The Conceiting Portrait (Part 13)

The trio were at Max’s studio apartment. Jo fixed three coffees before they could begin with their newly developed theories and evidence they found. She poured out the caffeinated beverage into three mugs and placed them on the center table. Max and Basil, who were napping on the couch, drowsily picked up their own cups and sat upright, providing Joan with some space to sit. Everyone had bags under their eyes because of the long traveling experience they had. Max sipped his coffee and broke the silence, “We all thought that Michelle never got married and was found dead, right? Well, here’s the breakthrough – She was married to some guy named John Augustine. He was a painter and a philosopher. Not fame, not money, not personality; just his rational thoughts.” “What do you mean by rational thoughts?” Jo asked. “I’m trying to say that Michelle fell for his rational thoughts, not the other aspects I mentioned.” “So, are you trying to imply that John Augustine murdered Michelle?” Jo continued. “Nah, what I am trying to say is that there is a possibility that the mastermind behind the treasure hunt could be Michelle de la Vanilli’s descendant.” Max finished his cup of coffee. “That is a possibility. What about you Mr. Blake? Were you able to track down the psychologist?” “I did, and my intuition says that she is the mastermind,” Blake confessed. “What? But how can you conclude? Do you have a theory?” Max was startled. He felt a sense of inferiority arising in his chest. He had been right all along. He couldn’t be wrong now. He had to be right at every step. No one was allowed to solve the mystery apart from him. “Unfortunately, no. It is just my intuition.” Blake’s word gave him relief, but it was temporary. 

Several kilometers away from the studio apartment, the real mastermind was planning another murder. She picked up her telecom, “Terminate her. Not another nuisance from her. Am I clear?” “Consider it done.” Another female voice growled. She kept the receiver and turned around to see her prey struggling to set herself free from the ropes. She put on her surgical gloves and picked a pocket knife from the table beside her that displayed a variety of knives ranging from chef knives to cleaver knives. She took out a tube containing a green viscous liquid and poured it on top of the pocket knife. “Your records at Petunia’s will explain your tendency to commit suicide. But we must take precautions to prevent others from knowing about us. So, a bit of this…” she said pointing at the green liquid “ought to sort things out.” The woman whimpered as she approached her. She made a deep cut on her left wrist. She yelped while the other enjoyed the moment. When she was done, she smirked and asked her subordinates to dispose of her somewhere before she regained her consciousness.

"Okay, so, just so that we are clear, Max suggests that because Michelle was married to John, there is a possibility that someone who is supposedly their descendent is the mastermind whereas Blake suggests that Dr. Petunia is the mastermind." Jo summed up as she rubbed her chin in deep thought. "Not necessary that Petunia has to be the mastermind but I have a strong gut that she is involved in this series of murders." Lance clarified. "That is plausible." Max agreed. "You didn't tell us about your findings of the American man Jo... was it worthwhile?" Max asked. "Well, our only lead to the so-called American man happened to commit suicide on one of these fine days by excess consumption of morphine tartrate at nearly 5 in the morning! Can you believe it? But I have proof it was all a set-up. A clean murder. The cashier said that he COMMITTED suicide at 5 in the morning. But, according to what I saw in his locked-up cottage, there was a rope hanging from the ceiling in a loop. Then comes his suicide letter. The cashier mentioned that he barely had enough money to afford a pen. When I go there, I find his suicide letter; which is surprisingly not confiscated by the police for investigation; written in black ink. After some more digging, I find a pen with nearly empty ink but the color turns out to be blue. What do I infer? A misdirection set up by the pawns of the murderer."