Brain Games
Someone had murdered Winston Harris— and Detective Morrissey knew who it was!
So, what do we know about the victim?” Detective Morrissey asked his partner as they walked across the parking lot of the office center.
Q. Where do fortune-tellers dance? A. At the crystal ball!
“The cleaning lady found him last night. Friday nights are her regular time to clean when nobody else is in the building. His name was Winston Harris, but they called him Workaholic Winston.” “Who are they?” “The people in the other office suites. He was a CPA who worked a crazy number of hours because he handled most of the business here in town. So those long hours, plus some very smart investments, made him a very rich man but not wellliked.”
“Are there any suspects?”
“We’ve narrowed them down to three— the ones we’re here to question. The coroner and the forensics team are done; we thought bringing them back to the office where he was stabbed might make the guilty person uneasy and off-guard.”
Entering the long corridor, Detective Morrissey peered at the block lettering on the frosted-glass door: Winston Harris, CPA Hours: Monday thru
Thursday 9- 8 Saturday 9-3 “Wow, this guy really was a workaholic. No wonder he had a lot of money. He didn’t have time to spend it!”
Three faces looked up as the detectives entered the office. Glancing at his notebook, Detective Morrissey turned his attention to a woman who seemed to regard him with apprehension.
“You’re Bonita Harris, sister of the deceased?”
She nodded, twisting a tissue. “I know it looks bad for me. I stand to gain a lot from his death, but I didn’t kill him for it. Everybody knows Winston promised to leave me all the properties he owned.” “How was your relationship with him?” “I was a very good sister,” she snapped. “He was Mom’s favorite and got away with a lot, but I never held that against him. He was a workaholic and very naive about unscrupulous women.” Detective Morrissey raised his brows. “Would you mind explaining that?” Relishing the chance to tell her story, she settled back. “Well, recently he met this woman and spent every Sunday with her. She’s attractive, if you like bleached hair, a lot of makeup and flashy clothes. She’s a property manager for some big corporation in the city.”
“We’ll look into that,” he said, before turning to a handsome, young man who was sitting on the sofa
You’re Blaine Harris, nephew of the deceased?” He nodded. “My uncle and I had a good relationship. He’s been very generous to me through the years. I’ve had bad luck lately with some business ventures.”
“You mean gambling debts,” Bonita hissed.
He glared at his aunt. “It’s true Uncle Winston was a little annoyed because I didn’t take his advice. He agreed to take care of my debts one last time to satisfy my business partners, who were pressing me. I swung by his office late Thursday night to firm up the details, knowing Friday would be another one of his busy days. He was alive and well when I left.”
Before the detective could respond, the third suspect, a man wearing thick glasses and an illfitting suit, jumped up and blurted, “Winston stole all my clients. I might not be a CPA, but I’m a good accountant. That man ruined my business, but I hope you’re not going to try to pin this on me!”
“Will you benefit from his death?”
“Well, sure, I mean there’s nobody else!” Realizing his mistake, the accountant clapped a hand over his mouth and sat down.
The detective closed his notebook and faced the guilty person. “You’re coming down to the station with us.”