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The Portrait

Part 22

"Wufei…Wufei, may I speak to you for a minute?"

The young man looked up from his laptop. He was sitting in the shadow of a large oak tree just outside the library building. "Ah, yes of course. What can I do for you, Professor?"

"Actually, I just have a question. It is alright to call you Wufei while we are in school, isn't it?"

"Absolutely. But I assume that wasn't the question."

Treize laughed. "No." He looked around for a moment, as thought trying to decide if he should…could sit down in the grass in his tan colored trousers.

"There are some benches on the other side of the plaza." Wufei seemed to realize his dilemma. "We probably will be more comfortable sitting there."

"Thanks." Treize nodded as he extended his hand to help the young man to his feet. "This campus is really beautiful, isn't it?" he remarked as they crossed the square.

"Yes," Wufei agreed. "Especially at this time of the year when all the trees are blooming. I also like how they have managed to combine the traditional look with modern conveniences; it was a big reason why I picked Marymount over the other schools I've visited."

"Ah yes, I've heard you were recruited by a number of colleges. Quite impressive."

The younger man made a dismissive gesture. "Not really." He replied humbly.

There was a moment of silence as student and teacher settled down at a table beneath a large canvas umbrella.

"Well, what I wanted to ask you is, if you know of any local traditional Chinese stores."

"Hmm… There is a market on 29th street where I usually buy most of my groceries."

"Yes, I know that place," Treize smiled mildly. "But I'm afraid what I'm looking for is a little more unconventional and probably not found at the China Mart or any ordinary Asian supermarket."

"What exactly is it you are looking for; herbal remedies or medical tonics…?"

"No, not exactly. You see, my problem is… This is really going to sound weird."

Wufei looked at the older man firmly. Suddenly he seemed to understand what Treize was talking about. "Are you trying to buy Rhino horn? You know, aside from the fact that it is highly illegal, there is really no proof that the powder increases male po…"

Treize blinked and stared at the younger man for a second in slight confusion. "Rhi…NO! Oh god, no!" he finally seemed to realize what Wufei was talking about. "I'm afraid you misunderstood. What I'm looking for is a charm or protective ward."

Now it was Wufei's turn to look baffled. "What kind of charm?"

"Something to keep out spirits. I know Chinese are still using charms like that around their house to ward off spirits and prevent them from entering."

Wufei chuckled quietly. "I'm sorry, I really did misunderstand. I have to say I'm not sure what surprises me more, you knowing so much about Chinese culture and traditions or you actually believing in them."

The professor sighed. "If you had this talk a few weeks ago, I'd probably have laughed about the idea, but let's just say my look on things have changed quite a bit recently. And that's exactly where my problem lies. I find the idea of Alexander being able to walk into any room at any given time a bit…disconcerting to say the least."

"I think I understand," Wufei nodded. "And I know exactly the place where you will find what you are looking for. I'll write the address down for you."

"Thank you."

"No problem at all," the young man replied as he ripped a page from his notebook. "Say, Milliardo mentioned you are going to talk to the police about Alexander's death?"

"Yes, in fact the Sheriff is going to meet with us tomorrow afternoon. He sounded quite interested as I talked to him over the phone."

Wufei scribbled the address onto the paper and handed it to the professor. "Please, let me know how it went. I'm curious to find out what happened to Alexander."

"Will do," Treize assured him with a nod. "And thanks again."

###

"Sheriff Bonaparte, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with us," Treize greeted the tall, bearded man as he and Milliardo entered his office at the city hall.

"Not at all." The sheriff rose from behind his desk to exchange handshakes with his guests. "Mister Khushrenada, yes?"

"That's right. Treize Khushrenada. And this is a friend of mine, Milliardo…"

"…Peacecraft," Bonaparte nodded. "We've met before."

"We have?" Milliardo asked, slightly surprised. "What did I do, speed down Main Street."

"I hope not," the sheriff laughed. "No, it was at your grandfather's 75th birthday party. But I am not surprised you don't remember. You were about 'ye high," He indicated about the height of his desk, "but you made it quite clear that you would be my next deputy sheriff. But let's have a seat, shall we."

"Did I really?" Milliardo asked, more than just a little embarrassed.

Treize on the other hand seemed to find the incident quite amusing. As he settled down in one of the chairs in front of the desk he brought his mouth close to Milliardo's ear and whispered: "I do love a man in uniform."

The younger man shot him a quick glare but didn't warrant the comment with a reply.

"I have to admit, I was quite excited when you told me over the phone what you wanted to talk to me about." Bonaparte admitted as he leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers in front of his stomach.

"Oh?!" Treize raised one eyebrow questioningly.

"You see, since the police force in this city was established in 1852, we have prided ourselves on the fact that we were able to solve every major crime, except for one that is."

"My great-grandfather's death?" the professor surmised.

"That's right. And in addition, it is also very personal to me. My grandfather was what you would call today a rookie detective when he worked the case. It was his first investigation involving a fatality; and a very mysterious one to top it off."

"I read in an old paper that it was determined to be an accident." Milliardo remarked.

The sheriff nodded. "Yes, that was the official version. But my grandfather was never convinced. He said there were too many holes in the story and too many leads that could never be followed. I think it bothered him a lot that he never found out what really happened. I remember him talking about the case with my father when I grew up and as I got older he told me about it as well." The bearded man laughed. "In my childish naivety I promised him that someday I would solve the case for him."

"Is there something like a case file?" Treize wanted to know.

"I thought you would ask." Bonaparte started to rummage in his desk drawer and pulled out a rather thin folder and a few old fashioned evidence bags. "My father had made copies of every document in the original case file; reports, witness statements etc," he explained as he handed the folder to the professor. "Feel free to take them with you. I made another copy for myself. And these are the items, or at least those that survived, that were taken from the scene. As you probably understand I can't let you take them out of this room."

"Understandable," Treize nodded. "Sheriff, you seem to know a lot about the case, without me having to read the file right now, could you tell me what happened?"

"Yes, of course. From what I know, the police was called to the Khushrenada residence shortly after three o' clock in the morning by the family doctor, who already had pronounced the victim dead," Bonaparte told his guests, in the 'matter of fact' voice of someone used to given crime reports.

"The family doctor?" Treize echoed. "So he was called first?"

"Yes," the sheriff confirmed.

"Let me guess," Milliardo threw in. "By Octavian Peacecraft?" He wasn't sure why, but for some reason that idea just struck him.

"No, but that's very interesting that you would say that, because the man who found the duke's body was…"

"Cedric Peacecraft." Treize finished the sentence. He had opened the folder and begun to read the report.

"His father?" Milliardo was surprised. That was something he really hadn't expected. What would his great-great grandfather be doing at the Khushrenada residence in the middle of the night, not to mention the night of his son's wedding?

"According to his statement to the first police officer," the professor explained as though he was reading the younger man's mind. "As a good friend of the family, Duke Khushrenada had been a guest at his son's wedding. However, Alexander excused himself early, stating that he felt a bit under the weather. Aware that the duke had let his only live-in servant go a few days earlier, Cedric decided to check up on him to make sure Alexander had made it home safely. Upon arriving at the residence he found the front door open and could hear the duke's dog bark in the backyard. After entering the house and finding Alexander he sent his driver to fetch the doctor. And that's pretty much it."

Bonaparte nodded. "The first statement was taken by an on duty officer from the night shift. By the time my grandfather arrived Mr. Peacecraft had already left."

"So the detectives never really talked to him?" Milliardo asked.

"No, not as far as I know."

Treize put down the report and reached for the next page in the folder, it was a copy of the death certificate written by a Doctor Stanton, who seemed to have been the family's physician as well as the coroner in the case.

"Looks like the good doctor wasn't quite sure of himself, either. Although, he lists the death as an accidental fall, he did send for the police, which was usually only done in the cases of death by violent means. And as far as I know obvious accidents don't count as such."

"I'm impressed. You are very knowledgeable, Mister Khushrenada." the sheriff admitted. "And you are probably right. Perhaps the doctor realized that things somehow didn't seem to add up. According to the 'accidental fall' theory the duke was probably intoxicated, - an empty bottle of brandy was found on the floor beside his desk in the study – tripped and hit his head on a hard surface or edge. However he was found near the top of the stairs and there wasn't really anything around that could have caused the injury on his head. Of course it was speculated that he probably fell in his study and then stumbled into the hall where he collapsed, probably trying to reach the phone and call for help. However, there wasn't any blood found in the study or on the way from there to where his body was found. Not to mention that there was the open front door and the dog locked out in the garden…"

"Then why didn't the police investigate those things?" Milliardo wanted to know.

Sheriff Bonaparte shrugged. "Not for lack of trying on my grandfather's side. He was convinced that the duke had been murdered either in a burglary gone wrong or premeditated. But like I said he was a very young rookie on his first case; his partner a veteran detective, who might have felt that the accident theory sounded far less troublesome then a murder investigation. Things were very different back then. One just didn't question his superior."

"Just out of curiosity," the professor asked. "Did your grandfather ever mention if he perhaps had a 'suspect' in the case?"

"He did, two in fact," the other man confirmed. "Number one of his list of course was that housekeeper/butler who had been fired by the duke just a few days earlier. The butler did it, now how cliché would that be? In any case, while talking to the other servants my grandfather learned that his dismissal had been preceded by an argument between him and his employer. According to the cook it was highly unusual for the duke to ever raise his voice in anger. My grandfather reported that to his superiors and was granted permission to question the man, Elwood I believe was his name."

"Elward actually," Treize corrected.

"You heard of him then?"

"Ah, yes. I take it his interrogation let nowhere?"

"It never happened, actually. Elward had moved to Bradwood Hills to live with his recently widowed sister-in-law. My grandfather traveled there to find out that the man was ill, bedridden since several days according to his sister-in-law. A few weeks later he died, before Grandfather ever had a chance to talk to him."

"And the second suspect?" Milliardo wanted to know.

Bonaparte gave him a strange look, but didn't answer.

"My great-great-grandfather?!" It was a statement rather than a question.

The sheriff nodded. "There were some inconsistencies in his statement. For example, he claimed that he left the Wilcroft manor, where the wedding party was held, around two o'clock. It was only a short carriage ride to Kensington Plaza which would have put him there about 15 minutes later. However, according to an account by a Miss Rutherford living in the house just across the street from Duke Khushrenada, she woke up at 1:30 when the dog started barking. The ruckus made her look out of her window and she noticed the Pecacecraft's carriage across the street. She had no problem recognizing it because apparently the younger Peacecraft was a frequent visitor at the duke's house."

"What did my great-great-grandfather say to that?"

"Nothing. He was never asked about it. You see, the 'brass' at the police department didn't mind sending my grandfather out to investigate the duke's former servant, but making any accusations against a high-standing member of society like the patriarch of the Peacecraft family, only on the word of an old lady who might or might now have read her clock wrong, would have surely been professional suicide back then." Bonaparte looked at Milliardo. "No offence."

"None taken," the young man assured him. "So, that was it?"

The sheriff shrugged. "Things might have turned out different if someone would have stepped forward and demanded a thorough investigation. But as long as the duke's family was satisfied with the accident theory everyone else seemed happy, too."

"No reason to wake sleeping dogs, huh?" Treize remarked, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"I suppose so. Grandfather tried some investigations on his own but they led nowhere. There was no sign of a break in, no murder weapon, so real sign of a struggle…perhaps the doctor was right and it really was nothing but a freak accident."

"Maybe. So what's in the evidence bags?" the professor asked.

"Well, this is a letter the duke seemed to have been writing that night. It's not finished, though."

"May I take a look?"

"Of course, let me just get you a pair of cloves…"

"Ah right, fingerprints," Treize nodded softly.

"No actually," the sheriff smiled. "I'm not really concerned about those. Everyone who touched this letter originally is dead by now anyway. However the paper has become a little fragile over the past 100 years, so please be careful," he urged as he handed the professor a pair of white cotton gloves he had pulled from his desk.

"Thank you."

Milliardo leaned over the professor's shoulder to get a better look as he carefully removed the letter from the bag and unfolded it.

"It's addressed to the fleet admiral of the navy," the young man frowned slightly.

"Indeed," Treize nodded as his eyes flew over the lines. "Looks like Alexander changed his mind. He is accepting promotion to captain and is asking for immediate reassignment to his new ship."

Milliardo's frown only deepened. Something must have happened, perhaps at the wedding, which made him change his mind. He looked at the letter for a long time then raised his head. "Sheriff, you said Alexander was assumed to be drunk, right? I have read several letters written by him before and I can't see any difference in his handwriting."

"I agree," Treize remarked. "There is no indication that he had more than a drink or two, which he probably had every night before bed from what I've heard. Which of course, doesn't mean anything. Even sober people are known to stumble and fall on occasion. What's in the other bag?"

"Now this," the sheriff announced, his voice hushed for effect, "is the real mystery. When the duke was found he was holding this cufflink in his hand. The servants didn't recognize it to be his, but it looks rather expensive. And before you ask; no it did not belong to Cedric Peacecraft either. The policeman who took his statement noted that he was wearing both of his cufflinks at the time."

They didn't have to take the jewelry out of the bag to view it. From what Treize could tell the cufflink was made of yellow gold, inlayed with diamonds in a starburst pattern; very elegant and stylish even by today's standards. Back then they had probably cost more than a small fortune.

The sheriff checked his watch and gave his guest an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but as much as I'd love to sit and talk to you some more, I have an appointment to keep."

"Don't apologize," Treize told him. "You have been very helpful. Oh Sheriff, did you know that one of Alexander's 'servants' is actually still alive?"

"No, I had no idea."

"My great-grandfather's maid had a son who she often brought to the house while she worked. He took care of the duke's dog while he was there. We met him more or less by accident a few weeks ago. I don't assume anyone talked to the kid back then, did they?"

"Not as far as I know."

"I didn't think so. Thanks again. We'll stay in touch?"

"Absolutely." Bonaparte nodded. "It would be quite something if we actually would be able to solve this case after all those years, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed," the professor confirmed. "You said we could take those with us, didn't you?" he gestured at the folder with the case reports.

"Yes, go right ahead."

#

"You are awfully quiet." Treize turned his head and looked at the young man sitting next to him in the passenger seat. Milliardo hadn't spoken more than a few words since they had left the sheriff's office.

"Just thinking."

"What about"

"All kinds of things. Why is it that every answer in this case always comes with a dozen new questions attached?"

"I wish I knew," the professor admitted.

"I think we should talk one more time with Mister Harold." Milliardo suggested. "Children sometimes pick up on things adults find too mundane to even be bothered with."

"I think that's a great idea."

"This time we should invite him to our house. Maybe the familiar surroundings will trigger some new memories."

"Aren't you full of splendid ideas today?" Treize remarked teasingly as he leaned over to nuzzle the young man's neck.

"Well, here is another one. Keep your eyes on the road while you are driving. I really would like to get home in one piece."

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T.B.C.

Author's Note: In this chapter we are introduced to Sheriff Bonaparte, and it was suggested that I should point out that a sheriff is more than what most people know from watching old western movies.
According to Encarta in the US the sheriff is the chief law enforcement official for a county, in a lot of English countries he is the senior official representative of a county.