Chapter Two
Riddles
Vanessa
The morning after my introduction to the Opera Garnier broke dry and cold. I had the windows open in an attempt to keep me awake after a night of examining pages and pages of fingerprints. Now I found myself scouring the pages of news papers nine years out of date. I was reading about the incidences less than a decade prior. I was bound and determined to piece the jigsaw puzzle of the story together. A gut instinct was telling me that this murder was connected to the vanishment of Christine Daae. Just as I was about to give up for the day, a story caught my eye.
Mysterious Disappearance at the Palace Garnier
This Past Saturday, the Paris Opera House has experienced another tragedy. The body of Count Philippe De Chagney has finally been found in the underground lake beneath the Opera House. But over shadowing still is the disappearance of singer Christine Daae from the ranks of the actors.
"We have no comments at this time," said Richard Firmin, one of two newest managers, concerning the disappearance of their greatest ingénue. "We assure everyone that the police are searching for the culprit behind this crime." Yet the culprit has yet to be found. So what does this mean? We are left only to speculate. Perhaps it had to do with enigmatical entity known only as the Phantom of the Opera, who is accredited with an earlier tragedy involving a new box attendant, her husband, and brother and a falling chandelier. It seems far more likely that Viscompt Raoul killed his own brother and ran away with the singer out of desperation when the Count tried to stop him from proposing to Mademoiselle Daae.
"It was no secret that they loved each other, Christine and that Boy." Said Madame Giry, dance instructor at the opera, and who had known the girl. "They were always together. Spending afternoon wandering the Opera House. Christine had taken to wandering like someone who was trapped and was desperate for a way out." Could the delicate flower of the stage, in the prime of her career, become too entangled in actions that were out of her control? Whether spectral or more intangible, it seems to be that this mystery will not be clearing up any time soon.
"Madame?" The voice of my maid interrupted my train of thought. I gave her a death glare. She blanched as she placed my meager breakfast on my desk. I leant back, placing my hands on my face.
"What is all of this?" Natalie whispered. I peeked at her through my fingers with a smile.
"Would you like to find out?" A fervent nod answered. "Look at your palms." I extended my own in further example, pointing at my finger tips.
"I see ridges!"
"Those ridges leave behind a print, and no two prints are the same. If I add a powder to it I can tell if you have been…" I fell silent, a sudden realization hitting me.
"Vanessa?" Natalie said nervously.
"…been at a crime scene." I gasped. Then I hurriedly grabbed my coat and hat.
"Johann, call a cab quickly!" I exclaimed out of the library at my butler.
"Yes, Mademoiselle," the German answered. I grazed over the newspapers once again before striding out of the house, leaving my maid with a confounded expression. The brisk ride to the opera passed by without my notice. I did not wait for the cab to stop before I leapt out, tossing my fare over my shoulder, and glided up the front steps into the opera's administration wing.
"Where are the Managers?" I demanded of a passing administrator.
"They are in their office and do not wish to be disturbed, he replied. I marched off in the direction of the offices. The administrator immediately followed me, squawking like an angry goose. I then passed the Repiteur.
"What's going on?" he asked in confusion. Once the administrator answer, he too tried to detain me, but I kept my ground and continued walking. I approached the office with a determined expression carved on my face. I stopped in front of the secretary's desk.
"May I help you?" he asked, not even bothering to look up.
"Yes, tell the Managers that Vanessa VanCartia needs to speak with them," I responded.
"They are busy at the moment, come back later." With a haughty laugh, I turned from the desk to the office. I barged into the manager's office with several other members of the opera staff in tow, including the secretary, the Repiteur, and the administrator. The men just mentioned stepped blatantly in between me and the Managers. I gave them all a poisonous glare as I pushed past them.
"What in God's name is going on here?" Moncharmin exclaimed at the crowd and commotion. When he saw me, his eyes flashed with worry.
"I want to know what happened to the body of Count Francis de Sanderville," I demanded. The Managers stood stupefied. Something was amiss. No one seemed to want me here, despite the fact that I was paid to be so. I arched an eyebrow as I approached the Managers. "Messieurs, have you been threatened?"
There was a pause, in which I caught the managers exchanging a look. The tension in the air was almost tangible. Firmin made as if he would say something.
"Well, out with it, man!" I finally snapped.
"You should have this," Firmin stated. I took a letter from his outstretched hand and read it silently. Warn me not to cross him? I laughed out loud.
"Would you please enlighten us as to what is so amusing? Moncharmin asked.
"I think I just found your murderer, sirs. This letter proves it. He is frightened of me. Frightened of the thought that I will catch him," I responded, folding the letter and slipping it into my interior coat pocket. "Even if I do not catch this Phantom on this particular charge, I shall have him in irons on one of the others. Now may I please see the body?"
Firmin offered to escort me to Saint Maria's Mortuary. The two of us hurried out of the building and into the manager's carriage, Firmin barking the name of the location. I sat quietly in the plush velvet upholstered cabin, staring calmly out the window as the carriage swayed down the cobbled streets.
"Pardon my asking, but why do you need to see Francis' body?" Firmin asked after a few moments silence
"I hope to find a trace of the person who killed him. There might be a clue," I answered.
A half hour later found us in the preparation room of Saint Maria's mortuary. The room was stark white and antiseptically cleansed. No matter how often I was in this room, I still shivered from the unpleasantness of the environment. It was a personal theory of mine that all morticians were slightly off kilter in the head. But good news prevails even in the gloomiest of places. The body had not been prepared yet. It was basically in the form it had been when it arrived. This meant I had a great stroke of luck and plenty of opportunity to find a clue. I gestured to the mortician to show me the body. The storage platform gave a responding clang as it rolled of its compartment. Another chill ran up my spine.
"Thank you," I said as the mortician handed me the cadaver's personal effects before they left. After combing through the bag of items, I came across a torn piece of fabric. It looked like it was from a lady's gown, or even from a costume from that night's production I then turned to the body as Firmin watched.
I examined the body meticulously. Nothing looked strange, besides the fact that it was pale white and, of course, dead. I bent down to look at the victim's face. The blue tint of death flushed the entire body, seen the most in the purple color of the lips and fingers. His spine was broken due to the plummet from the heights of the Opera Populair, and the back of his skull was fractured. I felt a kind of pity for the man.
Suddenly, the head dropped to the side and stared at me despite rigor mortis.
"JESUS CHRIST!" I shrieked in shock. I placed a hand on my racing heart and closed my eyes, ready to be sick.
"Are you alright, Mademoiselle?" Firmin asked, obviously shaken by my scream.
"Yes, I am fine. Just startled, that's all," I answered with measured breath.
When I opened my eyes again, I noticed something that I had overlooked before and a smile creased my face. A small red spot was on the neck of Count Francis. I leaned forward again and further examined it. It was a woman's lip color. Indeed, our dearly departed Count was an adventurous fellow. I could not help but smirk. Check one off the investigative list. The victim was a man around town. So the Managers were right.
"Have you found something?" Firmin whispered, picking up on the reason for my smile and not wanting the morticians outside to hear.
"You were right." I pointed at the lip color. A look of understanding flew between us. Wiping my hands on a clean towel, we left the room. The mortician stood outside waiting for me to finish.
"I shall have to keep an eye out for my career, sir. You and your colleague are turning into quite the astute detectives. The manager beamed at the praise. I then fell silent, leaving the building in a contemplative mood. So the Count and his lady partner had been in an amiable encounter that night, when someone, namely the Phantom, jumped the Count and killed him after the lady had left. If that was the case, why did the Phantom leave the lady alive?
'Well, there are two answers to that question. First, he loved her and secondly, he had not let her live and hid the body.' I meditated to myself. 'Then why did he not hide the Count's body?' Another simple conclusion came to mind; he did not have time, the body had been found where he had left it at the moment he had finished hiding the other. It made sense, now to see if I was correct. I slipped inside the carriage, followed closely by Firmin.
Back in the Manager's office, I began to try and connect the pieces I had been given.
"Monsieur Firmin, did any of the female opera tenants go missing mysteriously on the night of the murder?" I asked, sitting casually in a winged back chair, sipping coffee.
"Not that I know of," he replied.
"Damn. Well, that narrows things down for me," I muttered. Things kept on getting more confusing the deeper I delved. So the Phantom loved her or was her friend and helped her get rid of the Count. Sound plausible? Yes! Or maybe I was completely and utterly off and the Phantom was really nothing more than a myth to frighten ballerinas.
"Mademoiselle, please listen to the note. He is always serious when he writes. He will kill you if you get on his bad side," Firmin suddenly pleaded.
"Monsieur, I end up on everyone's bad side, it's inevitable. So you should refrain from worrying. My death will not tarnish your opera, for I will not be here when it happens," I teased. Firmin bit his lip.