember the exact time, Inspector, but I arrived at around eight o'clock in the morning," replied Benjamin, his voice tinged with fear.

"It's Inspector, actually. Anyway, when was the last time you spoke to your brother? Was he under stress or bothered by something?"

"Dad! My colors are over, I need a new set!" shouted Clinton from the next room.

"Alright, I'll get you some by evening, dear. I'm sorry, Inspector, that's my son, Clinton. He's autistic and enjoys drawing and coloring. As for Jordan, the last time I spoke with him was five years ago when he fired me from our company," explained Benjamin.

"Ah, a disgruntled brother, I see," assumed Charlie, placing Benjamin under his suspicion, though Benjamin was aware of Charlie's assumption.

"No, it's not as it seems, Inspector. My brother was always hostile toward us, but I could never imagine doing this to him," replied Benjamin, his voice trembling with remorse and fear.

"Any suspects you can think of? Any enemies or 'nemeses' of Mr. Kingsley?"

"I can think of two names. Rose Amara and Vinston Will."

"And who are they?"

"Vinston Will was a rival businessman in the coal mining industry. He had threatened Jordan multiple times, but I can't imagine him resorting to theft. As for Rose Amara, she filled the gaps in my brother's life as his escort. However, she began blackmailing him for money after recording him, and she's been doing so for the past six months. I'm afraid she might come after us for ransom," explained Benjamin.

"Don't worry, we'll handle that," assured Charlie, taking a final look at the body. "Well, Mr. Kingsley, the body needs to undergo forensic examination to determine the time of death and the weapons used. Meanwhile, I may need to consult with one of my associates, Detective J.J. Warren. He'll be taking over this case, and I need your full cooperation with him."

"Of course, I'll answer everything honestly, as I have until now," replied Benjamin, but Charlie interrupted, eager to complete his thought.

"I'm asking for your cooperation not just with information but also with your tolerance. Detective Warren is a bit... unique. Some might say eccentric. He has a knack for rubbing people the wrong way, so consider this a fair warning," explained Charlie.

After five hours of photography, media coverage, and public attention, Detective J.J. Warren, the true protagonist of our story, arrived at Benjamin Kingsley's doorstep. Harriet opened the door to reveal a man in a formal dark blue coat and matching pants. He wore a cream-textured shirt, neatly groomed hair, and no facial hair whatsoever—a young, handsome gentleman eager to ask, "Was the deceased left-handed?"

"Uh, yes," Harriet replied, surprised by Warren's charming demeanor and his immediate hypothesis. "But how did you know that? We didn't disclose it to the media."

"It was simple. The doorbell was on the left, whereas they're typically on the right. Our reflexes dictate our casual movements, and Mr. Kingsley likely used his left hand to ring the doorbell. Given his reputation for arrogance and self-absorption, I assumed he designed it that way for his convenience, neglecting the rest of his family. This led me to believe that perhaps one of you is the culprit—or perhaps not," explained Warren, continuing into the house.

"Now, as you described the two enemies of Mr. Kingsley, the burden of suspicion shifts to Rose Amara and Vinston Will, correct?" asked Warren, before Harriet could respond affirmatively.

"Yes," began Harriet, but Warren didn't let her finish. He took the stage entirely, "However, with lack of evidence and having already made an assumption, I cannot conclude that Mr. Kingsley was the only left-handed person. Maybe his brother inherited that trait genetically," concluded Warren, shaking Benjamin's hand before he could even greet him.

"Right-handed!" exclaimed Warren, realizing his hypothesis was correct. "You must have resented him deeply, didn't you? The story could go like this: he fired you, and for five years, you waited for revenge. But wait! We haven't observed your son's hand dominance," continued Warren, pushing Benjamin and Harriet aside and heading toward Clinton's room.

"What in the world is this man? Now I understand what Charlie meant," whispered Benjamin to his wife, impressed and irritated by Warren's audacity.

"Howdy, Clinty!" shouted Warren upon entering Clinton's room, extending his hand for a handshake. Clinton reciprocated with his left hand, which momentarily silenced Warren. After shaking Clinton's hand with his own left hand, Warren continued, "Well, no one is one hundred percent accurate. Your son is a lucky charm. Even I am left-handed. This proves that Mr. Kingsley did love his nephew, didn't he?" concluded Warren.

"Indeed he did," replied Benjamin softly.

"You are now out of my suspicion, Mr. Kingsley. I must go and interrogate the other two suspects. But until then, remember: one coffee, three tablespoons of sugar, and extra coffee content. I like my coffee 'Coffeeyee', thanks," said Warren, sitting in the hall with Benjamin, taking sips of coffee, beginning his investigation with curiosity.

"So, ten beads worth ten million. How did the thief get the keys to the safe? I don't think Mr. Kingsley would be so naive to expose the keys so easily," pondered Warren.

"Well, now you're asking the real question, Mr. Warren. How did he? My brother was the only one who knew how to open this lock, and he always said he wouldn't use a key. I don't know how he did it, but he always managed," replied Benjamin.

"Wait, so you're saying a safe designed to be opened with a key wasn't opened with a key?" asked Warren, intrigued.

"Yes! I've never seen my brother with a key. Usually, people keep such things as close to them as their own body parts. But for this, my brother was damn confident. No one would ever be able to open it," explained Benjamin.

"But, you see, someone already proved your brother wrong. However, this idea still haunts me. How can someone have a safe without its key? There must be something to it that we need to figure out," concluded Warren, taking the last sip of his coffee before heading out to continue his investigation.

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Detective JJ Warren took a taxi from the Kingsley house and directed it to the forensic lab. From the upper floor window, Harriet and Benjamin Kingsley watched as Warren departed. After twenty minutes, Warren arrived at the Forensic department and entered the laboratory, where Charlie Spencer had already been waiting for him. "So, how did it go?" Spencer inquired. 

"Well, I might need to question the other two suspects before reaching a conclusion. But I highly doubt anyone from the family is guilty," Warren replied.

"You doubt so? Benjamin was always disregarded by his brother, and he was fired as well. What do you expect?" Spencer answered affirmatively.

"Well, maybe you didn't notice, but Benjamin's hands were trembling, and his facial expressions didn't resemble those of a liar. He might be content deep within, but he's not a murderer," Warren explained.

"Then maybe the wife, Harriet. What do you think of her?" Spencer asked.

"Harriet is a homemaker, always taking care of Clinton. The more I observed her, the more I realized that this crime couldn't have been committed by such a simple and domestic woman. Though she hated Jordan as much as her husband did, I don't think she's capable of murder," Warren replied.

"Mr. Spencer, the reports are on your table," Mrs. Tisca, the officer in charge, called Charlie Spencer and JJ Warren to examine the reports carefully. The two headed to the office, where Spencer started teasing Warren about his previous mistakes, "Hey, don't miss anything this time, like we did in the Murphy's case."

"Ah, I miss Murphy. As soon as this case is over, we're diving right into that one," Warren responded excitedly. He always got excited at the mention of their arch-enemy.

The two finally came across the report and began analyzing it. "The time of the murder is estimated to be at three in the morning, and there are strangulation marks on the neck," Spencer read aloud to Warren. "But there are other observations. Do you think they're relevant?"

"We need every detail, Inspector. Every single piece of information is important," Warren responded, directing Spencer to read the other details. "Alright, so near the neck, where our victim was strangled, evidence of three bacteria was found—Proteobacteria, Acidobacteriota, and Actinobacteria. I've never heard of these before. Do you know where they come from?" Spencer asked.

"From the coal mines! These are bacteria commonly found in coal mines. I'm sure our killer works in a coal mine," Warren replied firmly.

"Well then, Vinston Will must be our prime suspect. He's in the coal business," said Spencer.

"And what about Jordan's factory? The two were business rivals, so they must have been involved in coal mining too. I'm pretty sure there could be a disgruntled worker at his factory who would have loved to kill him," Warren concluded.

Spencer and Warren hailed a taxi and headed to interrogate Vinston Will about his true nature and intentions. Arriving at the Will Petroleum factory, they headed to Will's office. The factory was in poor condition, but Will's office was luxuriously furnished. Will welcomed them inside.

"Welcome, officers. How may I help you today?" Will asked in a gentle voice. Vinston Will was a tall, bulky man who seemed capable of overpowering someone like Jordan Kingsley. His voice matched his appearance—charismatic and weighty.

"I suppose you've heard the news about your business competitor, Mr. Jordan Kingsley's murder this morning," Warren said.

"Yes, sad indeed. We were business rivals, but he never made an enemy in his entire life," replied Vinston Will.

"Excuse me?" exclaimed Charlie Spencer. "We were told that you were one of his enemies."

This led to laughter from Vinston Will. "I'm sorry, this amuses me. But, I think you're mistaken. Business rivalry doesn't equate to personal animosity. Yes, we were competitors, but that doesn't mean I would wish him dead. That goes against my principles. Also, his factory has been closed for the past two years. All his workers are now employed by me after they went months without wages from Mr. Kingsley. I provided them with a roof over their heads. So, I don't see how I could be considered an enemy," Will explained.

Spencer and Warren exchanged glances, realizing they might need to shift their focus. "Mr. Will, I'd like you to make an announcement as soon as I leave. I'll give you the script, and ensure all your workers hear it," Warren said. Spencer looked confused, but Warren proceeded to write a script for an announcement.

Dear Factory Workers,

It has been a difficult day for us all as we mourn the loss of our beloved friend and business legend, Mr. Jordan Kingsley. However, I want to assure you that the police have already identified the killer, who must be among us in the factory. The police will be collecting evidence until ten o'clock tonight, and the killer will be arrested tomorrow. I urge everyone to cooperate with the authorities.

Thank you.

Warren handed the script to Vinston Will and left the office, saying, "Please review it yourself and read it to the workers. Thank you for your cooperation." Spencer followed Warren out of the office, bewildered by his actions.

"But I'm still confused. How could the criminal have opened the lock? I don't think any of the workers would be smart enough to do that, do you?" Spencer asked.

"Well, that's still a mystery to me. And I think we need to visit Miss Rose Amara to see what she's been up to since Jordan's murder," Warren replied, stepping into another taxi while Spencer left for the police station to investigate the factory workers.

Miss Amara lived a lavish lifestyle, evident from her opulent house and its architecture. Warren rang the doorbell, and Amara, who had been watching him from her window, answered the door. "Miss Amara, I presume?" Warren said.

"Rose Amara, nice to meet you," Amara replied, shaking Warren's hand as he entered the house. "So, Miss Amara, I assume you're aware of recent events. One of your loved ones was murdered this morning," Warren said, surveying the house.

"JJ Warren, I suppose?" Amara said.

"Yes, how did you know that?" Warren asked, surprised.

"Well, the news said you were handed the case for Jordan Kingsley's death," Amara explained.

"Then you must know why

 I'm here," Warren replied with a smirk.

"I know what you're here to inquire about, Detective. But I have all my answers ready. Kingsley was not a good man; he forced himself on me at times. I never wished ill upon him, as I did to some of my previous clients, but he was becoming uncontrollable," Amara confessed.

Warren's gaze fell on a wooden box near the television, and he moved toward it. "So, a new wooden box you received recently?" Warren asked, picking it up.

"It's a puzzle box to hold my important items. It arrived as a gift this morning, and I liked it, so I kept it," Amara explained.

Warren examined the box, searching for a way to open it. "Who sent it?" he asked.

"I don't know. It was sent anonymously this morning," Amara replied as Warren successfully opened the box. Inside, he found a key, which sparked joy in Warren's eyes.

"This is the key to my personal safe," Amara said, taking the key from Warren and opening her safe.

Warren noticed Amara's trembling hands and sweaty forehead. "When did you buy the safe? About four years ago, I suppose?" Warren concluded.

"Yes, but how did you know?" Amara asked, surprised.

Warren smiled, explaining that the key was rusty, indicating it had been unused for a while. He also pointed out the date on the safe, which confirmed his deduction.

Warren examined the wooden box again, searching for clues. "I'd like to see the parcel it came in. Did it have a message?" he asked.

"Yes, there was a message, but I couldn't find any relevance to it," Amara said, handing Warren the parcel and its cover.

"Anything that can go wrong will go wrong," Warren read aloud, feeling a sense of alarm. He then asked to examine Amara's phone.

"What are you looking for, Detective? What does it mean? Am I in trouble?" Amara asked, panicked.

Warren threw the phone back to Amara and left the house, saying, "You don't need to worry. Someone else does."

These were Warren's last words at Rose Amara's house, leaving her shocked and bewildered by what had just transpired.

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JJ Warren hurriedly entered his office, where Charlie Spencer had already been waiting. "So, how did it go?" Charlie asked.

"I could never imagine it. Why is he doing all this?" Warren, in a state of chaos, shouted in the small room.

"Who is doing what?" Spencer inquired.

"Detective William Murphy! Spencer, he is somehow connected to this case. He sent a mail to Rose Amara—a wooden box," said JJ Warren.

"So, it was Amara who is our culprit?" Spencer queried.

"No, no. I checked her phone. She had never been contacted by Murphy. But hey, she could have deleted the contact. How could I miss this?" Warren slapped his forehead, realizing his mistake. "But hey, then why would she bring in the parcel, and why would Murphy leave a hint?" he pondered.

"Well, then let's find Murphy, arrest him, and uncover the entire truth of the case," Spencer suggested.

"No, Spencer, no! Murphy is clever. He didn't leave evidence but rather a clue written on the cover of the box. But why would he do that? Why would he send Amara a wooden box?" Warren's confusion grew.

"I am so confused right now. Also, my undercover officers haven't suspected anything yet. But anyway, there's only an hour left, Warren, after which the killer will reveal the entire truth, I suppose," said Spencer.

"No, I want to catch him first!" Warren shouted. "Spencer, leave my office. I need some time to think."

Spencer, in a state of confusion, left the office, hastening towards his police station.

After thirty minutes of waiting in his police station, Spencer received a lead from one of the officers. A worker named Isiah Maxwell had been packing and might be leaving town soon. Spencer directed them to catch Isiah and bring him to the police station, as his testimony would be crucial for the case. Spencer hung up the phone, only to have it ring again.

"I told you! Arrest Isiah..." Spencer began, but he was interrupted by a familiar voice—not that of his undercover agent but JJ Warren's. "Arrest Harriet Kingsley," Warren said, surprising Spencer.

"Harriet Kingsley? How are you so sure?" Spencer inquired.

"Spencer, we don't have much time. Soon you'll be able to extract the truth from Isiah, who will act as evidence. But I want you to go to the Kingsley house first. I'll be reaching there soon, but we mustn't let her know that we've found out," said Warren, hanging up the phone while Spencer waited to speak.

Spencer got up from his seat and directed his officers to head to the Kingsley residence as Warren had instructed.

The team entered the Kingsley residence, confusing Benjamin and his wife Harriet as to why the police had gathered there. "Please arrest Mrs. Harriet Kingsley! Inspector Charlie Spencer," Warren entered the hall, shouting loudly and then checking his watch. "Ah, 9:58, and I made it on time! I win!" Warren remarked.

"What the hell is going on?" Benjamin shouted at Warren.

"Your wife planned the murder of your brother Jordan Kingsley and committed the robbery," Warren replied.

"What evidence do you have?" Harriet shouted, hugging Clinton tightly to herself, realizing it could be her last moment with her son.

"Well, this could be confirmed by Isiah Maxwell, the man who worked for Vinston Will in the coal mines. He has already been caught and testified to murdering Mr. Jordan Kingsley, for which he was paid a huge amount," said Warren.

Spencer looked confused. According to his sources, Isiah had been on the run for the past few minutes, and the police had been struggling to catch him. It was evident that Warren was making a false testimony on Isiah's behalf.

Harriet burst into tears, which shocked Benjamin. "Yes, it was me!" Harriet shouted through her tears. "That man had everything, he could have helped us, but he never wanted to. I hated him thoroughly and wished he would die. Then one day, I found the key to his locker and decided to plot against him," said Harriet, interrupted by JJ Warren.

"And then you used the key to open the safe in the middle of the night. The sound of which alarmed Jordan Kingsley, who went into the hall to check his locker. The killer, Isiah Maxwell, whom you had already planted, jumped on Jordan Kingsley and choked him to death. Soon, you stole all the beads and went to bed, thinking that the next morning, your financial problems would be solved," Warren recounted the entire crime scene, to which Harriet remained silent as it was exactly what happened.

The police handcuffed Harriet while Benjamin couldn't make eye contact with his own wife but gave a tight hug to Clinton, bursting into tears.

Warren stepped up to Harriet and whispered in her ear, "I know you couldn't have planned all of this on your own. Give me his name, and I'll make sure you're back with your family in less than three months."

Harriet made a loud statement for all to hear, "I know your methods, Mr. Warren. Even after three months, you'll find me back in prison. But I assure you, all of this was my own doing, and no one helped me out." Harriet stepped into the police van, staring with a deadly gaze at Detective JJ Warren.

"It was Murphy indeed. I will prove it one day, remember that, Spencer," Warren said with a smirk, while Spencer received a phone call. "Sir, we have captured Isiah Maxwell, and according to him, it was Harriet Kingsley who committed the crime," the words of the undercover officer fell like sparks of surprise, confusion, and doubt on Spencer's ears, who headed towards Warren to find answers to all his questions.

"The killer confirmed what you just said, Warren! How did you find out?" Spencer asked, excitedly.

"Well, the evidence was with us all this time. Clinton's room was next to the hall, and we knew Harriet would accompany him to sleep every night. When Jordan was attacked, he must have made noise and struggled a lot before dying, enough to wake anyone from their sleep. But guess what? According to Harriet's testimony, she only learned about the murder the next morning," said Warren.

"Well, that was fantastic. Even I missed it, but I don't think this was enough to convince anyone," said Spencer.

"Sure, this wasn't as convincing, but the secret lies in the safe and how it can be opened," said Warren, giving a smile at the safe.

Warren headed towards Clinton's bedroom and picked up the old set of colored pencils that he used. Out of them, he selected one and found an opening lid at the end of it. Warren opened the lid and found a cylindrical key designed for the locker. The key was almost like a normal key, except the blade, shoulder, and bitting of the key could be pierced into the cylindrical holder using a spring inside, fitting into the cavity made inside the pencil.

"This is how Jordan Kingsley used to open his safe!" Warren smiled, handing over the key to Charlie Spencer.

"But how did you find out?" Spencer, still confused, asked Warren.

"Murphy, although considered a genius

, is also a fool at playing games. He wanted me to solve this case, so he sent a gift to Amara's house—a wooden box. And earlier, we found out that the killer works in a mine," said Warren.

"Wait, so you recognized a pattern here?" said Spencer.

"Indeed. What comes from a mine and is kept inside a wooden case? A pencil, Spencer!" Warren exclaimed.

Spencer's eyes filled with charm, mirroring Warren's excitement when he discovers the truth. But soon, a police officer came. "Inspector Spencer, we searched the entire house but couldn't find those ten beads anywhere!" the officer said.

"Did you check Clinton's clay toys?" said Warren, and the officer nodded. Warren gave him a smirk.

Spencer burst out laughing with joy as the case finally closed sooner than he had expected. But for JJ Warren, the adventure must go on, and he must unravel all the gifts Murphy has planted for him. Until the next enigma.