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“Hasn’t shown up yet, ma’am.”

“Mh,” she said, then studied the wound more closely. “Stab wound would you say, Randal?”

“That would be my conclusion, ma’am,” said the burly cop. “Of course I’m not an expert, but seeing as the killer was still holding the knife, that would be my best guess.”

“Straight to the heart,” Sarah murmured as she looked on reverently.

“A-ha,” said Gran. “Of course.Crime passionnel.”

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. I’m not a detective.”

Gran turned to Chase.“What do you say, Detective Kingsley?”

Chase had taken up position on the other side of the bed.“Any cameras?” he asked, glancing around.

“As a matter of fact there are,” said Randal. He pointed to the only painting in the room. It depicted the dead man, seated on what looked like a throne, his trademark dark glasses obscuring the upper strata of his face, a white cat perched on his knee. It reminded Odelia of Dr. No, the James Bond villain.

“There’s a camera embedded in the painting,” Sarah explained. “It’s the cat’s eyes. They’re actually two lenses. But we haven’t been able to locate the footage.”

“Did you check with Flake’s security team?” asked Odelia.

“We did. The guy in charge of security reckons that either the camera is a dud—just for show—or else it fed into a parallel security system only accessible to Flake himself. At any rate he doesn’t seem to have a clue.”

“It must feed into something,” said Gran, as she climbed on top of the bed to take a closer look at the camera. “Clever,” she said. “Very clever indeed.”

“There’s a rumor going around that Flake and Crier used it to create their own private home movies, sir,” said Sarah, addressing Chase. She lowered her voice. “Home sex movies, sir. Only we haven’t been able to find them yet.”

“When I talk to Crier I’ll ask him about it,” said Chase as he cast a worried glance at Gran, who was still trudging around on the bed, potentially disturbing the crime scene. Finally she was satisfied and climbed down.

“Kinky,” she commented, then swung round with the air of one who has come to a conclusion. “Sex game gone wrong is my conclusion. Flake had probably found himself a new, younger, boyfriend, and had been adding to his collection of sex tapes with this virile young man. And when Crier found out, he flew into a rage and killed his lover in a moment of insanity. Classic.”

“Right,” said Chase. “Sarah and Randal. I want you to talk to the rest of the staff. And ask them about the camera. I’ll talk to the head of security.” He turned to Odelia. “Are you all right in here, babe?”

Odelia nodded. And when Chase gestured with his head to Gran, she understood his meaning. Not only was she to keep an eye on Leonidas Flake and the crime scene, but also on her grandmother, who was now checking under the bed, as if fully expecting another killer to be holed up there.

Chase and the other police officers walked out and closed the door behind them and then it was just her and Gran and… the dead man.

Chapter 7

Instead of joining Odelia and Chase inside the house, as was our habit, we’d instead opted to inspect the outer rim of the Leonidas dwelling. Not that this was part of a new strategy on our part. We were upset with Odelia, and wanted to showcase that annoyance by doing things our way instead of hers. Not that it would do us a lot of good. Humans are notoriously obtuse,and it would take more than the silent treatment for Odelia to become aware of our grievances.

“So what’s the plan?” asked Brutus now, and I had to confess that I didn’t have any. And since Harriet, usually filled to the brim with plans, was coming up empty in that department, too, and Dooley was, as usual, a spent force when it came to racking the old noggin, we simply wandered around aimlessly, deciding that instead of coming up with a plan to aid and abet our human in solving yet another crime, we were going to go on strike for once.

“On strike?” asked Dooley. “What’s a strike, Max?”

“It means we’re not going to do what we usually do and instead do nothing at all,” I explained.

“Oh, you mean taking a break?”

“No, going on strike,” said Harriet. “Like factory workers when negotiations between management and trade unions have broken down and failed to reach the pay raise anticipated.”

Dooley stared at me.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Harriet burst out. “We’re not going to help Odelia solve her murder for her this time, all right? Instead we do nothing.”

Dooley continued mystified, though.“But… why?”

“For one thing, the murder has already been solved,” I said. “Clearly the boyfriend did it. And for another, if Odelia doesn’t care about us, why should we care about her? Or the murder cases she decides to get involved in?”

This was clearly a tough one, and Dooley stared at me for a moment before responding.“Because that’s what we always do?”

“Well, I for one think it’s time we switched up our routine,” said Harriet. “How long have we been assisting Odelia with this murder business?”

“Um… a long time?” Dooley hazarded a guess.