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.'
The Prince looked at her in astonishment, coughing out the smoke from his mouth so fast it came out in cloudy puffs. The dark haired girl halted her pacing and spun her head to face Elisa dramatically. The blonde girl blinked at her through watery eyes, clutching a tissue to her left hand.
'You can leave now Sergeants,' she said. 'Please wait outside and make sure I have at least 15 minutes in here.'
The Prince cleared his throat.
'You are the detective they sent?'
'Yes.'
The Sergeants left the room, closing the door on their way out.
'What?' cried the dark haired girl in a thick Italian accent. 'But you are baby!'
'Technically I'm 16,' she replied. 'And therefore definitely not a baby. I am the detective on this case and really, not one of you is in a position to complain at this moment.'
'Do you have any idea who you are speaking to? Our friend, her boyfriend Rhys has just been killed,' said the Prince pointing towards the dark haired girl. 'She is Contessa Imelda Farella. 'Contessa' meaning Countess. And I truly hope you know what my title is.'
He crossed his arms whilst looking down at her along his nose.
'For me,' she replied 'a title is nothing more than a potential diversion. A reminder that I must look at the person in front of me, not listen to who society deems them to be.'
'I've never heard such drivel in all my life,' said the Prince. 'There's no use coming in here asking us about things – get out there and look for whoever did this.'
'Generale Rafelli has a league of men across the city searching for suspects.'
'Is that some sort of accent I hear? Yorkshire or something? God help us all.'
She stepped further towards them.
'Everyone, by definition, has an accent of some kind.'
'I presume you finished school? At least I hope? Which school did you go to?'
'For a few years I went to Ashton Primary in Leeds before being recruited for the British School for Gifted Girls (child prodigies mostly). Alongside my police career I am currently at Cambridge University, studying Criminology. I was offered a place at the age of 14 on account of my unparalleled puzzle-solving skills. That, coupled with my extraordinary capacity for understanding the motivations of others makes me one hell of a homicide solver. Now please, like it or not, I am asking for your co-operation so let's all just agree that I will be the one asking the questions from this point onwards.'
The blonde girl reached out once more for the Prince's hand. She clutched the tissue to her eyes whilst making weak movements as though she believed herself about to faint. Contessa Imelda glowered and looked like she may burst into a temper tantrum at any moment.
'We will begin with a few simple questions here before you will all be separated for individual questioning.'
Contessa Imelda stamped her foot on the floor.
'This is my house. I go where I want!'
Elisa turned to the blonde girl and asked:
'What is your name?'
'Her name is Alexandra West,' said the Prince.
'Please, let her speak.'
Alexandra looked up at the Prince wide-eyed.
'What is your relationship to the people in this room?'
Her voice was high-pitched, posh and it sounded like the words were somehow being forced straight out of her nose instead of her mouth.
'I am the Prince's girlfriend,' she said, the left side of her mouth rising in a – barely visible but nevertheless there – self-satisfied smile. 'And a friend of Imelda. I am a guest here.'
The Contessa shot Alexandra a sidelong look.
'Ok,' said Elisa 'Now, Contessa Imelda please explain to me why these people are here in your house?'
'The house belong to my family,' said the Contessa. 'Mama, Papa, all the staff, they are on – how you say? – holiday. Rhys is – was – my fiancé. We was supposed to get married!'
She threw her hands to her face.
'My God. David came here with Rhys for the Carnivale so we can get to know each other, so we can have fun in beautiful Venezia. David have a girlfriend so I invite her too. It was going to be amazing. I cannot believe what has happened. I don't believe it!'
She made a fist with her hand and pounded it to her chest. Elisa then turned to the Prince who explained to her that the four of them had attended a masked ball that evening, in one of the other palaces along the Grand Canal. They had a wonderful time dancing together then they came here to enjoy a drink. He also explained that poor Alexandra had been the first to discover Rhys like that and had been suffering terribly ever since.
'I was absolutely terrified,' explained Alexandra. 'I saw the window was open and was sure whoever had killed dear Rhys would be back but I froze and couldn't do anything but come back and tell everyone then call the police.'
Elisa nodded.
'So you went to the bathroom because you needed it or because you went to find Lord Rhys?'
'David told me to go and find him, he had disappeared for so long. I got the most appalling shock.'
She stood up and put both arms around the Prince's middle, cradling her head on to his chest. Elisa asked them each in turn if they had returned to the bedrooms or gone to any other rooms between now and arriving home. All three said they had not gone to any other room but the bathroom – once each – before Rhys' death.
They also told her they had each drunk a glass of whisky, including Rhys. The Prince had poured them however all four at that point were around the small bar in the drawing room where the drinks were prepared. After some forceful questioning all three of them reluctantly admitted they were close enough to Rhys' drink to have tampered with it although all three maintained that the incident was absolutely nothing to do with any of them.
'Did anyone take any photographs tonight?' said Elisa.
The Prince turned to look at the Contessa.
'What?' she cried. 'Itsa private. Ok, ok.'
She grabbed her phone from the small table close to where she stood and scrolled through her photos before passing the phone to Elisa. In the picture all four of them were bunched together smiling. The Contessa and Alexandra playfully held their masks to their faces, both with gloved hands. The Prince and Lord Rhys were close by their sides, grinning handsomely. Elisa nodded slowly. She made a mental note of every detail before handing the phone back to the Contessa.
Elisa loved nothing more than being presented with a good mystery. She thought of the first mystery she had ever solved as a tiny girl at primary school when an unexplained pair of knickers had appeared on the windowsill of one of the windows on the school staircase. Whilst everyone else wondered and speculated on that pair of knickers she systematically interviewed her classmates and made a note of every clue – finding out that they had been put there by a boy whose Mum had accidently packed his sister's knickers into his backpack and had thrown them onto the windowsill in a panic.
'None of us could've done this to Rhys, we all loved him,' said the Prince.
'For every effect there is always a cause,' said Elisa. 'Even if it is a small set of causes that build up over time. The cause will always equal the effect in the end.'
They looked at her with confused frowns. She called the two Sergeants back in to the room and asked them to escort Contessa Imelda to her bedroom, Alexandra to her guest room and to make sure the Prince stayed right where he is in the drawing room.
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