The Crime Scene 

Onew opened his eyes to bright, blinding sunlight, thought, there’s something missing here, and then was greeted by a torrent of water to the face.

Ah, there it was. There was no one quite as direct as his housekeeper in obtaining what she wanted, which in this case referred to vengeance for all slights against her, real and imaginary. “Eugene, why would you do that?” he whined, as Eugene stalked forward and yanked the blankets straight off his face. Making pained sounds, he tried to cover his eyes, but she’d thrown the curtains open as well, and the morning had already set in. Eugene in a deep breath, and Onew knew he was in trouble.   

“Had Mr. Jonghyun calling up the household at half-past six, no respect for good sleep these days, saying that Mr. Onew is absolutely to be woken up on time for work –”

“Hold on a – work?”

“Or else they’d make a terrible racket again, and someone’s got to be looking out for this home’s reputation, not that I’m asking to be thanked, mind you –”

“But I’m retired…Oh.”

“And now your breakfast is gone cold, and you’ve fifteen minutes to get to the hall, because you wouldn’t wake up when I said so, so you’d best push off if you were smart,” Eugene concluded, tapping his clock meaningfully and catching her breath. Onew, on the other hand, appeared deaf to her words, sitting on the edge of his bed and chewing on his lip. His housekeeper cocked her head, a little put-out.

“Eugene, I’m worried,” he confessed suddenly.

“Oh dear, Mr. Onew. Lie down and see if it goes away.”

He pouted at her. “You’ve no sympathy.”

She arched a brow, hands resting upon her hips that reminded Onew uncomfortably of his one, and only, governess, who had taught him for a grand total of two days. “You agreed, Mr. Onew, to take this case. Now, you can take back your words and disappoint, or you can act an adult and stop taking out the consequences of your own actions on your poor colleagues.”

Wincing, Onew recalled Taemin’s stricken face the day before. Perhaps, on some spiteful, vindictive level, he had wanted Taemin to realise that working for Odd Eye would not be the paradise he’d anticipated. Or perhaps he had just wanted to shift the blame away from himself for a moment. All the same, it had been cruel of him. It was not like Taemin knew what he had asked. He’d have to find a way to apologize to him. He rubbed his hands over his face, and forced it into a smile. “Well, I should be getting going then, shouldn’t I?”

“Oh yes, seeing as you’ve got only twelve minutes now.”

“Twelve minutes?”

“And of course you never listen, don’t think anything poor Eugene is saying is important, not that it bothers me – ”

“But I was distracted!”

“Oh, do push off, Mr. Onew.”

By the time Onew managed to get himself in order, just barely catch the bus, and then jog all the way to the Estate, Odd Eye had been waiting for at least fifteen minutes. Gasping, Onew ground to a halt in front of the heavy, wrought-iron gates. “I hope…no one…was waiting…too…long?” he managed, once he’d gotten air back into his system. Taemin was looking at him like he was a particularly fascinating small creature, while Jonghyun and Minho just appeared resigned to it.

“For your next birthday, I’m giving you an alarm,” Key mumbled under his breath.

“You can’t tell me what I’m getting for my birthday! Now you’ve gone and ruined the surprise.”

Minho chose this opportunity to push open the gates and start walking down the gravel driveway leading to the manse, cutting off any further discussion on Onew’s tardiness. It was a stunningly huge piece of land, sprawling out in all directions of lush grass and carefully maintained hedges and flowerbeds. Several large trees dotted with white flowers had been planted, guiding them as they arrived at the front door. Jonghyun let out a low whistle. Minho rapped sharply on the door, which was answered promptly.

The butler – Onew searched his memory, recalling that his name was Byun Baekhyun – was a man of average stature leaning towards short, dark hair, and a charming smile. He was dressed in a simple suit, and he looked the quintet up and down. There was, Onew thought, an altogether calculating quality to that gaze. “The master is indisposed at the moment,” Baekhyun informed them, “If you would care to wait, sirs.”

“We’ll see ourselves in, don’t mind us,” Onew informed him.

 “Sir.” Baekhyun’s tone had the pained quality of a trained professional, who, despite no doubt throwing you out of the house, would at least have the politeness to snigger behind his hand. 

 “We’re expected,” Minho told him, and with equal trained professionalism, manoeuvred Baekhyun out of the way. The quintet sauntered in, Jonghyun smirking at Baekhyun’s dumbfounded expression. Minho led them to the studio, which as Taemin had faithfully drawn, was located on the right wing of the hall. Speaking of, Onew surreptitiously stole a glance at the younger boy, who was very painfully avoiding eye contact with him, standing about awkwardly beside Key. Onew felt immediately guilty. When they reached the studio, they found a constable standing by the door, who quickly straightened when he saw Minho.

“Nobody tried to enter?” Minho asked him, and he shook his head. Minho smiled, the constable, clearly very young, looked relieved. “Good job. We’ll be taking a look around.”

The constable opened the door for them, and they entered the room where the murder had taken place. Despite his years in the business, Onew could not repress a shudder, feeling altogether that they were entering a tomb. Baekhyun hovered outside the door, ostensibly worried that they might make off with the silverware without his trained gaze on them. Onew caught the glimpse of another constable stationed outside the window. He regarded the area, as Odd Eye spread out to begin their work. Key was already making a detailed sketch of the area in his book, while Minho, with Taemin trailing after him, was photographing anything that could be of interest. Jonghyun snapped open his big black bag, tools at the ready.

It was not an altogether large room, a simple square. Across from the door was a large window, and the easel, with a half-painted canvas, faced it, so that Yifan could look out while he worked. On the left side of the room were a stack of blank canvases, with a cupboard next to it. On the right was a side table littered with paint bottles, brushes, and stains, and nailed to the wall beside it, near the window, was a coat hanger, with Yifan’s coat, a pair of keys, and a lantern hanging from it. On the floor by the easel was an area marked in chalk, where the body had been, and the pistol lay beside it.

“Baekhyun,” Onew said, and the butler jumped to attention, “Did the room appear exactly like this when you entered that night? When the body was found?” 

“The windows were open, sir,” Baekhyun said after a moment’s thought. Minho obligingly opened the windows. Baekhyun stepped into the room and shifted the easel slightly, “There. Just so.”

Onew nodded, observing as Jonghyun began meticulously dusting for fingerprints from the pistol. “Well well, somebody’s prints are on this,” he said triumphantly, “We’ll have to take prints from everybody in the household.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Key reproached him, “How many times have we found faked prints?”

“Go back to your drawing and stop ruining my fun,” Jonghyun said amiably, as he began the process of removing the prints. Key frowned at his back.

“Mr. Onew.” It was the first time Taemin had spoken that day, and it made both Onew and Key jump. “There are footprints outside the window.”  

The quintet instantly crowded around the window, and there were, as Taemin had said, a trail of boot prints leading towards the window, as though someone had come from around the side of the house. “Are these yours?” Minho asked the constable, who shook his head.

Jonghyun nimbly leapt over the ledge, pulling out the materials needed to make a mould. “It’s like Christmas! Good eye, Taemin!” Taemin looked pleased with himself, but he dropped his gaze the moment Onew smiled at him.

“Would Yifan have left the window open?” Key asked Baekhyun. “Or unlocked?”  

“I don’t know. You will have to ask the other servants, or whoever was with him last,” Baekhyun responded.

Leaving the rest of Odd Eye to investigate that matter, Onew did a slow survey of the items in the room. Minho had thrown open and upended the contents of the cupboard, containing nothing but paint supplies. “Minho, do try not to make such a mess,” Onew said, catching Baekhyun’s disapproving look.

“Can’t leave any stone unturned!” Minho said cheerfully, and Onew raised his hands in a “What-can-one-do?” gesture to the thoroughly inconvenienced butler. “No skeletons in there, anyways.”

Walking across to the coat rack, Onew lifted up the keys. “What do these open?”

“The studio, sir. Mr. Wu had the only copy. They were hanging there that night, for he’d locked the door.”

Continuing on, Onew approached the side table. There was a cup of coffee on it, untouched. Thoughtfully, Onew took a sample of the coffee in a small flask, and placed it into his coat pocket. The top of Jonghyun’s head and eyes peeked over the sill, a spot of mud on his cheek. “We’ll have to find out what shoes everyone owns as well.”

Onew made a sound of agreement, as K