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The Portrait

Part 27

"I'm home," Treize announced as he slipped off his shoes in the hall. He had been at school most of the day and was looking forward to spending the evening with Milliardo.

Frowning slightly when he didn't get a reply, he headed toward the living room but held his steps as he walked past the kitchen. There was the younger man, on the floor, on all fours with his head facing the newly installed doggy door and his jeans-clad rear end up in the air. It was a sight to behold, and for a minute or two Treize did just that. Then he cleared his throat. "Do I want to know what you are doing?"

Milliardo nearly jumped. "Treize, gosh, you scared me. Don't sneak up on people like that."

"My apologies, but I did say 'hello' when I walked into the house. So, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to teach Cabal to use the doggy door on his own." The young man sighed as he rose to his feet and brushed some dust off his pants. "He only will go in and out when I hold the flap open for him." To make his point he lifted the flexible cover. And sure enough, the puppy who had been waiting outside, came flying through the opening like a bolt of white lightening and dashed straight toward Treize to greet him.

"Give it some time and he will learn," the professor assured Milliardo. "It's been only three days."

"Yeah, you're probably right. So, how was your day?"

"Pretty much like always. I'm looking forward to summer break." The older man admitted. "And what have you two been doing today?"

"We went to pick up that doggy bed we ordered and afterward I took him to the park. You know, it's really true what they say; puppies are total chick magnets."

Treize gave an amused huff. "Milliardo, have you looked into a mirror lately? You do not need a puppy to attract women… or men for that matter."

The blond snorted. "That's kind of funny coming from the guy all female students and staff members at Marymount drool over Oh, I just remember... There was a massage on the machine when we got home. It's from your family's lawyer, I believe. Did he get in touch with you?"

"No, I usually turn my phone off during classes. I'll call him back right now. Thanks."

"Do you think he is calling because he has news about that auction?" Milliardo wondered. Treize had told him about the reason why his lawyer had asked to see him last Sunday. Apparently, after some researching the man had found out that the party selling the cane that looked like Alexander's, had several other items listed in the same auction. Among them were some paintings and silverware that seemed to have belonged to the Khushrenada family at one point or the other, but he needed a family member to confirm that. It seemed like a big step forward, but unfortunately the auction house was less than willing to reveal any personal information about their sellers.

"I really hope so." Treize replied. "While I go get changed and make that call, why don't you decide on where we should go for dinner tonight?"

"Sounds like an idea."

###

By the time Treize returned, Milliardo was sitting on the carpet in the living room, playing tug-of-war with Cabal.

"So, what did he say?" Looking up at the professor, the young man released the little toy rope, and the puppy dashed away with his treasure.

"He was able to get the name of the seller."

"Really?" Milliardo was surprised. "I thought the auction house was so adamant about not releasing any personal information."

"Well, the suggestion of being investigated or possibly sued for the sale of stolen property made them re-think their 'principles' rather quickly, it appears."

"Are you going to tell me the name or do I have to beg?"

"Tempting." Treize smirked a little but decided to take pity. "The cane, as well as several paintings and silverware that used to belong to my family's, were part of a big lot coming from the estate sale of a Mister Matthew Peterson."

"Peterson…Peterson…," Milliardo frowned. "That name means nothing to me. Could it be that maybe Octavian sold or gave away those items; or maybe one of his children or grandchildren some time down the road? I assume that when Alexander had put the house into his name, it also included everything in it. Or maybe…, that letter you told me about, the one Octavian sent to Julian to inform him of his brother's death… You said he was talking about Alexander's personal belongings he was going to send back to his family. Maybe Julian did not want to keep those."

"I suppose either would be possible. In fact I was thinking the same for a while. But that name, Peterson, I believe I've read or heard it before."

"Well, it's not exactly an uncommon name. I'm sure you have heard it more than just once."

"No," Treize shook his head. "I mean in connection with this… case. If I remember right sheriff Bonaparte might have mentioned it in one of the conversations I had with him."

"Really?"

"Yes. Say, how do you feel about taking a little detour to the sheriff's office on our way to dinner?"

"Sounds good to me," the younger man agreed. "When will we leave?"

"How fast can you be ready?"

"Give me five minutes to freshen up and put on my shoes. Will you put Cabal in his pen?"

"Sure," Treize nodded. The doggy pen was set up in a corner in the kitchen. It gave Cabal and little safe area to play and sleep in while he was alone. The tawny haired man had to chase down the puppy who seemed to think they were playing catch. He was fast, and still small enough to dip beneath the coffee table and dash between the dining chairs without slowing down. Eventually Treize used his favorite toy to bait and catch him.

"Alexander!" he called upstairs as he carried Cabal into the kitchen. "Milliardo and I are leaving. Will you keep an eye on the puppy while we are gone? Thanks."

###

"Peterson you say…" Sheriff Bonaparte nodded. "Yes, that name does ring a bell. I mentioned it when I was talking to you about my grandfather's personal file on the case. He kept it updated far beyond the official investigation."

"That's right," Treize confirmed. He now remembered the conversation very well.

"According to that file," the sheriff continued. "Albert Elward's sister in law remarried not too long after her husband's death to a Morris Peterson. Matthew apparently was their son."

"The Butler…?!" Milliardo snorted in a mixture of surprise and disgust. "So he was stealing more than just a couple glasses of brandy from his employer. No wonder Alexander fired the man. But unfortunately that just leads to another dead end. Elward might have been a thief but he couldn't have been the murderer, right? After all, he was out of town and ill the night Alexander was killed."

"Do we really know that?" his lover pointed out.

"Well, we do know that he died only a short time later, so it might probably have been the truth." Bonaparte replied.

"Hmm… is there any way to find out what he died off?" Treize wanted to know.

"Oh yes, I just have to call up his death certificate, which I can do right here from my computer. Gotta love that new filing system the university created for us. Puts everything I need to know right here at my fingertips. Just give me a moment if you would." The sheriff worked on his laptop for no longer than a few minutes. Then he looked up and declared. "According to this he died from Septicaemia, that's sepsis, isn't it?"

"Yes, probably brought on by an untreated infection, an infection cause by… let's say a dog bite perhaps?"

Both Milliardo and the sheriff drew a sharp breath at Treize's almost casual statement.

"Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting." Bonaparte asked.

Treize almost smiled, but it was a smile underlined by sadness. "Yes, I think we finally found our murderer. It makes perfect sense now."

"So, my grandfather was on the right track after all."

"Indeed," the tawny-haired man confirmed. "Unfortunately, luck wasn't on his site. If Elward wouldn't have died so quickly and your grandfather would have had a chance to question him, I'm sure he would have figured out what happened that night."

"So, what exactly did happen?" Milliardo asked. He had a pretty good idea himself, but wanted to know if Treize had a different theory.

"Well, I think we would have to go back a little further than the night of the murder…," his lover replied. "I think Elward abused his position for a long time, probably from the day Alexander hired him. Little by little, at first maybe with the help of his brother, he would take pieces of art or silverware from the house. Elward probably figured that no one would ever notice a few missing pieces here and there. We know from Mister Howard that Alexander stored many of the paintings, especially old family pieces, up in the attic, while he liked to display more 'modern' paintings downstairs. And what little time he spent at home, I'm sure he did not waste on counting his silver spoons and candle sticks. However," Treize continued. "I don't think Alexander was as clueless as it seemed. It was probably one reason why he did not inform his butler that he was going to return ahead of time from his last journey. We will probably never know what the exact trigger was but he finally confronted Elward and fired him on the spot. He made him pack his things and leave the house that very day, which meant that Elward wasn't able to take with him the last few pieces he had already stacked away safely and securely…"

"The paintings we found hidden behind the wardrobe up in the attic," Milliardo assumed.

"Correct," the older man confirmed. "But of course he knew, that the duke was going to be out of the house the coming Saturday, attending Octavian's wedding. That, he figured, was going to be his chance. So after spending a couple of days at his late brother's farm, Elward came back into town that night. I'm sure he was smart enough to park his carriage nearby but not directly in from of the house. He might have had made himself a spare key; he did have ample opportunity to do so, and he knew that Peritas would be locked away in the kitchen while the duke was not home. So he probably entered the house casually through the front door, expecting that he would be in and out in no time at all…"

"That's why the police didn't find any signs of a break in when they arrived." Bonaparte remarked. "That makes sense."

"It does. Unfortunately things did not go as planned. What the former butler didn't realize is that the duke had already returned home and was sitting upstairs in his study writing and sipping brandy. He had already finished one letter and was now working on a second one, that was going to be send to the fleet admiral, when Elward entered the house. Perhaps Alexander heard a noise, perhaps it was the dog who alerted him… it's impossible to know. But as he got up and went to check, he discovered the intruder coming up the stairs. The two probably had a verbal confrontation. I can imagine Alexander threatened to call the police. Elward couldn't let that happen I assume. So he reached for the first best weapon he could find - the duke's cane, leaning against the clock in the hall like it always did- and went on the attack. Any other day Alexander probably would have fought him off with ease. But we know that he had been drinking. Aside from the brandy he was comforting himself with that evening; it is fair to assume he had already a few drinks at the wedding party. I wouldn't say that he was drunk, his handwriting was too clean for that, but I think he had just enough alcohol in his blood to slow him down. Elward probably only hit him once; the cane was heavy and a deadly weapon. Seeing his master being attacked Peritas must have jumped in to defend him. He bit the intruder at least once, causing him to flee and take the cane along to defend himself from the pursuing dog. He ran through the hall to the back door and escaped through the gardens with Peritas hard on his heels."

"So that's where the blood in the hall and on the back door came from," the sheriff mused. He had been listening quietly and intrigued to the story.

"Yes, and it also explains how the dog got into the garden. Once the door closed behind them he found himself locked out of course. Elward probably jumped the wall and fled to wherever his ride was waiting."

"But why the back door?" Bonaparte looked questioningly at Treize. "Why didn't he just leave the way he came in, through the front entrance? We know that door was still open."

"Maybe he was afraid someone had heard the noises. He obviously didn't want to be seen."

"Or maybe…" Milliardo added, "He didn't use the front door because a carriage was pulling at that very moment; the carriage seen by the old lady across the street when she looked out of her window minutes later."

"Good point," Treize nodded.

"So, you think she didn't get confused about the time, after all?" The sheriff frowned slightly. But of course there was something Treize and Milliardo knew that he didn't know, yet.

"No, I think she wasn't confused at all," the professor confirmed. "However, it wasn't the elder Peacecraft who arrived at that time, but his son, Octavian. It's difficult to tell why he came to see Alexander that night, but finding the front door open, just like his father, he entered the house, probably calling his friend's name. He discovered the blood and then the mortally wounded duke upstairs in the hall. He stayed with him and held him while he was dying. It is safe to assume that it was his cufflink Alexander was clutching in his hand when the police arrived. If Octavian called his father for help, or if the elder Peacecraft had noticed his son leave and followed him to the duke's house, we will never know."

"What I don't understand is why Octavian didn't stay and waited for the doctor and the police to arrive." Milliardo wondered.

"I think his father made him leave."

"Why?"

Treize smiled softly. "To protect him, like any concerned father would have done under the circumstances. He might have been tough on Octavian, but I think he loved his son very much. Keep in mind that he was ill and didn't have more than a few months to live. Perhaps he realized that the police would look at the person who found the duke as a suspect, and it was better they suspected him than Octavian."

"And Elward just went back to his late brother's farm like nothing had happened," Sheriff Bonaparte added. "And he convinced his sister in law to lie to the police about his whereabouts that night."

"Not much good did it do him, though. Afraid to go to a doctor, he let his bite wounds become infected and the rest… well, is history you could say."

"Do you think his sister in law knew what he had done?" Milliardo wondered.

"Hard to say," his lover replied. "If she did know about his theft, though, Elward didn't tell her where he hid his loot, it seems. She went on to get married again, raised her son who eventually took over the family farm and lived out his life without ever touching any of the stuff his uncle had stolen. It wasn't until after Matthew died that the items were found and put up for auction by the estate lawyer hired by Matthew's children." Treize paused for a few moments. "There is no way proofing if our theory is 100% correct, but I'm quite certain that is what happened. My lawyer talked to the people from the auction house and learned that the cane came to them wrapped in an old piece of cloth or towel. An appraiser had a look at it and then it was put in one of their storage vaults. Even if Elward tried to clean the cane before wrapping it up I'm sure there should be enough DNA on it to proof that it was the murder weapon."

"I agree," Bonaparte nodded. "Forensics can do amazing things these days with the minutest traces of blood or tissue. I'll have the cane picked up for examination. And I'll make sure that the rest of the stolen items are returned to your family, Mister Khushrenada."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. You don't know how much it means to me to be able to solve this case. And I surely could have never done it without your help."

###

"Treize…" Milliardo asked as the two men climbed back into their car in front of the sheriff's office. "Would it be okay to eat at home tonight?"

The older man looked at his lover in a mixture of surprise and concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yes…I think so; I just want to go home."

"That's fine, of course. No problem at all. There is pizza in the freezer or we can order in."

"Thanks." Milliardo slipped into the passenger seat, put on his seat belt and looked out of the window without another word. He didn't speak at all on the way home, and Treize didn't try to force a conversation on him. He figured that Milliardo would talk to him, when he was ready to do so.

As they pulled up in front of their house the professor's eyes caught the large yellow and white street sign reminding him that there was no parking on this side of the block on Wednesday mornings.

"Ah right, the street-sweeper comes tomorrow morning. I might as well move the car right now," he said as he let Milliardo out. "I'll catch up with you in a moment."

The younger man nodded. "See you."

Treize had to drive all the way down the block to a little parking lot near the communal park. People weren't supposed to park there over night, but did it anyway on Tuesday nights. It took him a good five minutes to walk back, and when he got home he found Milliardo sitting on the kitchen floor with the puppy.

"He is gone." The young man didn't even turn his head.

Treize didn't have to ask who he was talking about. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I called for him and checked everywhere. I can't feel his presence anymore. He left this on the table." Milliardo held out some kind of card to his lover, who recognized it as one of the Thank you notes the blond had ordered for his graduation party next weekend.

With a wry snort the younger man put cabal back into his pen and rose to his feed. "That's just like him, isn't it? He never was one for big good-byes."

"No, I suppose he wasn't." Treize agreed.

"It's silly I know. I knew this was going to happen eventually, but I was hoping we would have a little more time together. Damn, I'm going to miss him."

"So am I," his lover gave a tiny smile. "I can do without his practical jokes; yes, I'm going to miss him too."

"Right now I'm wishing we'd never solved this darn case."

"But that's what he wanted, Milliardo," Treize pointed out. "Otherwise he wouldn't have pushed us to find all those clues. I think we should look on the bright side. He finally will be reunited with those he loved."

"That's just what Wufei told me a while back." Milliardo managed smirk of his own. "Call me selfish; but I'd much rather have him stay here with us."

The older man laughed quietly as he reached out to pull him into his arms. "That's just like you, Milliardo."

The blond rested his head against his lover's chest. "Well, at least we have a lot of great memories and stories to tell."

"Yes, and we won't have to watch those dead-boring mystery shows anymore."

That elicited a chuckle from Milliardo. "Who says I'm not planning to keep watching them. In fact, we should do that, in Alexander's memory so to speak."

"Oh no," Treize shook his head. "I'll have a brandy every once in a while in his memory, but that's where I draw the line."

Still resting against his lover's chest Milliardo closed his eyes with a soft smile. That sounds just like something Alexander might have said. Do you realize how much alike the two of you are?

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T.B.C.

Author's Note: Alright, here we go, the mystery is finally solved. Hope you enjoyed that. Look forward to one more chapter; a short Epilogue to complete this story.