They’d arrived at a floor-to-ceiling set of double rusty decorative sheet metal doors, and the girl halted. “I-I went in to wake him, as I usually did, at seven o’clock, only the moment I set foot inside the room, I-I saw him.”
“Gabriel?” asked Odelia gently.
The girl nodded, then pressed the tissue to her nose again and closed her eyes as she relived that horrible moment.
“He was just standing there, frozen like a statue. At first I didn’t know what was going on. It was dark, of course. So I cheerfully asked, ‘Oh, I didn’t know you were up already, sir.’ He didn’t respond, though, and just stood there. So I switched on the lights, and as they slowly lit up the room, that’s when I saw it: he was holding a knife in his right hand, blood dripping to the floor. And he had the weirdest expression on his face.”
“What expression?” asked Gran.
She shook her head, a frown on her face. “Confusion? Yes, that’s probably what it was. He looked confused, and scared, and then he spoke those horrible words. ‘Is he dead?’ And that’s when I saw Mr. Flake. His silk pajamas were streaked with blood, and his eyes were wide open, staring up into space.” She shivered. “That’s when I knew Mr. Crier was right. Mr. Flake was dead, and he’d killed him.”
She opened the door, almost as an afterthought, and the first sight that met Odelia’s eyes was the red-haired female cop standing just inside the door. She recognized her as Sarah Flunk, Chase’s colleague. Sarah tipped an imaginary peaked cap to the newcomers. “Detective,” she said. “Odelia.” She hesitated as she fastened her eyes on Gran, then nodded in greeting. “Mrs. Muffin.”
Tough to deny the mother of your boss admission to a crime scene.
Near the window, a burly cop had been stationed. His name was Randal Skip, and judging from his dark scowl he was not a man to be trifled with. When he saw Odelia, though, his crusty features crumbled into a smile. He’d always been a big fan of the boss’s niece. He held up a hand in greeting.
On the bed, as the maid had found him, lay one of the most famous fashion designers of his generation. His trademark white mane was unruffled, his square face with the thin lips chalk-white as usual, and the only thing that gave away that he was dead was the fact that he wasn’t breathing.
After uttering a distraught little yelp of distress, the maid fled from the room, and Sarah Flunk closed the heavy steel doors behind her.
“No one’s been in or out?” asked Gran, as she took out a pair of plastic gloves from her pocket and directed an earnest look at the dead man.
“No one, ma’am,” said Officer Randal Skip. “Your son told us he’d send in a team, so…” He directed a quizzical look at Chase, but the latter merely shook his head, and Randal rearranged his features into a stoic expression.
“So where’s the culprit?” asked Gran now.
“You mean the boyfriend?” asked Sarah. “At the station, ma’am. Chief Alec took him into custody.”
“So did he confess?”
“Not to my knowledge. But then he doesn’t have to confess, does he? He was caught red-handed, so to speak.”
“He was covered with his victim’s blood,” said Randal. “As clear-cut a case as there ever was, ma’am.”
“Mh,” said Gran, not convinced. “Too clear-cut, wouldn’t you say?”
“Ma’am?”
“A case as clear-cut as this is a rarity. In all my years I don’t think I’ve ever handled a case where the killer, instead of fleeing the scene of the crime, simply chose to wait for a witness to show up, if you see what I mean.”
Randal cut another glance to Chase, who, once again, shook his head. ‘Humor the lady,’ his demeanor appeared to indicate.
“So you don’t think he did it?” asked Sarah, not hiding her skepticism.
“I’m not saying he did, and I’m not saying he didn’t,” Gran said as she checked the body. “He looks pretty dead to me,” she concluded after a long moment, then bent over to put her ear against the man’s lips. Straightening, she added, “Yep, I think he’s dead. What did Abe Cornwall say?”
“Hasn’t shown up yet, ma’am.”
“Mh,” she said, then studied the wound more closely. “Stab wound would you say, Randal?”
“That would be my conclusion, ma’am,” said the burly cop. “Of course I’m not an expert, but seeing as the killer was still holding the knife, that would be my best guess.”
“Straight to the heart,” Sarah murmured as she looked on reverently.
“A-ha,” said Gran. “Of course. Crime passionnel.”
“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. I’m not a detective.”
Gran turned to Chase. “What do you say, Detective Kingsley?”
Chase had taken up position on the other side of the bed. “Any cameras?” he asked, glancing around.
“As a matter of fact there are,” said Randal. He pointed to the only painting in the room. It depicted the dead man, seated on what looked like a throne, his trademark dark glasses obscuring the upper strata of his face, a white cat perched on his knee. It reminded Odelia of Dr. No, the James Bond villain.
“There’s a camera embedded in the painting,” Sarah explained. “It’s the cat’s eyes. They’re actually two lenses. But we haven’t been able to locate the footage.”
“Did you check with Flake’s security team?” asked Odelia.
“We did. The guy in charge of security reckons that either the camera is a dud—just for show—or else it fed into a parallel security system only accessible to Flake himself. At any rate he doesn’t seem to have a clue.”
“It must feed into something,” said Gran, as she climbed on top of the bed to take a closer look at the camera. “Clever,” she said. “Very clever indeed.”
“There’s a rumor going around that Flake and Crier used it to create their own private home movies, sir,” said Sarah, addressing Chase. She lowered her voice. “Home sex movies, sir. Only we haven’t been able to find them yet.”
“When I talk to Crier I’ll ask him about it,” said Chase as he cast a worried glance at Gran, who was still trudging around on the bed, potentially disturbing the crime scene. Finally she was satisfied and climbed down.
“Kinky,” she commented, then swung round with the air of one who has come to a conclusion. “Sex game gone wrong is my conclusion. Flake had probably found himself a new, younger, boyfriend, and had been adding to his collection of sex tapes with this virile young man. And when Crier found out, he flew into a rage and killed his lover in a moment of insanity. Classic.”
“Right,” said Chase. “Sarah and Randal. I want you to talk to the rest of the staff. And ask them about the camera. I’ll talk to the head of security.” He turned to Odelia. “Are you all right in here, babe?”
Odelia nodded. And when Chase gestured with his head to Gran, she understood his meaning. Not only was she to keep an eye on Leonidas Flake and the crime scene, but also on her grandmother, who was now checking under the bed, as if fully expecting another killer to be holed up there.
Chase and the other police officers walked out and closed the door behind them and then it was just her and Gran and… the dead man.
Chapter 7
Instead of joining Odelia and Chase inside the house, as was our habit, we’d instead opted to inspect the outer rim of the Leonidas dwelling. Not that this was part of a new strategy on our part. We were upset with Odelia, and wanted to showcase that annoyance by doing things our way instead of hers. Not that it would do us a lot of good. Humans are notoriously obtuse, and it would take more than the silent treatment for Odelia to become aware of our grievances.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Brutus now, and I had to confess that I didn’t have any. And since Harriet, usually filled to the brim with plans, was coming up empty in that department, too, and Dooley was, as usual, a spent force when it came to racking the old noggin, we simply wandered around aimlessly, deciding that instead of coming up with a plan to aid and abet our human in solving yet another crime, we were going to go on strike for once.