Chapter Four
A Matter of Perspective

"Paul Morphy, age 66. Found by his assistant, James Troudeux. Says they were supposed to do inventory tonight. When he arrived, the door was locked and the lights were out. Seeing no message, he let himself in and found the body." Brass said as Sara and Catherine approached.

The words spoken in place of a greeting to the newcomers drew the attention of a tall, athletic boy. James Troudeux looked on as the two member forensic team began photographing the scene. Being a very sheltered seventeen-year-old, he had never seen a dead body in person and now he wished that he never had. He did not even know what to think.

Intellectually, he knew that his old boss and friend would never be around again; that he had died of no apparent reason, but a tiny portion of his mind kept wishing and hoping that this was all a nightmare and at any moment Paul Morphy would walk through the back room door and challenge him to a chess game.

"Mister Troudeux?" The first officer on the scene tried to attract the attention of the adolescent without much luck. Taking him by the arm, the officer (identified by her name tag as P.C. Book) turned the only witness away from the criminalists. Pained eyes of the young man looked into hers. "I know this is difficult, but can you think of anyone that would want your employer-"

"No, everyone loved him. He was-" he trailed off as tears began to form in his eyes. It didn't take much to see that the young man was about to lose his composure. Officer Book waited patiently for him to continue, but it tore at her heart to see the pain in his eyes. She had to use every ounce of control to keep herself from comforting him as she would her own child. Slowly, although no sobs could be heard coming from him, the tears gradually rolled down the youthful face. After a few minutes, he was able to speak again. "Mr. Morphy was always the ideal gentleman, even to customers that were upset with him. He used to tell me that 'one should behave as a gentleman in every circumstance, no matter the occupation or occasion.'"

Book's resolve softened as she spoke. "He sounds like he was a great man."

James nodded and laughed softly. "It took nearly a year before he would call me 'Jimmy' and even then it was very rare. I was always 'James' or 'Mister Troudeux.'"

Book smiled. The deceased seemed to have made an impression on his young employee. "Is there anything that you can think of that may have led to your employer's death?"

Her question fell on deaf ears. James had looked back to watch the real life forensic investigation taking place behind him. The two women were photographing the body and talking to each other. Snippets of their conversation faded in and out, as he observed them. At one snippet, he glared in their direction, disbelief and anger evident in his face. The younger woman was talking about a recent date as they worked. The only things keeping him from lashing out at the two officers were the questions he was being asked.

"How can they talk about their personal life like nothing unusual happened? A man's dead!" His outburst, although not loud in volume, startled the officer talking to him. Book considered his question for a moment.

She stated calmly attracting his attention, "It's a matter of perspective, Jimmy. Unfortunately, this is normal for their line of work."


The back office was stuffy and cramped. The coroner's office had just taken the body away and now both criminalists turned their eyes toward the remainder of the scene. Bathed in red and blue lights, the costume shop took on an eerie atmosphere. The two women were hardly what you would call close, but Catherine had noticed that Sara stiffened when one of the EMTs walked by her. The conversation they held balanced on the edge of personal and professional, but it worked to relax the younger woman.

Now, they divided the scene. Sara took the back of the store and the office; Catherine investigated the main floor area and the checkout counter. The counter was surprisingly orderly in comparison to the office, but nothing remarkable stood out as being unusual except the cash register. Catherine was amazed that the storeowner had not invested in newer technology to protect the cash before any monetary drop to the safe was made.

A small ivory envelope rested on the keys in contrast to the dark walnut color of the century-old register. Written on the envelope, fine black script that gave Catherine chills- Henderson Crime Lab. She had assumed that the deceased had suffered a heart attack; now, however, her instincts were shouting that something was dangerously wrong. She gingerly handled the thin envelope with her gloves and dropped it into a labeled document envelope, sealed it, then placed her initials and the date across the seal.

She dusted the register and counter and found only smudged prints. Next, she examined the partially open safe and found that it had been wiped clean. The note was the only thing of interest or value.

"Catherine? You might want to see this." Sara's voice echoed out to her. Catherine stood up and looked for her co-worker. Sara was standing in a door on the other side of the store. Sara stepped aside as Catherine approached.

Inside the doorway were dressing rooms. In what was a seating area, empty racks stood in various states of assembly. The wall beside the door played host to shelving loaded with scarves of different colors, styles, lengths, and materials. Odds and ends filled a few cardboard boxes on the floor.

One box attracted Catherine's attention. Sticking up above the miscellaneous contents, three black and silver rods topped with a sphere leaned to the right. Beneath each sphere, three silver discs decorated the black shafts. She had seen one of those just recently attached to the dome of the mutated saltshaker back at the lab.

Catherine began to say something, but all that came out was a long yawn. The sky outside lightened as morning slowly crept across the city.