Veil of Crimson

What A Nice, Neatly Packed Surprise

“You,” I can’t help but breathe out in frustration. As soon as he takes my face in, his frown transforms into a jumbo poster worthy smile. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his body taking a relaxed stance.

“Well, hello, Detective,” he greets me cheerfully, not even bothering to hide his enthusiasm. In the next moment, he tilts his head, while I try to pull myself together. “You know, I almost didn’t recognize you without that minidress,” he continues, making me freeze.

Great, Elise, if you’re going to let this go on, he’s going to ruin your authority before you even manage to set one. I shoot myself from the spot, grabbing his upper arm and dragging him to a more private corner, where other officers aren’t listening to what he’s saying. “Let’s have a word now, Mr. LeBlanc,” I grit through my teeth.

I downright hate this guy. And this is the second time that I’m seeing him. He makes my blood boil every time he opens his mouth. “It’s Adrian for you, darling. Seriously, though, where am I going to see you in that dress again?” he wonders in an alluring tone.

I sit him down behind one of his tables, watching him from above. “I threw it in the bin,” I inform him coldly, ignoring everything else he said. There’s no way I’m calling him by his first name. And if I react to ‘darling’, he’ll keep calling me that until I lose it and shoot him.

No, I don’t usually go around shooting people for fun. I avoid that part of the job as much as I can. But when I catch a cheater or deal with a jackass like LeBlanc, my fingers really start itching. “What a shame. I guess I’ll have to buy you a new one,” he then says, making me slam my fist against the table.

“Do you think this is a joke?” I hiss at him. “You’re a murder suspect, Mr. LeBlanc, I suggest you don’t test my nerves, because it will only make me determined to get you behind bars as fast as possible.”

He blinks in surprise, before suddenly letting out a heartfelt chuckle. I stare at him, completely unimpressed as he shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m a murder suspect? How thrilling! I’ve never experienced that kind of a rush before,” he states, making my face fall.

Never mind, I think I’m just going to use the gun on myself. I sit down opposite him, refusing to comment on his statement furthermore. “You aren’t going to be one, if you have an alibi for the time of murder. Where were you between eight and nine this morning?” I start asking.

He smirks. Like this is all just some sort of a game for him. “Well, I woke up with a couple of pretty ladies, then gave them a proper farewell, before having some breakfast, which was spicy, by the-”

“I’m not interested in what you were doing before the murder, Mr. LeBlanc, if you could just stick to giving me the answers I’m looking for,” I interrupt him, images starting to flash through my mind. I really don’t want to hear about this guy’s s*x life. Yuck.

He smiles like he knows exactly what’s going through my head. He keeps quiet for a moment, before answering. “Well, I was here, obviously. In my office,” he finally gives me the response I tried to get out of him in the first place.

“Were you alone?” I question him furthermore. He nods in confirmation. “So, you have no alibi for the time of murder,” I conclude, writing it down, but he seems completely unfazed.

“Well, if that’s how you’re going to put it. I didn’t leave the office, until I heard a thud outside my door. By the time I came outside, whoever did it was already gone and the plumber was dead. Now, I still don’t have the leaking fixed and I’m supposed to open in less than three hours. Do you really think I’d kill the one person, who came here to fix that problem for me?” he speaks up, finally showing some of that danger that I sensed lurking under the surface yesterday.

I stare at him calmly, putting my hands together. He’s slowly making me lose it, but there’s no way I’m going to let him know that. “I don’t read minds, or else my job would be a lot easier,” I remark dryly, making him smile in amusement. “Don’t leave the country,” I then tell him, before getting up.

He seems surprised by how quickly I blow him off. “Wait, that’s it? No more questions? Detective, I’m offended, I thought I was going to be more of a suspect!” he protests. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Well, I have no reason to arrest you. Yet,” I inform him, trying to keep my composure. I have other suspects to interview. The chef of the kitchen, for example. And that’s where it pretty much ends. No one else was here during the time of the murder, as I was told. This day is just getting worse and worse.

“Do you want me to give you one?” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I let out a frustrated breath, already walking away from the table.

“You’re free to go, Mr. LeBlanc!” I call over my shoulder as I’m leaving. I hope to make him shut up with it, but he just needs to have the last word.

“It’s Adrian, darling!” he shouts after me. I pretend not to hear him, but I can see some officers smiling in amusement. Of course they just had to catch that. At sight of the murderous expression on my face, they all quickly get back to work.

I head straight into the kitchen to question the chef. He seems pretty shaken as my gaze first lands on him. He’s sitting on the floor, holding his head in a protective way. Not very murderous behavior. Well, we’ll see about that. It could be guilt.

I might be new at this position, but I’ve been doing enough policework in the past seven years to be able to read people. And I read them good. There are officers going through the kitchen cabinets, turning everything over to find something that could be related to the crime.

“Mr. Rousseau, I presume?” I speak up, finally making him notice me. I startle him. I can tell by the way his eyebrows rise and eyes widen slightly, before he pulls himself together. He nods and picks himself up from the ground, visibly overwhelmed. “Detective Gauthier. I have to ask you a few questions,” I then introduce myself.

He nods again, taking a deep breath. “Yes, of course. I was told I’d be questioned. Just get it over with quickly,” he pleads me. This kind of behavior isn’t unusual. But it could be just an act. There are a lot of heavy objects in the kitchen that could cause that wound. Not that any were found yet, but still.

“We’ll finish when I say so,” I tell him, knowing that I sound cold and unapproachable. But it’s easier this way. I never get my emotions included when I’m working. I keep them separate from my job. “Where were you between eight and nine this morning?”

He seems completely desperate as he answers my question. “I already told the officers that I was here, in the kitchen. And yes, I was alone,” he tells me in defeat. I stare at him for a moment, before continuing.

“I appreciate your honesty, sir. What were you doing in the kitchen? Were you just waiting for the plumber to show up?” I continue questioning him. He shakes his head in response, clearly having trouble concentrating.

“No, I was doing preparations for the afternoon. I was just cutting steaks to put them in the sous-vide later, when I heard a thud. By the time I got out, there was … there was blood everywhere … Oh, good God,” he mumbles in the end, making me realize that he’s not pretending.

“You can’t stand blood,” I observe, and he looks at me, shaking his head in response. “It’s funny, though, you were just cutting meat. Blood is blood, no matter what living being it comes from. Doesn’t it bother you then?” I wonder.

He shakes his head. “It’s not the same. There’s never that much blood with meat … And I never deal with an entire dead cow, I only get a piece of it,” he protests, finally showing something other than disgust. He’s angry. I offended him. I keep staring at him calmly.

“Alright. One more question. When you got out of the kitchen … Did Mr. LeBlanc come to the scene at the same time as you did?” I ask. I’m not sure why, but I’m awaiting his answer almost in an anxious way. Like it’s going to prove something.

He shakes his head. “No, he was already standing next to the body,” he responds, giving me just that momentum that I needed. I search his gaze, trying to figure out if I’m headed in the right direction.

“And what was he holding in his hand?” I ask, trying to catch him unprepared. He frowns slightly, shaking his head once again. He seems confused that I knew about such a minor detail. But it’s not minor. Not really.

“No, he … Well, actually, he was pulling his phone out of his pocket, to call the police,” he explains, making me let out a long, quiet breath. Right. Of course. I should’ve known I wouldn’t get the description of the murder weapon right away.

“Thank you, Mr. Rousseau. That would be all. Please don’t leave the country, until we rule you out as a suspect,” I tell him, making him nod in response. I walk out of the kitchen, completely frustrated. Fleur de Lys was a dead end. I guess it’s time to check out the victim’s family, then his workplace. See if there’s any beef there.

I take Natalie with me, because she’s the only one that hasn’t pissed me off so far. She doesn’t talk much and I appreciate that. I think I might be scaring her a little. I didn’t think I’d have that kind of effect on people.

The victim’s family is completely shaken. The wife and daughter barely manage to get any words out of them, while the grandson is playing in the corner, completely clueless to what is going on. He can’t be older than two.

“Can you think of anyone, who would want to hurt your husband?” I ask Mrs. Roberts, who starts shaking her head and shrugging at the same time. Her daughter holds her, wiping the tears off her own face.

“No, he … He was a sweetheart. I don’t know who would wanna hurt him,” she tells me, then pauses for a moment. I don’t disrupt her thoughts, because I can tell that something is coming to her mind.

I encourage her in silence, while Natalie sits next to me, casting glances my way. I send her a reassuring look. The wife is going to talk, if we give her enough space to think.

“Except … It might be nothing, but he’s had an argument at work last week. A coworker of his stole some money from his wallet. He claimed that he didn’t do it, but Gale saw him, when he was going to the locker room to get his wallet before going for lunch. He took a picture of him. He confronted him later, and he claimed that he didn’t take anything, but when Gale showed him the picture, he went ballistic … As far as I know, their boss was informed about it too …” she trails off.

Now we’re getting somewhere. It sounds like motive. “What was the coworker’s name?” I ask, hoping she has that information. In case the boss wasn’t informed about the incident … Well, it’s crucial to get the name.

“Uh … I’m not sure …” she tells me, shaking her head. I give her some time, but I’m literally on edge of the seat, hoping to get something to look into. “Wait, I think … I think it’s Leonard Santiago,” she finally says. I nod in confirmation.

“Thank you, Mrs. Roberts, that would be all. If you remember anything, you’re free to give me a call,” I tell her, writing down my number on a piece of a paper and adding my name. “Once again, I’m sorry for your loss,” I then express my condolences, making her nod, while her lower lip starts trembling.

“Thanks, Detective Gauthier,” her daughter tells me, her eyes all red and swollen from crying. As we get up, I can’t help but glance at the little boy in the corner. He looks at me and I raise my hand, waving at him in a friendly way.

He looks away with a shy smile, before looking at me again, then turning his head back to his toys. I leave the house with a smile, Natalie trailing close behind me.

She finds the address of NoLeaks, and leads me through the streets, until we get to the company’s parking lot. The building looks a little run-down, but functional. I’m not sure what to expect, but I have a feeling that this is going to be another dead end.