Special Agent Gil Lattimore ambled into the interview room slowly… deliberately. Preston Marbury was looking gaunt and tired. Lattimore arrested Marbury as May Major was signing the letter of intent to sell the land.  He spent a night in jail before calling his own counsel, Randall Hurt, who had him released on a one-million-dollar bond.

Lattimore said hello to Randall Hurt before addressing Marbury, “I would thank you for coming down today, Mr. Marbury, but that would be disingenuous wouldn’t it? I mean, you really didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m going to sue the crap out of you, Major Timber, May Major and anyone else I can think of,” he spat back. “This is outrageous.”

Lattimore sat, “Is it now?”

He opened a folder and pulled papers from it, “Mr. Marbury, do you know what Monkshood is?”

He paused before speaking, surprised by the question, “No.”

Lattimore smiled at the obvious lie.

“If you don’t know what it is, it’s interesting that we found some of it in the workshop behind your house.”

“I don’t know what it is,” he insisted.

“It’s a plant that contains a substance called aconite,” Lattimore continued. “It’s also called aconitum. It’s a deadly poison that can kill quickly when ingested. Death from aconitum poisoning can look like a heart attack when the right dose is ingested.”

“My client has already stated he doesn’t know what it is,” Randall Hurt interjected.

“We’ll get back to that in a moment,” Lattimore said. He pulled a few more papers from his file, “These are the test results just back from Seattle. The coroner found aconitum in Mike Major’s system. Once he knew what to look for he sent samples to a lab in Seattle that tests for rare poisons. The test came back positive for aconitum. The coroner officially changed the cause of death from myocardial infarction, a heart attack, to poisoning. He also changed the cause of death from natural causes to… murder. He determined that Chinese tea was mixed in with the aconitum.  And it wasn’t just any tea. It’s called, Wuyi Da Hon Pao, and it’s two-hundred-seventy dollars per pound. Do you know about that tea, Mr. Marbury?”

“No, I do not,” he replied.

Lattimore pulled a receipt from the folder and handed slid it across the table to Marbury, “I think you should revise that statement, Mr. Marbury. This is a UPS receipt. They delivered a pound of that tea to your office less than two weeks ago.”

Marbury looked at the receipt, “I didn’t sign for it.”

“You’re right,” Lattimore agreed, sliding yet another piece of paper across the table.

Randall Hurt picked the paper up, “What’s this?”

“It’s a statement from Preston Marbury’s secretary,” Latimore replied. “She signed for the tea and took it straight to Mr. Marbury. She said he was very excited to receive it.”

“Mr. Marbury likes rare tea,” Hurt said. “So did Mike Major. That doesn’t mean my client poisoned him.”

“We found an expensive exported tea mixed with a very rare poison and both items were in the possession of Mr. Marbury,” Lattimore said. “You want us to believe it’s a coincidence?”

“Perhaps someone set up Mr. Marbury,” Hurt proposed.

“Tell me about Stan ‘the man’ Manford,” Lattimore said, changing the subject.

“I don’t know the name,” Marbury said.

“Wrong answer, Mr. Marbury,” Lattimore said. “Stan Manford was a client of yours fifteen years ago when you were an ambulance chasing attorney. You got him off of a meth charge.”

Marbury froze momentarily.

“I had hundreds of clients,” he said, clearing his voice. “I don’t remember them all.”

“Stan was quite the chemist,” Lattimore said. “He cranked out the meth in record quantities until an undercover officer caught him. You got him off on a technicality, Mr. Marbury. Is it coming back to you now?”

“My client said he does not remember Stan Manford,” Hurt interjected.

“Well, Stan the Man remembers Mr. Marbury well,” Lattimore said. “He gave us his statement an hour ago. He’s turning state’s evidence and testifying against your client. Stan the Man said Mr. Marbury came to him because he needed a favor. Marbury had acquired the aconitum and he needed a chemist to blend the proper amount of tea to induce a heart attack with a single cup ingested.”

“Manford is a liar!” Marbury yelled, slamming his fist on the table. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He breathed heavily.

“Perhaps,” Lattimore said, “but not in this case. Bank records show that two weeks ago Mr. Marbury withdrew fifty-thousand dollars from his personal bank account… in cash.”

“Withdrawing cash from your own account is not against the law, Agent Lattimore,” Hurt said.

“When we arrested Mr. Manford, we found fifty-thousand-dollars in cash in his apartment,” Lattimore shot back. “I guess that’s another in a long line of mounting coincidences.”

“That doesn’t mean…” Hurt began.

“Cut the crap counselor,” Lattimore barked. “It’s insulting. We have a copy of an email your client sent to Mike Major bragging about a wonderful new Chinese tea he received. Mike Major responded to that email and invited Marbury to join him at four o’clock that afternoon where they could share some of it. Four hours later Mike Major died. Stan Manford’s statement indicates that the day before Mike Major’s death Marbury gave him the Chinese tea and ‘a suspicious-looking purple substance,’ asking him to mix it together along with other ingredients that would mask the taste of the aconitum.”

“You’re forgetting one thing, Agent Lattimore,” Hurt said. “Motive. My client and the deceased were friends. They were days away from selling Major Timber. The proceeds would make them both very rich men. Why would my client want to murder Mr. Major?”

Lattimore opened the manila file and dumped hundreds of pages onto the desk.

“Mike Major had no intention of selling the company,” Lattimore said. “There are dozens of email exchanges verifying that. Your client’s emails reflected desperate attempts to get Mike Major to change his mind.  What he didn’t tell Mr. Major was that he was in debt to his eyeballs—gambling, bad investments, high-interest loans. The fact is, Preston Marbury was close to financial ruin. The sale of Major Timber was the only thing that could save him and when Mike Major refused to do so, he killed him.”

Marbury coughed and gagged, “I… didn’t…”

“Why are you coughing, Mr. Marbury?” Lattimore asked. “Is that from the bitter pill you’re swallowing?”

“I think we need a break,” Hurt said, pouring a glass of water for his client. “We also have a statement from your partner in crime, Roger Cavanaugh. He’s singing like a bird. He told us all about how you planned to get rid of May Major so you could assume control of the company and complete the sale. He even told us all about the kickback you demanded on the side from Redwood’s CEO to push the sale through against Mike Major’s wishes. May Major really threw a wrench in those works when she didn’t sign the proxy, didn’t she?”

Marbury gasped and choked. Sweat was now dripping down his face; his hair was damp with moisture.

“Are you ok, Mr. Marbury?” Lattimore asked.

“I think he’s having a heart attack,” Hurt said. “Call nine-one-one.”