by Ales Matko
Elsa's face began to twich, yet he did not dare contradict his mother. All he could do was help her get her suit on.
''I might be back for dinner,'' she snarled, and set off for the greenhouse.
Now that Constanza was gone, Elsa took his anger out on Klauder and Beatra:
''What are you two doing just standing there? Did you find anything in Pierre’s room?''
''No, señor, there appears to ...''
''Well, get to work and find my girl! That’s what I'm paying you for! Some detective!'' he shouted, storming off before Klauder could muster a retort.
''I hate this guy more and more,'' Klauder said. ''We would probably already have found Ana-Maria if he hadn't killed the man who moved her from the closet. What a lunatic.''
Beatra quickly got out of his suit and began helping the detective with his.
''What was that thing with the tree all about?'' he asked. ''Surely you don't intend to start cultivating poisonous plants in your spare time?''
''Is it not self-explanatory, inspector? I needed a sample of her handwriting.''
Beatra stood by as his companion removed the last layer of orange fabric, leaving him wearing nothing but his long, white underwear.
''Wait, you think Pierre could have been romantically involved with her? ¡Por el amor de Dios! Detective, the woman is a million years old. She looks like Beelzebub's grandmother.''
''I don't know, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to check. Even the most unlikely scenarios have to be ruled out. And besides, you would be amazed if I told you about some of the affairs I've uncovered over the years. An old woman and a much younger man isn't the least bit strange, I assure you.''
Although Klauder certainly knew the odds of a handwriting match were slim, he nonetheless felt a slight twinge of disappointment when the results of the comparison were negative. Beatra, on the other hand, was secretly relieved. He was too proud to have the case broken open on a detail he had overlooked.
''Why not just gather all the women together and make them write something?'' he suggested. ''Wouldn't that be the simplest and quickest option?''
Klauder shook his head. ''Not really. If we do that, the woman who wrote the love note might cop on and purposely alter her writing. But not to worry, inspector. I'm sure we'll have little difficulty finding our amorous author.''
Beatra put his hand on his head. ''I just remembered something. There's a notebook in the kitchen where all staff record their attendance. We ought to have a look there first. At the very least we could rule a lot of the staff out quickly.''
''Now you’re thinking, inspector!'' Klauder said, excited at the prospect of visiting the kitchen again. His dreams of opening the refrigerator and finding a freshly-made chocolate soufflé were, however, cut short by the sudden appearance of one of Elsa's lieutenants.
''Detective!'' he shouted, ''You must come with me at once!''
''What is it?''
''It's one of our men. Follow me, por favor! There's no time to lose!''
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The investigators were taken to the imposing lobby with its stone walls, massive oil paintings, and elegant chandelier. Off to the side, one of the guards was sitting on a sofa, his pale, withered face suggesting he might be ready to pass out, while the men around him seemed to be on red alert.
''Where did you put it?''
The guard began frisking Klauder until he found the set of insulin shots in his vest.
''What do you think you're doing?'' Klauder demanded.
''Shut up!''
The man went to his companion on the sofa and opened the case. ''Lift up his sleeve!'' he ordered. ''I need a vein!''
''Are you mad?'' Klauder rushed over and grabbed the guard by the hand, which was already holding a syringe. ''What in God's name is going on here?''
''This man is diabetic!'' one of them shouted. ''And he's misplaced his insulin.''
''Well, for heaven's sake, why didn’t you say so? Give me the syringe! The injection is administered into the abdominal fat, not the vein. You want to kill the poor fellow?''
The guard handed the needle to Klauder and everyone held their breath as he flicked it two or thee times and told them to lift up the man's sweater. After he had given the injection, Klauder stood back up.
''Can I now please have my case back?''
They obliged him and he immediately opened the set and began inspecting the vials for damage.
''How long ago should he have taken it?'' he asked, looking at the man on the couch.
''Half an hour ago,'' one of the guards replied. ''Fabrice had something to eat with the rest of us and then couldn't find his insulin anywhere. We tried going to the doctor’s office, but he wasn't in. And you, the only other man here with diabetes, were also nowhere to be found.''
''The detective and I were busy with our investigation,'' Beatra piped up for the first time. ''We were over at the cook’s apartment for quite a while.''
''Well, thank God you finally came.''
''There really was no need to make such a fuss, though,'' Klauder said. ''I've often been late with a shot, but so far nothing dreadful has happened. As long as I don’t miss the next one, I'm fine. Maybe a slight headache or something.''
But just as the words were leaving his mouth, the guard on the sofa suddently fell forward onto the floor and stopped breathing. Beatra pushed his way through the cadre of guards and put his finger on the stricken man's artery.
''Está muerto,'' he said blankly, looking over at Klauder.
It took only a moment for the detective to cop on.
''¡Jesucristo!'' he exclaimed, grabbing his insulin kit and throwing it with all his might at the stone wall in front of him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
''So that’s how it would have ended. At the next meal I would have taken my medicine and dropped dead, just like that,'' the detective gasped, snapping his fingers.
Back in the doctor’s apartment, Klauder was sitting on Feboj’s unmade bad and talking in a hollow voice, as if he were already dead. The vials, most of them shattered, were in an aluminium container from which everyone was keeping a safe distance.
''What is that stuff?'' Beatra wondered aloud.
''I can't say,'' the doctor replied. ''But whatever it is, it's obviously highly toxic.''
''Perhaps it's the same toxin released in the factory explosion.''
''No, this is different. This is some kind of a potent poison that kills immediately, with no decaying of the flesh.'' Feboj looked at Klauder. ''I don’t know exactly whose toes you stepped on, señor, but whoever they are, they mean business.''
He brought out an unopened bottle of vodka and offered it to Klauder, as if to say ‘Welcome to the marsh, detective’. Pretty soon the three men were passing the bottle around.
Klauder and Beatra did not know where the deceased guard had been taken. The doctor, who by that time had apparently returned to his office, had been called to the scene immediately, and they had followed him back to his quarters after he had pronounced the guard dead and cautiously collected the broken vials.
''This is the second time someone's tried to kill you,'' Beatra whispered tensely while Feboj was going through one of his cupboards, looking for some insulin to replace what Klauder had lost. ''But how could they even attempt this? I thought you had the case on you at all times, por Dios.''
''I do,'' Klauder replied with a shiver. ''But I had to take my clothes off to put on the suit. You put them in a box, remember? They were there for at least an hour, maybe two, when we went to Pierre’s apartment. And let's not forget who else was there, snooping around, just as we returned to the cellar.''
''Señora Constanza.''
''The one and only.''
Feboj found his insulin vials and offered them to Klauder. The detective thanked him and left in a hurry, Beatra rushing to keep up with him.
''She did it – I'm sure of it!'' Klauder seethed. ''Constanza spiked my shots!''
''She
warned us not to continue the investigation,'' Beatra nodded. ''She must have figured if she got you out of the way, I wouldn't carry on alone. And I'd have to say she's probably right.''
Klauder took a few moments to regain his composure. He knew better than to make hasty decisions based on emotion.
''If we tell señor Elsa about this,'' he said at length, ''he'll just take his mother’s side. I assume by now he's heard about my insulin. I think it's time to suit up and pay another visit to our congenial cultivator of pestilent plants. Alone.''
''I'm with you, detective.''
''Of course, we must be mindful of the possibility that things will get ugly.''
''I'm way ahead of you,'' Beatra said, pulling out a long, black revolver he had hidden in his suit.
''Where on earth did you find that monstrosity?''
''I swiped it from one of the guards while you were administering the insulin shot. Call me impulsive.''
''Nice work.''
But moments later as they were making their way down to the cellar and were about to enter the dank room where the protective equipment was stored, they heard voices comming from behind the door. One of them belonged to an obviously agitated Duvali.
''Just hand me the helmet,'' he hissed. ''Don’t worry about it.''
Klauder pulled his companion aside.
''Sounds like the engineer is also headed outside. We better wait a couple of minutes. I don’t want to have to explain where we’re going.'' He paused for a moment. ''Come to think of it, follow me.''
They headed back up to the ground floor and began climbing the stairs towards the upper storeys of the mansion.
''Where exactly are we headed, detective?''
Klauder seemed not to hear the question. ''What if we're overthinking this thing with the love note in Pierre’s room? It could have actually belonged to the maid, Alejandra. They worked together, so maybe they also played together, if you catch my drift.''
''And you want to check for samples of her writing to compare it to?''
''Exactly. Seems like a good way to kill time while we wait for our friends to leave the cellar, wouldn’t you agree?''
Klauder seemed to have calmed down, though he kept looking back to make sure they weren't being followed. ''Before today, nobody had ever tried to kill me, inspector. Nobody. And I have gone after some pretty shady characters over the years.''
''It’s going to be okay,'' Beatra reassured him. ''The old woman has given herself away. It's only a matter of time before we expose her.''
A few minutes later they were going through what was left of Alejandra’s ransacked apartment. They did indeed find some samples of her writing, but these served only to prove that she was not, in fact, the person they were looking for.
''Damn,'' Klauder exclaimed, kicking one of the broken stools. He limped into the storage room, and as Beatra followed him, he found him staring into the compartment where Ana-Maria had supposedly been held.
''I wonder how much we missed her by. An hour? Two? Maybe if we had searched this place first, the case would already be solved.''
''I'm afraid there's no telling, detective.''
Klauder sighed. ''It could all be over by now. Instead we keep coming up empty.''
''Yes, well, no use crying over spilled insulin,'' Beatra quipped. ''Come on, let's go. Duvali's probably gone by now.''
On their way back down the stairs they met some of the servants, all of whom immediately turned around and headed the other way.
''They must have heard about what happened to Alejandra, Pierre, and the butler, and think that you're somehow to blame,'' Beatra surmised.
They did not, however, run across Elsa or any of his men – a stroke of luck.
As expected, they arrived to find the cellar empty.
Beatra got dressed quickly and waited for Klauder to strip down to his long johns before helping him once again into the orange hazmat suit. Then they put on their helmets and gloves and set off in the direction of the lobby. The same guard that had been there at noon was still watching the door, making sure no one without a suit could leave. Seeing that the investigators were properly equipped, he let them pass without a word.
CHAPTER TWENTY
You could not tell the air outside was contaminated simply by looking at it. And even if such a thing were possible, it would have been extremely difficult with the snow that was now falling very hard and reducing visibility to only about ten yards.
The investigators found it difficult to talk out here with the protective helmets over their heads as the wind was blowing ferociously and rustling as soon as they stepped away from the cover of the mansion. What little communication was possible required a mixture of gesticulations and lip-reading.
''Down there!'' Beatra shouted, pointing his glove-covered hand somewhere into the blizzard.
While they were investigating Pierre’s room earlier that day, the suits had been a bit suffocating, but not nearly as much as they were now, with the considerable strain of walking through rising snowdrifts. It was especially difficult for Klauder, who soon felt as if he were in a sauna.
''Inspector!'' he yelled, trying not to be drowned out by the howling wind. ''Inspector!''
The other orange suit walking close by apparently didn’t hear his shouts and continued on into the sea of white. The detective finally managed to get Beatra’s attention by clumsily running up to him and poking him in the back.
''Are you sure we're headed in the right direction?''
''¿Qué?''
''Are you ... Are you sure we are headed in the right direction?''
''What?''
Beatra finally just nodded as though the message had gotten through to him. And sure enough, they managed to get lost on the enormous estate.
The icy blizzard continued to rage and at one point they had to literally hold hands in order not to get separated. Moving like this, Klauder suddenly felt a sharp pull, as his companion fell into the snow. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed through the steam on his visor what had made Beatra trip.
Right there in the snow was the body of an adult male. The clothing and rifle made it obvious it was one of the guards. He had been mutilated, his skin had turned black and the flesh underneath appeared to be rotting - only this couldn’t have been any natural sort of decay, not in subzero temperatures.
''¡Jesucristo!''
Klauder’s exclamation was so loud that Beatra actually heard it. The detective helped his companion up and they struggled onward through the snowdrifts. On the way they encountered no fewer than six more bodies similar to the first one. Most of them were still clutching their rifles. Yet against this particular enemy, no weapon was of any use.
When, more by chance than actual navigation, they finally managed to reach the greenhouse, the big glass building seemed like a sanctuary, a safe haven from the inhospitable weather and all the horrors it was seemingly trying to bury underneath the thick layers of snow.
''We made it!'' Klauder shouted with delight.
''What?''
Forgetting for a moment the high probability that old lady Constanza had tried to murded Klauder, they opened the greenhouse door and plunged into the steamy jungle, gratefully embracing the tropical climate and taking off their helmets.
''Sweet Jesus,'' Klauder whispered as Beatra closed the door behind them, shutting out the winter wind. ''All those bodies.''
''It must be the gas, detective. Remember what the doctor told us. Some of the victims must have wandered out into the snow, driven insane by the agony.'' He stopped for a moment and stared pensively through the glass. ''What a horrendous way to go.''
Klauder felt a shiver run up his spine as he looked around, straining his eyes to see anything through the vegetation.
''Well, here goes,'' he mumbled apprehensively. ''Señora Constanza?''
There was no answer. Only the hum of the heating system delivering warmth to the miniature jungle.
''Señora Constanza?''
<
br /> With an ominous feeling they proceeded into the thicket of blossoming flora, but they had taken only a dozen steps when Klauder stopped.
''Did you hear that?'' he whispered. ''It sounded like a door click.''
They turned back toward the entrance and waited, staring nervously through the leaves and blooming pods. Beatra drew his gun.
''Do you think the old bat ran off?''
''Seeing you here alive, she actually may have thought you’d risen from the dead. Wait here, detective.''
Beatra started slowly moving back towards the door, the barrel of his weapon pointing straight in front of him.
In a few seconds Klauder lost sight of him entirely. He waited for a moment or two, then started to back up, holding his breath. He felt something brush against his hair and he turned around with a jolt, only to find it was the vines of some exotic plant. But the initial relief quickly turned to uneasiness. For he spotted a figure through the leaves.
Beatra reemerged from the miniature jungle shortly after. He found the detective not far from where he left him.
''I didn’t find anyone back there. I even peeked out to see if there were footsteps in the snow, but the wind is sweeping ... What’s the matter?''
Klauder pointed somewhere to his left, and when Beatra looked, he spotted Constanza Elsa, sitting motionless in a rocking chair in the cover of her beloved plants, eyes closed. She looked as if she were sleeping.
''Está muerta.''
''What?''
The inspector approached the old woman distrustfully, still holding the gun. A quick examination confirmed Klauder’s diagnosis.
''Someone broke her neck,'' the detective murmured, visibly shaken. ''And not long ago,'' he added. ''She's still warm.''
''The door click!'' Beatra shrieked. ''We let the killer get away!''
He ran back to the exit, the detective trying to keep up with him as best he could and both frantically putting on their helmets as they ran. But as they threw open the door and came back out into the open, all that remained was an army of wildly-dancing snowflakes. The perpetrator had vanished.