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Arsène Lupin, a dear friend of mine, shared this story with me a long time ago about an adventure involving one of his friends, the duke Neill of Highgate. From what he said about the manner, the character, the thinking capacity of this person, I can’t help myself but overlay these two unconventional individuals. Arsène Lupin is one of a kind and he is indeed capable of creating stories from nothing, or to deny some he lived. You, as a reader, will judge.
It was nine in the morning, the sun had already risen, waking up the people who had inadvertently forgotten to close their shutters. Its burning rays were casting shadows of the numerous trees on the grass of Hampstead Heath Park, calmly dominating London. Right under an oak tree, a svelte and elegant figure sat on a bench reading a news-paper : “Look out for the colourful pride parade” or “5 ways to ease a sunburn” could be read on the front page. He seemed calm and relaxed but his watchful eyes were telling an entirely different story. He was waiting. Maybe something, or someone, or perhaps a surprising turn of events in this peaceful piece of nature, that the boring articles couldn’t pull him out of.
The sun continued its route when an arched silhouette collapsed on the other side of the bench, a notebook in hand. Simply by observing him, the duke of Highgate had an idea of who that person was. The worn out hands, his skin even darker than its naturally brown colour because of all the black smudges of ink, the old but good quality camera and that attentive look persevering through the weariness he seemed to be radiating.
“My dear journalist, times are hard nowadays to find interesting news, isn’t it ?”
The young reporter sighed : “It is my job to look out for facts, thrilling investigations, cryptic disappearances… How am I able to do that if there is nothing worth writing about? Obviously I do not wish a murder, it would be so cruel, but at least something to chew on so I can keep my job.”
“It seems boring indeed, but you have to keep your guard up, my dear journalist, or you will miss it. The subtle hints of a mystery whispering your name, hoping that you would be the one to solve it. I’m Neill, Duke of Highgate, but just call me Neill.”
“Ayden.”
The birds sang, chirping and peeping with the chaotic sound of leaves tussling against each other and masking the laughter of children playing in front of them.
It went on for a while when suddenly they heard a shout : “Duke ! Duke !”
In unison, the two men turned toward the oncoming feminine figure.
“ Neill ! It’s horrible ! It’s Kay… Katy Blues… dead, no breathing, no singing, no dancing… dead !” She uttered between heavy gasps.
Neill of Highgate immediately stood up and strode toward her, embracing her in a comforting hug. She pressed her head on his shoulder, tangling her short blond hair. He then slowly guided her to the bench, near the journalist who looked away awkwardly. After long minutes, her breathing eased, and in her eyes, panic made way for a collected sadness.
The duke kindly asked her : “Dear Lady Murphy, I know it’s hard for you, but what happened ? How can I help your tormented mind ?”
“They found her this morning. In her dressing room. Dead. She was still wearing her makeup from yesterday’s drag show. Overdose they think, but I know her, she would not do that. She was training so hard for the pride representation…”
“It will be hard to overcome the loss of your friend but I can at least soothe your pain by finding the truth. I suggest you go back to your house and to have all the rest you can in your state. We will find the answer so please take care of yourself in exchange.” He answered, and then turned towards the young journalist : “Friend, come with me, I will explain the situation on the way to the London Coliseum theatre after bringing her back to her home. The truth will not wait for us.”
She nodded and the two men guided her to her home before heading to the centre of London.
~~~~~~
The luxurious nature led to an urbanised landscape with various shops, pubs and restaurants on the first floors of three storey buildings built with red bricks and big vertical windows.
“You surely had heard of her : Katy Blues, Lady Murphy’s sister. One of the most famous and talented drag-queen here in London. She was selected to perform her new show for the pride’s spectacle on Trafalgar square. It was a one-of-life experience for her, finally being able to present her skills, talents and a message to the general public.” Clarified the duke while Ayden took notes precociously.
They took the tube, the Northern line and got out at Leicester Square. When they reached outside of the station, the medium-tall structures from before were not more, replaced by taller ones. Some kept the same colour pattern while others were covered in a surprising amount of advertisement, on bills and screens. The streets had also expanded and people were flowing around them, crossing paths and squeezing their way on the square creating a turbulent but constant river.
On their route to the theatre, their eyes met many posters about Katy’s future performance. Nobody knows the truth yet, we can imagine Neill sadly thinking, reflecting his discreet but still present frown of his eyebrows and his brief sorrowful smile. But as he let loose his mournful emotions he skilfully took back control and covered them under a seemingly confident stance and a focused look.
The two figures finally arrived in front of the imposing front of the early twentieth century theatre. As their foot passed over the steps of the entrance, a short person in a police uniform appeared and hurried them inside : “You’re the duke of Highgate ?”
“Indeed, with my secretary.” Neill ensured, standing tall and imposing confidence.
“Hurry, I will only let you look at the place for thirty minutes. Don’t attract attention.” The man then mumbled to himself : “I don’t understand how that weird little lady managed to convince the head office to let him enter…”
The duo rapidly entered in the wings of the theatre, zigzagging between police officers and forensic scientists. When they reached the shared dressing room of the drag queens it didn’t seem out of the ordinary. There was the usual mess of make-up, colourful clothes and eccentric accessories. When the last mirror of the row, Katy’s, wasn't unusual either : rainbow fabrics piled up on the chair, red eyeliner and bright purple lipstick on the dressing table, only the glass and the pills stood out.
“Ayden, I suggest you note down everything you can see.”
“But there is nothing out of the ordinary here, no fighting marks. A typical overdose scene.”
Neill smiled : “That is so very journalistic of you. You have indeed the quality of analysing the principal traits and the big picture of a scene, very good comparing skills and recognition abilities. But sometimes it makes you miss the most important : details, nuances. A scene like this one cannot be simplified by a simple picture at the head of a newspaper. For example, look at these pills on the table. What can you say about it ?”
“These pills are anti-depressant. Surely they are the ones which caused the overdose.” Ayden answered.
“Now look at the glass. Do you notice something ?”
“Hmm, it’s just a glass with a purple lipstick mark so she must have drunk from it, maybe to take the meds.”
“Your interpretation is interesting but you misinterpreted a few important details. First, the pills, the pack is almost full so either there is another box somewhere in a trashcan, or she took other types of pills, or maybe even she didn’t die because of pills.”
Neill then took a step toward the glass and added : “Now about the glass, you have indeed noticed the lipstick mark but if you pay close attention to its colour there is something wrong. Give a closer inspection of your environment and you will find out why.”
The young journalist looked a little offended, eyebrows gathered in an upset frown. But this is not the time to take things personally, there are more important things at the moment. When his expression eased, his pupils dilated themselves, ready to catch more light and information.
The chair was one of those typical foldable wooden stools with black fabric bending strongly under the weight of the various puffy dresses, tight tops and structured skirts. In front of it, a wooden plank stuck in a plywood wall only decorated by a rectangular mirror surrounded by three singular spotlights. Mascara stains and foundation smudges meet each other in a chaotic dance on the reflecting surface.
On the table, two items stood out among the mess, the bright purple lipstick and the glass with the purple lip mark. But, after giving it an intense look, something broke the harmony of colours, they weren't the same shade. One was a vivid, bright, almost childlike colour while on the glass it was a bit darker but not by much. After noticing the difference, Ayden’s previous frustration was totally forgotten and he started seeing other occurrences of that last shade, not on Katy’s desk, but on the one at its right. On a lipstick tube and in a picture on the lips of a drag queen, who wasn’t Katy, that was pinned to the neighbour mirror. And now that he thought about it he remembered that the now deceased drag queen always wore the same purple. But why was the glass on the wrong table ?
“Don’t worry you will find out when the time comes, one discovery at a time. Observing is not natural, it’s learned gradually with patience.” Neill declared as if answering the journalist’s thoughts.
The two men continued examining the room, checking desks and corners to hopefully find other clues, the journalist taking notes of everything he saw. The duke of Highgate went toward a big black old trash can. Old cigarette butts fought with fake eyelashes. At least a week old, he deducted from the damage it suffered from. No cardboard boxes in sight, some ripped wrapping paper, a birthday party maybe, a broken bracelet, paper tissues, a glass, an empty disinfectant bottle.
Wait, a glass ?
He looked at his watch, less than ten minutes left, he remarked, not enough time to analyse it right now. He buried his hand in the interior pocket of his jacket which then came out holding a small transparent plastic bag. He carefully turned the bag inside out, without touching the interior, after that he scooped the glass before wrapping it while getting the plastic in the right way, finally closing the zipper.
“Time is running out, try to get the information of all the persons who were present in the dressing room, I will talk to the forensic pathologist.” He declared while leaving the room.
A quick look upon the individuals in front of him was enough to catch sight of a scientist looking at pictures. With great strides he quickly reached him, looking over his shoulder at the photos of what seems to be a hand, surely Katy's, the pale skin almost turning blue.
“So, it’s not an overdose of antidepressant isn’t it ?”
“Hmm excuse me, what did you say ?” The pathologist answered, startled.
“The victim. Because of opioid, or should I dare say Fentanyl, fast death in that case. Down to two minutes sometimes. I hope she didn’t suffer too much while it happened.” Neill stated with confidence, explaining it as though it was a fact as obvious as the colour of the white horse of Henri IV.
“Ye-yes. Indeed. Who told you ? We-we only just finished the analysis.” The scientist stuttered, unsettled.
The duke left his side and saluted him with a mischievous smile, holding a picture that was in the scientist’s hand less than a minute ago : “Thank you for confirming my theories, friend.”
The lab coat man was left alone mumbling under his breath and wondering who that weird pickpocket man was.
After reuniting with his “secretary”, the duo left the theatre not without bidding the police at the entrance of the building goodbye, Neill adding : “Just in time, 29 minutes and a half. Have a lovely evening Sir.”
And he was right, they arrived at eleven o’clock and right now the minutes’ hand of the officer’s watch pointed between twenty-nine and thirty minutes past eleven.
~~~~~~
The sun circled twice around the earth while they continued some investigations on their own. The young reporter doing what he did best, interviewing and finding information in the news about the different drag queens present in the dressing room. The duke of Highgate on the other hand, sent the glass to a friend to be analysed, otherwise he was spending his time lost in his mind, seeking information or distracting lady Murphy from the death of her sister. The two men saw each other once at a coffee shop during this period, Neill shared his information about the reason of the death, Fentanyl, a powerful opioid capable of killing someone with less than a few grams, giving similar symptoms to antidepressant overdose but at a much faster pace. It was surely the reason why the police thought about the other, more common, solution first. Ayden preferred to share information when he had all the data he wanted, which took two days in the end.
When they met again it was once again in a coffee shop, the Caffè Nero on Highgate High street. Even if it was part of a chain, the store was still charming with its dark blue awning complimenting the blue painted wood of the door and the structure of the huge windows. After giving their order at the counter and shooting glances at the appetising pastry displayed, they sat at a small round wooden table far from the others. Small talk moved on to a more interesting subject, the progress in the investigation.
Ayden started : “So, the majority of the artists who had their items in that dressing room were experienced drag queens who were part of the show where Katy Blues was the main element. They were all on good terms, no major incident happened between them and they seemed to be all so excited to work together -” He was cut by the waitress bringing their drinks.
He took a sip from his Earl Grey and then continued : “But there was surprisingly a new arrival among them, they arrived the same day when Katy died, a newbie in the queer and drag world named Joyce. They didn’t do any show before that, no apparition on TV even in those specialised broadcasts which present the rising star of the drag queen, often before they become popular. It was weird.”
Neill confirmed this information that he also heard from lady Murphy because her sister mentionned the newbie in a message the day of the incident.
The journalist nodded and explained : “When doing my research and thanks to some underground contacts I discovered that they are in fact a delinquent, known under many names like Jeff, Oliv’, Yoan, Chanel or even Emily. They are quite popular for a type of “assistance” that they created. They threaten and sometimes kill people on demand in exchange for a big sum of money, sometimes their actions exceed the demand in terms of violence, but few are the people who would want to complain to a person like that.”
The other man replied with : “That’s really useful news, great job! For my part, I started interrogating Lady Murphy discreetly about Katy’s friends or new and old relationships. She specifically told me about her hatred for her sister’s ex, a drag queen named Rosie Queen known for making some funny but provocative performances. She is also in the drag show for the pride but it's normal you didn’t find any information on their relationship, it was kept a secret. Behind this glittering person, an awful character is hidden, who harassed and blackmailed her sister, and even sent many death threats, growing in violence every day since Katy broke up with them. The police didn’t do anything about it.”
He then drank his tea in one go and got out of his chair creating a grinding noise : “We should go. I think Miss Murphy might have something to tell us.”
And then footsteps were heard, the sound of it was getting weaker and weaker as Neill went further toward the door of the coffee shop.
Ayden was speechless, mouth open as if he was trying to call out to the duke but all the words evaporated. When he finally realised that his teammate left the building, he jumped out of his seat and flew toward the exit.
~~~~~~
Once again their feet guided them toward the green and lively Park of Hampstead Heath. They both inhaled a deep breath, fresh air entering their lungs, free of pollution and chemicals.
But this time they couldn’t just lounge on a bench admiring the leaves and the squirrels interacting in a peaceful chaos. A mystery and unanswered questions were still waiting for them, looking at them from the shadows, not yet menacing but listening to and noticing every step they took.
With every second passing, and as they marched closer and closer to Murphy's house, contrasting feelings grew stronger between the two men. The medium tall journalist was chewing his lower lip, his finger fidgeting with the skin around his nails, his hands sometimes moving to brush the sweat on his forehead or to scratch his left earlobe, an anxious tic he had when he was confused or nervous. Why were they going to question Katy’s sister ? Didn’t Neill already talk to her during these last two days ? Did he say something that the other forgot to ask her ? Near our anxious reporter, the duke was walking, confident, back straight, a focused but calm expression and a satisfied smirk. He loved those moments, right before a revelation creating a sweet mix of stress and adrenaline. What a charming feeling, almost like eating a fizzy candy or the sensation of lemon and sugar merging together when eating a crêpe.
They didn’t have much time to think anymore because they arrived in front of the house. It was in a quiet corner of Highgate, in an ideal location not far from the Northern line tube. They passed three small groups of steps before arriving in front of the main door. Their eyes were instantly attracted by the colourful stained glass window taking one third of the door. Even before ringing the bell, their host noticed them from her french sofa, a méridienne, through the three sided typical London living room window.
The door opened and the short haired women welcomed them warmly inside : “You arrived at the right time! I just made some tea and there are also some biscuits and chocolate on the table.”
While Lady Murphy went into the kitchen to grab two more cups, Neill made himself comfortable in one of the red sofas.
“Come here, don't be afraid to take seat. It will be easier to take notes that way, journalist urges.”, he stated while patting the spot on his right on the sofa. Ayden awkwardly moved out of the doorstep to the place Neill designated. If the young man had animal ears they would stick back on his head like a scared animal.
The blond woman came back with two white cups with red flowers on them, a combination of roses and poppy.
They were drinking tea and eating cheap jam cookies when Neill broke the silence : “Sorry to disturb you Miss but this information can’t be kept in the shadows. You told me you knew about the new drag queen in your sister’s show, isn’t it ? But you didn’t tell me that you knew why they joined the show.”
“Why would I know that information, my friend ? And if I knew, I would have told you.” She answered, taking a sip from her cup, hers had plantain herbs gracefully painted on it.
Neill casually straightened himself up and argued : “Joyce. It might be seen as an unoriginal name but it hides something, or to be exact five names : Jeff, Oliv’, Yoan, Chanel and Emily.”
Murphy's eyes opened wide at the mention of Yoan.
“You know one of these names. You contacted them, maybe something like a month ago. You paid them to scare Rosie, Katy’s ex. The threat was too much to bear, you couldn’t let your sister alone in that situation. But what could you do about it ? Nothing.”
Lady Murphy looked devastated, exhausted. She didn’t look so young anymore, weeks of suffering and stress finally had its toll on her body.
He has to continue the story, even if his friend's expression pulled something in his chest, an ache. But it has to be told, by her or by someone else, it is by externalising what he now knows is the truth, thanks to her sudden burst of emotions, that she would be able to heal.
He started talking again but his stance was now less forced, more empathetic : “You had no choice but to turn to unofficial rumours because the police didn’t answer your cries of help. You heard of Joyce, or Yoan in your case, you gave him a big sum of money, maybe too much for you this is why we eat cheap biscuits instead of the fancy ones that you usually buy. But you asked him to threaten Rosie — and it escalated into a murder —, not your sister, so what happened ?”
She interrupted him : “May I continue ?” She seemed to have regained a bit of her strength, her eyes weren't as tired even if we could see the path of tears on her cheeks.
“Of course.” He answered kindly.
She continued : “See, you might have great deduction skills but there are things that are easier to understand when you are close to the theme in question, and sometimes things are too obvious for you that you can’t apprehend the existence of doubts. I have a theory, I don't want it to be true because it would be a stupid reason for my sister to die but… I still think it might work.”
She suddenly stood up and went out of the room. After a few seconds, stacks of paper being moved were heard coming from behind the wall. The noise continued for several minutes until there was a shout of victory coming from her mouth. She came back, three pictures in hand and placed them on the table forming a triangle. All of them were portraits of a drag queen.
“Neill, don't say anything. Mister journalist, if I give you the photo at the top as a reference of what Katy looks like as a drag queen, identify Katy in the two bottom pictures.”
“It's simple !” The duke exclaimed.
“Shhhh ! It’s because you know her and you are used to identifying the face of people even when they are unrecognisable thanks to make-up. Let him think !” She reminded him.
The three pictures had the same colour palette, purple, red and black, the same hair colour, dark blue, the same eye colour, also blue. They also had the same pink blush but it was more dominant on the bottom right picture. But on the other hand the eyeliner was closer between the right and the top one than the left. Ayden was lost, once again. When will he start understanding something? Today? For now he didn't have the answer.
He looked again closely at the pictures, the hair, the mouth, the eyes, but no information stood out to differentiate Katy : “I don't know…”
“Katy’s on the right.” Neill declared, confident.
“No, Katy’s only on the top picture. Sorry for the trick Mister journalist but I had to prove to Neill that identifying drag queens can be tricky, especially when one of them is a copy-cat. Rosie started mimicking Katy’s make-up after the breakup, which is almost the same as stealing your identity for a drag queen. I just wanted Joyce to scare her so she would leave my sister alone, not to kill someone and not my sister...” Lady Murphy explained.
“Oh. I'm so sorry… Not only did he confuse the two but on top of that he didn't care checking if he was doing it on the right one.” The duke of Highgate added before hugging her strongly, in hope of easing her pain.
The adventure Arsène Lupin told me ended like that. He then vaguely explained to me that the duke Neill of Highgate sent an anonymous letter to the police to explain the traffic Joyce created, but never mentioning Lady Murphy or Katy. I don't know if the police ever found out about the link between the two cases. I only know that Ayden became Neill's apprentice for a while before becoming an animal reporter.
There always has to be a part of mystery in Arsène Lupin’s stories.