Chapter 20

Detective Morley Rocque had a rollicking time travelling up the Italian city of Turin but of course, not in that hell-raising Landrover but a brand new yellow hatchback Aston Martin Vantage Roadster gifted to him by Lady Stefflon Don.

He now looks five times younger than his age, thanks to the clean shave he had had and a regimen that has improved his physique in no small measure thereby salvaging his image from the comfortable rut he was in.

He has inspected his moustache a couple of times from the rearview mirror before checking into the Five-star LaBuenosares hotel, another reckless benevolence of Lady Stefflon Don to take care of his accommodation needs until investigations were over.

He used the magnetic stripe card attached to a pendant on which was encrypted with the numerals: 1204, coated in golden colour to access his apartment which turned out to be a Royal suit; decorated in a classical minimalists style, with excellent marble finishing, huge mirrors, chandeliers and an expansive work desk similar to that of Louis XV.

Mr Rocque liked the mystique surrounding the apartment, particularly the lovely work surface where he will be carrying out his research without having to leave the comfort of his lodge.

He bolted the door from within and got himself freshen-up in the bathroom and was emerging from it when the hotel's cordless intercom system began to ring, the phone continues to ring for quite some time but Mr Morley Rocque had no time to attend to it. He walked to the closet stack naked and got his hairy self covered with grey fleece and soft-touch lounge pants and went to his black attaché suite case placed on the work desk and launched it open. Mass of papers was brought out and laid before him; he began to flip through them with an intense focus that even a herd of stampeding dinosaurs run through his space, he isn't likely to lose his concentration.

Soon, that one too was dumped on one side after running a marathon check on it.

Similarly, he reached for the main compartment of the case and brought out his laptop along with a blue-ray disc and powered it on. Presently, someone knocks at the door. Mr Morley Rocque deserted the booting gadget and opened the door, it was a waiter delivering his din-din on a golden serving Trolley. "Thank you," whispered the detective and returned to his desk, not minding to inspect what the waiter brought.

He slots the disc into the system and begins to pay it another round of rapt attention. It was the recording from the camera planted on Verona Blasio carrying the confessions he has not being able to extract from Lady Stefflon Don's kitchen crew, now being spilt to the third eye; it was dirty and stinks like a sewer.

In his first interview with Mrs Blanche that failed to yield any meaningful result, Mr Morley Rocque asked her, "you've been best of friends with miss Matilda Begot, is that right?"

"Those were your words," she replied rudely. "Matilda being my colleague at work does not make her and me the best of friends." The detective presses on, not minding her erratic mood.

"Whether you are best of friends or not is not the important thing, what matters most is the cause of Matilda's exit." At first, Mrs Blanche was unwilling to cooperate with the detective because she knew who he was and the pranks he wants to play on her but decides to play along just for the fun of it. "Matilda was a morally upright person and has not shown any undesirable attitude other than the life of benevolence she was known with; hardly has she raise her voice on persons around her, not even pets. She was the cheerful giver and the outgoing type too; that makes her everyone's favourite and a person to-go-to when one is down in the spirit and looking for solace."

"I see," said detective Rocque. He did not say a word again. The dismal looks on his face told her that he was not satisfied with the answer she gave him. If he was expecting her to speak all kinds of calumny against Matilda Begot, then he is talking to the wrong person.

Morley did not border to go any further than the one he has travelled because Mrs Blanche was too smart for him to handle.

Detective Morley Rocque changes tactics again. This time around he went to Elina Mall, the one he thought would be an easy target, but she too was not in the mood to converse with her coworkers, least of all, with a stranger.

As an experienced investigator, Morley Rocque knows exactly how to crack the pin-code to their minds and access the information he dearly sought after.

He consulted one of their closest associates named Verona Blasio, a huge boobed blonde whom he knows can deliver when the chips are down and made a difficult-to-turndown offer to her. Verona accepted the money and embraced the risk to pitch herself against her affectionate friends by giving up her body to be wired with micro-cameras and a voice recording device. Mr Rocque furnished her with all kinds of questions to ask and how to ask them so that she does not spring suspicion among her targets.

All of a sudden, she started looking gloomy as if to give up the whole act but Mr Rocque told her it's not a betrayal, that she should cheer up."

"If that was not a betrayal, what is it then?"

"Well, I call it investigative journalism or better off, fact-finding; a cool job if you may ask."

"I can see how good you are at using honey-dipped words to confuse me just to get your work done."

Mr Morley refused to say a word after that.

Verona Blasio likes him for his confidence even though she knew he was telling her a great white lie.

It was an off-peak period of activities at Mr Rafeal Massimo's Ville, and the kitchen crew all gathered in the common room: Mrs Blanche, Miss Isabella and Miss Elina, each taken position on a couch, making most from their downtime.

Verona's artful gift of the gab always dictates what scandalous affairs to analyze, and this time around the stage light centres on Matilda Begot. Isabella was at her annoying best; chewing gum noisily and refused to partake in their gossip, or maybe, she was battling her inner demons.

Mrs Blanche, lying on one of the sofas with one of her legs heaped on the other, replies this in response to what Verona Blasio has earlier said,

" Matilda is not a threat to anyone," she said, scooping a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, " it's just that she has got this simple but smooth way of operating that has got the attention of those who matter most in the house trip over for her; haven't you noticed the heavy flirting and the killer seductive moves? Well, that has won her seat at the dining table which gave Madam Stefflon sleepless nights."

"What are you talking about?" asked Verona Blasio.

"Girl, are you trying to tell me that you are not aware of this, that Matilda and small Madam have been humping on each other?"

"Humping?" Asked Elina disgustingly.

"Yes, humping; and has made enough money from it to see her through lean times for the rest of her existence which makes her continued to stay here of no use, so, she took the French leave."

Verona who was dazed with the confession, wheeled her eyes to Isabella's direction to see if there were elements of surprise written on it to find her constricted in a classic deck chair, and insulated herself from their petty dialogues with a wireless earbud and continue to shake her head vivaciously. It now dawn on her she was the only one ignorant about the happening around the house despite their togetherness.

Detective Morley was pleased with Verona Blasio for doing a great job. He left his seat for the Trolley and picked three ice cubes from an ice bucket with a tongue and transferred them to a glass cup halfway filled with tequila and sips while he watches the video ran its course till the end. He again shifted his attention from the computer to the Television remote and tapped it on. It was top of the hour, a live Italian news channel came alive. Mr Morley listened to the headline and sees that there was nothing new, he changes channels continuously until he changed half a dozen of them.

The doorbell rang again. "Finally," he said to himself, "this must be her."

"come inside, the door is open."

A diva walks in and he calls her Vallery. Vallery walks up straight to him and kissed him on the lips.

"You came at the right time; just when am about to slum in the bed

Gallery, like Mr Rocque, was eager to go to bed too. She began to undress, revealing her curvy parts with befitting lingerie covering it. Moments later, the lights went off and Doria began to giggle. "Mr Morley, is that your hands in my undies?"

"Whose hands will it be if not mine," said the detective jokingly. The giggling gathers momentum; from laughing now to intense mourning.