Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Gallows Eve ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

Gallows Eve (Part 5)By DRL Trowa closed the buff-coloured file in front of him and pushed his chair back from the desk. As if this were his cue, Quatre rose from the overstuffed sofa he had been lounging on, crossed to the desk and dropped lightly onto Trowa's lap.“Well?” He asked expectantly, placing his arms around the neck of his boss and lover.“Well,” Trowa echoed, “He certainly appears to have an impeccable pedigree. The Khushrenadas are old money - very old.” He added dryly.“We'll have to tread carefully then,” Quatre said, making a dispirited moue, “These people's feathers are very easily ruffled. What exactly is it that Heero wants?” He asked, laying his head gently against Trowa's. Trowa sat back in the comfortably deep leather seat of his high-backed chair, holding Quatre close against him. He hesitated for a while before replying, breathing deeply of the light spring-fresh scent of his lover's hair, then he sighed. “What Heero wants,” He said finally, “Is the defendant.” Quatre raised his head to look quizzically at Trowa.“What do you mean love?” He asked.“What I mean,” Trowa replied, “Is that he's gone and fallen for the accused.” Quatre's face first took on an expression of astonishment, then lit up with animation.“You mean he's in love with Duo Maxwell?” He said excitedly. “Oh Trowa, this is wonderful. How romantic!”“I don't know about romantic,” Trowa said dryly, “But it will certainly be awkward.”“Howso?” Quatre settled himself back into Trowa's embrace.“Because,” His lover replied laconically, “We will be under serious pressure to come up with the evidence needed to clear Maxwell's name. Now can you see why Heero was so adamant that reasonable doubt was not enough? He needs to find the real killer so that Maxwell can be acquitted without a stain on his character. Heero can then carry him off into the sunset and they can live happily ever after without any vicious rumours following them wherever they go.” “Yes, I see what you mean.” Quatre said unhappily. “Do you think we can do it?” He asked. “I mean, the evidence...” He tailed off.“Never mind the evidence - Maxwell says he is innocent.” Trowa said stubbornly.“Do you believe him?” “Heero does.” “But perhaps,” Quatre said cautiously, aware of the close friendship that existed between his lover and their client, despite their outward show of mutual antipathy, “Under the circumstances, Heero's heart is ruling his head a little at the moment.” Trowa sighed heavily.“I greatly fear,” He said as he idly toyed with a lock of his lover's hair, “That you have hit the nail on the head, my love.” Trowa drove carefully around the fountain in the centre of the gravelled courtyard and pulled up outside the Khushrenada mansion. The house was elegantly palatial, but was also a little imposing in its self-satisfied grandeur. Its architecture incorporated a mixture of styles, as though each successive generation of Khushrenadas had felt the need to place their stamp on the place, creating an eclectic but strangely harmonious blend of architectural themes. He climbed the limestone steps to the large double-doors that formed the entrance to the house, but as he looked around for some means of announcing his presence, the door swung silently open."Yes Sir?"

 

 

It was an elderly man in a black tailcoat and grey pinstriped trousers, obviously an old family retainer. His manner was respectful but reserved, and his expression was solicitously blank. He gave the distinct impression that he would have been equally as accommodating had he found a soot-blackened chimney sweep on the doorstep or an elegantly attired gentleman."I'd like to speak to Treize Khushrenada." Trowa handed the old man a small card, on which his name, 'Trowa Barton' was printed in bold copperplate. The card bore just the name - nothing else. The old man took the card, but did not so much as glance at it. "I will see if His Excellency is at home Sir." He said, and stood back to allow Trowa to enter. Trowa knew exactly what this meant. His Excellency was definitely at home, but the butler would go and enquire whether he was prepared to receive him.“Thank-you.” Trowa said, and entered the house.He stepped into a cavernous entrance hall. Trowa was rather surprised that he had not been left standing on the doorstep and had the door closed in his face, while the butler ascertained his master's wishes. As he surveyed his surroundings he saw that he had been quite correct in his supposition. Everything around him screamed `old money', from the antique furnishings to the gilt-framed portraits that adorned almost every inch of available wall space. Fleetingly he wondered whether he had erred in not having given this assignment to Quatre. His lover had offered - `Old money is he? Well so am I, so perhaps I should go and talk to him?' he had suggested. It was a good point, but Trowa had refused on the grounds that Quatre had been in the jury box throughout Duo Maxwell's trial. As a friend of Merquise's, Treize Khushrenada might have attended the trial once or twice, and if he had, he might have seen Quatre, the jury box being perfectly visible from the public gallery. Although he conceded that his view on this might be a trifle biased, in his opinion, his lover's appearance did not exactly allow him to blend into the background. No, he had done the right thing. They could not afford to take any chances, however slim. Trowa was quite prepared to be sent away with a flea in his ear. The card he had given to the butler was one of two types that he and all of his operatives carried. When calling on persons of Treize Khushrenada's standing, a simple visiting card, of the type Trowa had just offered was given. This way, the nature of the visit and the occupation of the visitor could be kept undisclosed until the very last moment. Such people were familiar with visiting cards and would not be unduly suspicious upon receiving one, even from an apparent stranger. The other type of card was closer to a regular business card, giving a name and contact details, but still no company or organisation name, and no direct mailing address - just a mailbox number. The discretion of Trowa's organisation worked both ways, protecting both his clients' privacy and that of his agency. Even the telephone numbers printed were connected via a circuitous, untraceable routing. The regular cards were handed out freely, as and when required. When a visiting card was given, 8 out of 10 times the recipient's curiosity was piqued even though they did not know the person named on the card, and an interview was granted (although the said interview was occasionally abruptly curtailed as soon as its nature was revealed). The remaining recipients refused an interview point-blank. As Trowa wondered which of these responses he would receive from Treize Khushrenada, he heard the footsteps of the butler as he returned.“His Excellency will receive you in the drawing room. This way Sir...” Trowa followed him across the black and white checkerboard design marble floor, up a sweeping staircase to a room on the first floor of the house. Quatre, who knew about such things, had once explained to Trowa that a drawing room, derived from the term `withdrawing room', was where, in days gone by, the ladies of a dinner party would withdraw after dinner, leaving the gentlemen at table, where the cloth was removed and port and cigars were passed around. After an interval of conversation, the gentlemen would rejoin the ladies in the drawing room. Such was life before emancipation, Trowa thought, as he imagined today's `ladies' giving short shrift to such a practise.

 

 

The room was definitely a handsome room, bright, airy, prettily decorated in pastel shades of lemon and pistachio, and furnished with delicate chairs, tables and sofas. Trowa preferred to stand, fearing that his man's weight might prove too much for one of the dainty little chairs. As he surveyed his surroundings he saw that this room too was favoured with a portrait, but just the one this time. He glanced at it and was about to turn away when he performed a classic double-take.

The oil-on-canvas portrait was of a man in full military dress uniform - blue cutaway coat, ivory breeches and knee-length boots. The coat was liberally embellished with gold braid and gilt buttons, and hugged the wearer's trim physique impressively. The man had one hand on the elegantly-swept hilt of a rapier that was belted at his hip, and a cape hung in heavy folds from one broad shoulder. Despite the dapper attire, it was the man's face that had caught Trowa's attention. He was young - not more than mid-twenties, but he bore an unmistakable air of pride and arrogance that leaped out at one. His roguishly handsome face, with neatly coiffed auburn hair and pale blue eye, stared out of the picture at Trowa with something of a mocking smirk playing about his lips. His eyes would have been quite fine, but for the severely shaped eyebrows that framed them. The artist was remarkably competent and the painting was skilfully executed. The work was signed, but the signature was illegible. However, at the centre of the lower edge of the frame, the words `His Excellency, Treize Khusrenada' were heavily embossed. So, this was his host. Trowa took a step back in order to get a better look at the picture, and as he did so its surroundings also came into full view. The picture was situated above the mantelpiece of the room's large fireplace. The weather was clement and the grate was empty, but Trowa now noticed that the mantelpiece held several framed photographs. He stepped closer again in order to inspect them. Just snapshots, some of which featured the same young man from the portrait above, but in civilian clothes and Trowa noted how his air of arrogance disappeared along with the formal attire. Suddenly he saw something that had his investigator's nose twitching and he leaned forward for a closer look. One of the framed photographs had a smaller, unframed picture tucked into a corner between its glazing and the frame. In one fluid motion Trowa removed the picture and dropped it into the pocket of his jacket. Almost at the same instant the door opened and a man entered the room, but all he saw was a tall, handsome young man, elegantly dressed and perfectly composed, standing patiently beside a side table on which rested a bowl of cut roses. This table was several feet away from the mantelpiece.“Mr Barton, I'm Treize Khushrenada.” He gave Trowa an unashamedly appraising look as he approached, his hand extended. It was unmistakably the man from the portrait and the photographs but today he wore dark blue slacks and a white shirt, open at the neck and sleeves loosely rolled. His oxford brogues were an attractive oxblood shade, and they matched his belt perfectly. Trowa took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.“Have we met before?” Treize Khushrenada asked. “I feel as if I should know you, but I don't think I do.” His voice was rich and mellow, and his diction was perfect. His well-rounded vowels and precise enunciation, stark evidence of an expensive private education, reminded Trowa of Quatre, and he suppressed a fond smile.“No, we have never met.” Trowa replied, certain that he had not run into him at one of the Society functions his high-born lover frequently dragged him to. Khushrenada looked quizzically at him.“I know a Dekim Barton, are you any relation?” Trowa's features remained impassive. He was indeed acquainted with the man Khushrenada mentioned, but he was not going to admit as much. He needed to keep the interview focussed and he didn't want to get sidetracked by being drawing into discussions about this connection with Dekim Barton and his ilk.

“No,” He replied, “No relation at all.” His host shrugged dismissively.“Well in that case, what can I do for you Mr Barton.?” He sat down on one of the dainty sofas, and crossed on leg elegantly over the other. The half-mocking, half-amused smile from the portrait played around his lips as he waved a hand nonchalantly in the direction of a nearby chair, indicating that Trowa should take a seat.“I'm looking into some aspects of the Zechs Merquise murder case.” Trowa said, keeping his eyes trained on Khushrenada's face as he sat down in the chair. His response had clearly taken the other man by surprise, but had Trowa also seen fear in those cold eyes? Khushrenada hesitated before he spoke.“Oh." He said flatly. "A tragic business, tragic, but how canI help you?“You were a friend of Mr Merquise's.” It was a flat statement, not a question, and it appeared to confuse the young man. “A friend,” He said questioningly, “Of Zechs'?” His oddly-shaped eyebrows came together in a frown. “Hardly that Mr Barton. Zechs and I were lovers.” It was Trowa's turn to frown.“Lovers?” He said. “But I though he and Duo Maxwell...”“Zechs and I were lovers until the braided wunderkind came along and lured him away from me, although,” Khushrenada added somewhat whistfully, “ Zechs was always a free spirit, and I doubt whether I could truly have said that he was ever really mine in the first place.” Trowa was taken aback by the revelation, but the only indication he gave was the raising of an eyebrow. “Oh yes Mr Barton,” Khushrenada continued, “Many a night of passion was had between us under this very roof.” He glanced up at the decorated ceiling. “Then the slut Maxwell appeared on the scene. Zechs was immediately infatuated with him. He left me and took up with Maxwell, for all the good it ultimately did him.” “So relations between Zechs Merquise and yourself were strained?” Trowa asked. Treize Khushrenada gave a bark of laughter.“Not a bit of it, my dear.” He replied smoothly. “You won't find a motive there. I didn't really blame Zechs for falling for Duo Maxwell. I daresay I would have done the same, had I seen him first. He's a comely piece, I'll say that for him. And that hair... well, need one say more?” Trowa frowned again.“So you and Zechs Merquise remained friends even though he left you for someone else?” “Of course.” Khushrenada replied. “Never let it be said that the Khushrenadas are sore losers. And besides,” He continued with a dismissive flick of the wrist, “It was just a phase. I fully expected Zechs to tire of Maxwell before too long, then he would be back with his tail between those lovely legs of his.”“Rather a lengthy phase.” Trowa said dryly. “He and Duo Maxwell were together for around three years weren't they?” It was a low blow, and Trowa knew it. Treize Khushrenada lowered his gaze uncomfortably and picked at a loose thread in the seam of his pants.

 

 

"I will admit,” He replied grudgingly, "The thing lasted longer than anyone ever expected it would. I half-believe that Zechs really was in love with the fellow.""It would appear that he definitely was,” Trowa countered, "After all, he made a proposal of marriage, didn't he?” Khushrenada gave a snort of derisive laughter. "Yeees,” He said, drawing out the word contemplatively, "Zechs was nothing if not capricious. I believe he meant to do it too, but the Maxwell creature wouldn't have him. One has to admire him for that. You've got to have spirit to turn down the heir to the Peacecraft fortune."

 

“The heir?” Trowa frowned quizzically, “I thought that he had been disinherited.”

 

 

“Nonsense!” Khushrenada replied, “In the words of the immortal Bard, Old man Peacecraft was `Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing'. He would never really have disinherited his only son. Far too proud of the family history to see the line die out, as it surely would with only Relena as heir. His cutting Zechs off was just old Peacecraft flexing his parental muscles. There was not a thing in it - you mark my words.” Trowa nodded his comprehension.

 

 

"Considering he was something of a rival,” He then asked, “How came you to be Duo Maxwell's landlord?"

 

 

"Oh that,” Khushrenada said airily, “Yes, I can see how it might seem a little odd. Well it's perfectly simple really. When Zechs took up with Maxwell he needed a place for the two of them to live. He had fallen out with his governor because of his profligate lifestyle long before, and his taking up with Le Maxwell was the final straw. As you know, he was cut off without a penny, so when he and Duo were looking for a place to set up home together, naturally he came to me.""Naturally?" Trowa queried."Well yes, you see I have quite a large property portfolio, and the building that Zechs and Duo lived in is owned by me. There happened to be a couple of flats vacant, so I let them have one rent free." Trowa raised his eyebrows."That was good of you." He remarked, "Especially under the circumstances.""Not at all," Countered the other, "After all, Zechs and I go back a very long way, and it's not as though I need the money." Trowa glanced around at his surroundings, but said nothing. The other man continued."When Duo threw Zechs out, he came to me. He told me that Zechs and he had parted company and asked me whether he might stay on at the flat. I told him he could.""Rent free also?" Trowa asked. The other man smiled wryly."Oh no, not our Mr Maxwell; he is too proud for that. Would you believe, the fellow drew himself up to his full height and insisted that I charge him the full rent for the apartment. The little fool! He couldn't possibly have afforded it! I just quoted him a nominal sum - a few hundred a month, well within his means. Of course, he was suspicious at first. Our boy is no slouch, whatever else he may be. He said that he thought the sum a little low and I told him that I use the block as a sort of 'grace and favour' apartment block, so the rents are somewhat lower than average.""And he believed this?" Trowa asked."Hook, line and sinker." Treize Khushrenada replied. "It's not so very far from the truth anyway." He uncrossed his legs and rose gracefully to his feet. "You said you wanted a key?" Trowa nodded.

 

"Yes please, if you have one.""I'll take you to Shadwell. He looks after things for me - my man of business, if you like. He'll be able to let you have one, if there's one available. You'll have to excuse the smell in there though," Khushrenada added with an apologetic smile, “We've been having some restoration work done in that part of the house, and there is still a faint smell of paint in the room.” Trowa rose to follow, but hesitated before doing so."Just one more question, Your Excellency."

His host turned to face him with a look of polite enquiry. He was obviously eager to be of assistance, and Trowa decided that, despite his bombastic manner and acerbic tongue, he actually liked the man."Who do you think killed Zechs Merquise?" Trowa asked the question, although he now thought he had an inkling as to the answer. The older man fixed Trowa with a sincere, steady gaze.

"I have absolutely no idea Mr Barton," He replied, "But I can guarantee you one thing, it was not that milksop Maxwell." Trowa nodded.During a brief but enlightening interview with Treize Khushrenada's steward, Trowa obtained a key to Duo Maxwells apartment, as well as confirmation of his growing conviction. He telephoned Heero from his car on the way back to his office. Heero answered on the second ring.

"I've got the key,” The detective began, without preamble, "And I think I've got the killer." A full half minute passed before Heero spoke."Who is it?" He asked tonelessly."Why, the person you least expect it to be of course,” The other man replied, “Just like in any good detective story."

 

 

 

4