ELISA HARTWOOD AND THE POISONED LORD ✔

Part 2

There the body of a young man lay, face down in the middle of the huge, exquisite bathroom, his right knee slightly bent and his arms either side of his head. He was immaculately dressed in a black tuxedo his hair still perfectly combed to the side, the white of his shirt collar showing through against his tanned neck. Under his left hand lay a black masquerade eye mask.

Even in death this man was beautiful. Elisa could only imagine what he must've been like alive. Quite the charmer, she thought as she leant close in to his lifeless face. His slightly purple lips were parted, his blue eyes were open but empty. No bruises. No scars. No blood. No signs of struggle. Must be one of the most civilized murders she ever saw.

The police officers busied themselves in every part of the bathroom taking DNA and fingerprint samples from the bath, the sink, the toilet, everywhere. She jumped back up to her feet and turned to observe the scene, absorbing every detail.

'That window,' she called to one of the officers. 'Was it open when he was found?'

'Si,' he nodded.

Just before they had gained access to the bathroom Generale Rafelli had reluctantly informed her that the victim was 20 years old, he had almost certainly been poisoned (by a concentrated dose of the herb Deadly Nightshade) and he was an Englishman of great importance – one Lord Rhys Montague, son of one of the most prestigious men in England. Elisa however had never heard of anyone named Lord Rhys Montague or his Dad for that matter. She knew this wasn't quite the important person everyone kept going on about.

'Where are the suspects?' she said. 'Take me to them.'

 ________

An Italian policeman led Elisa and the two Sergeants into yet another opulent room, a drawing room with an ornate fireplace right in the middle of it with a set of mind-bendingly expensive looking chairs and sofa close by.

In the room there were three people. One of those people she recognized instantly. His face was so very familiar it was like seeing an old friend, only it certainly was not anyone she had ever known before. It was the Prince of England. Prince David. Universally known as the fair-haired, charismatic heir to the British throne. A man whose adventures featured in magazines and newspapers the world over.

He stood, elegantly, poised as if his photograph were about to be taken, one arm resting on the fireplace and the other arm reaching down to a stunningly attractive girl perched on one of the chairs who clung to his hand, tears falling from her doll-like blue eyes. A little further from them paced a dark-skinned girl whose abundant hair cascaded down her sculpted back.

Both girls were dressed in breath taking ball gowns. The girl with the Prince wore a white, shimmery, silvery dress which clung to her graceful body. Her arms and neck were bare, her lips were pink. Bright diamonds glittered in her blonde hair which hung in light ringlets which fell to her jawline.

The dark girl wore a flaming red dress that clung to the curves of her upper body before flaring out into a magnificent skirt. She wore red silk gloves that travelled up close to her shoulders and a heavy set of glowing rubies hung around her neck. She clasped the handle of a red eye mask covered in jewels and feathers in her right hand.

The Prince was dressed in a black tuxedo similar to the one Lord Rhys wore. His thick hair was swept back from his face revealing a set of high cheekbones and a straight, rather perfect nose. He let go of the girl's hand to reach into his pocket, pull out a long thin cigarette and light it. His eyes fell upon Elisa through the swirls of smoke.

'Hello there,' he said, his voice cut glass posh. 'Who are you people?'

'We are members of the London Metropolitan Police,' she replied. 'I am Detective Hartwood and this is Sergeant Cray and Sergeant Dawson.'