The Parable of the Murder Scene and the Butler

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, is admitting you have chemical weapons half way to curing you of chemical weapons?”

Josh spoke thus:

A police officer was investigating a murder scene.  The murder had taken place in the living room of a great mansion.  The police officer approached the door of the living room.

“You can’t go in there,” the butler said, ”It’s a crime scene.”

“I know it’s a crime scene,” the police officer said, “Someone was murdered.  I’m here to investigate.”

“‘Murder’ is a strong word,” the butler said, “You don’t know it’s a murder.”

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” the police officer said.

“You won’t find anything,” the butler said, “There isn’t any evidence.  There’s no blood.  There’s no knife.  There’s no gun.  There’s no poison.”

“What makes you so sure?” the police officer asked.

“I know about poison,” the butler said, “There are all sorts of poison.  There’s cyanide, which tastes of bitter almonds, I think.  That or arsenic.  I get the two confused.”

“It’s cyanide,” the police officer said.

“Well it’s not that, then,” the butler said, “There’s no cyanide.  And no arsenic either.  Or rat poison.  Or herbicide.  Herbicide kills anything.  But it’s easily traceable.”

“I’m aware of herbicide,” the police officer said.

“It’s not drugs, either,” the butler said, “If it were drugs, there would be traces of the drug in the victim’s system.”

“Drugs could mean an accidental death,” the police officer said.

“The victim had no history of drug use,” the butler said, “Nothing stronger than cough medicine or aspirin.  Even when the victim broke a leg, the victim didn’t need pain killers.  It took more than a broken leg to make the victim take pain killers.”

“Like what?” the police officer asked.

“Like the death of the victim’s spouse,” the butler said, “That could drive the victim to drink.  Not being used to drink, and taking antidepressants, that’s a quick road to a bad drug reaction, and possible cardiac arrest, especially with the victim’s history of heart trouble.”

“When did the victim’s spouse die?” the police officer asked.

“Who said the victim’s spouse died?” the butler asked.

“You did, just now,” the police officer said.

“It was an accident,” the butler said, “How could anyone know that the victim’s spouse would be in the swimming pool at precisely 6:30 a.m.?  It was the same time the victim’s spouse always swam in the morning, sure, but you’d have to be crazy to take advantage of such a regular event to set up an accident, because everyone would know you were the butler, and everyone would know the butler would also know about the victim’s weak heart and potential serious reaction to combining alcohol and antidepressants.  And I was nowhere near the pool, and it wasn’t me who bought the antidepressants.  You need a prescription for antidepressants like that.  All right, so they were my pills, I have problems sleeping, but why would I put them on the tray next to the bottle of scotch, when everyone knew they were my pills and the victim didn’t drink scotch, so where did the scotch come from, anyway?  What would a butler be doing with an expensive bottle like that, and no receipt?”

“Can I enter the room now?” the police officer asked, “I’d like to take a look around.”

“Do you have a warrant?” the butler asked.