Chapter Text
Bellamy Blake was late.
In his defense, it wasn’t really his fault. This morning when he’d come into the office, he’d expected it to be just another regular day, fighting small-time criminals in Chicago. Instead the first thing he heard when he stepped through the doors was:
“Dr. Jake Griffin was murdered last night, and I’m leaving you in charge of the investigation.”
Bellamy looked up from his steaming cup of coffee and into the serious eyes of his superior, the Chief of Police. Bellamy groaned audibly; Dr. Griffin was one of the richest men in the country, and Bellamy wasn’t very good company when it came to those with money. Too much bad blood.
“Can’t Green do it?” he said, and waved his hand in Monty’s direction, only to realize that the normally very punctual and chipper Monty Green was no-where to be found. He looked inquiring at the Chief, who in turn just shook his head.
“Mr. Green has a personal relation to Dr. Griffin’s daughter, Clarke. Same goes for Mr. Jordan. And seeing as you three are the only detectives I have, my only option left is you.”
Bellamy had always thought himself above begging, but in this case, he’d make an exception. “Dear God, please no. Lincoln, I beg of you, as your brother-in-law, please don’t make me deal with the riches,” he whined. It wasn’t that Bellamy didn’t love his job as a detective, it was just that he couldn’t stand rich people on a normal day, and he had experienced the hard way that riches got even more annoying when something was wrong for once in their pampered, little lives. Dealing with the late Dr. Griffin’s sobbing wife and daughter didn’t sound like something Bellamy would like to do, like, ever. Chief Lincoln just stared blankly at him though, shoved a couple of files into Bellamy’s hands and told him, in no uncertain terms, what the Chief would be forced to do to him, if he did not behave on this job.
Bellamy had spent the twenty minute drive to the Griffin Mansion reading through the file Lincoln had given him. In it was every piece of information on the victim, Dr. Jake Griffin, his family and his work. Bellamy had recognized the man’s name when he had heard it, but he’d never truly given much thought to what Dr. Griffin did for a living. It turned out that the guy had been the Senior Environmental Engineer in Jaha Coal Company, one of the biggest producers of coal in America. Practically every building in Chicago used their coal for electricity. The company was founded by Thelonious Jaha back in 1892. In 1895 he hired the recently graduated Dr. Jake Griffin, and after that the company became insanely successful. Fast forward till present day, and 92 pct. of all electricity in Chicago came from Jaha Coal Company. They provided 57 pct. of the collective coal consumption for all of the United States. To say that Mr. Jaha and Dr. Griffin had money enough to swim in would be an understatement.
The cab had to make a stop on the way to pick up the department’s forensic scientist, Nathan Miller, who also happened to be one of Bellamy’s closest friends. Miller had apparently only just gotten the call from the Chief though, so it took him a little extra time to get ready. Which explained Bellamy’s tardiness.
The cab finally pulled down the private road that would lead to their destination. The road was long, but Bellamy and Miller didn’t even notice, they were so occupied with starring at the huge grounds that surrounded the mansion. The gardens were filled with flowers and trees in full bloom, the grass was perfectly trimmed, and off to the left side you could catch a glimpse of a small lake, complete with a small boathouse and white rowboat tied to the wooden pier. When they finally got to the mansion itself, Bellamy had to stop for a second on his way out of the cab, just to take in the place. The Griffin mansion was a sight to behold; the private road had led up to a huge circular courtyard with an elegant stone fountain placed in the middle of it. The water from the fountain filled the courtyard with a pleasant glugging sound, and the sweet smell from the nearby cherry trees made Bellamy’s eyes close in pleasure. If he lived here, he was quite sure he’d never suffer another headache ever again.
The mansion itself was faced with heavy-looking stone bricks in a light grey color, and the window frames were painted white. The front door was made from mahogany, or at least that’s what Bellamy assumed, given its dark brown color. Above the front door was a balcony, which was supported by two huge white pillars. The mansion in its entirety gave of the impression of being a very well-kept house from older times. The small bushes and trees that grew in front of the house were all cut in perfect orbs, simultaneously stylish and unnatural, and Bellamy abruptly remembered why he was there. He was there to solve a murder, not to bloody stare at some rich family’s extravagant home.
He hurried up the steps to the front door, Miller hot on his heels, and rang the doorbell.
An ancient looking butler, in an expensive looking suit, answered the door. “Yes?” he asked, his voice like something had gotten stuck in his nose. Bellamy cleared his throat.
“Good afternoon, sir. I am detective Bellamy Blake, and this is my associate Mr. Nathan Miller. We are here concerning the investigation of Dr. Griffin’s death. May we come in?”
The butler gave him a once over. “You’re late,” he commented, but made way for the two men to enter the mansion anyways. “The poor Mrs. Griffin has been waiting for hours.”
This was, of course, a complete lie; they were only about thirty minutes late, but Bellamy chose not to say anything. Riches, and everyone around them, were always so hopelessly self-centered. Better to not make a big deal out of it.
Instead, he nodded and apologized profoundly for their tardiness. He was laying it on thick, but riches loved that kind of stuff, and sure enough, the butler completely changed his attitude towards them. He called upon another servant, who was to escort Miller to the crime scene, so he could gather whatever physical evidence there was for later documentation and analysis. The murder had taken place in Dr. Griffin’s own bedroom, located on the first floor. As Miller was lead up the stairs, Bellamy couldn’t help but stare after the other man; Miller was his only support in this place, and Bellamy really didn’t want to be alone with the riches. As if reading his thoughts, Miller turned around on the staircase and gave Bellamy the thumbs up and a cheeky grin. Both the butler and Bellamy scoffed, but his dark mood lifted slightly after that.
The butler hurriedly led Bellamy through the entrance hall and into a large sitting room, where the Griffin family was supposedly waiting for him. When he entered the sitting room though, the only people present was a middle-aged lady in a floor-length black dress and matching black hat, complete with veil to cover the face, that Bellamy assumed was Mrs. Griffin. Besides her stood a tall, dark-skinned man, also in his middle years, who reeked of authority. Bellamy had a vague notion that this perhaps was Thelonious Jaha, creator and owner of Jaha Coal Company. He had read in his file on Dr. Griffin that the two men had been very close friends as well as colleagues.
The butler suddenly took it upon himself to announce him to the room, which was startling, and just a tad annoying, though Bellamy realized that this was probably part of his job.
“Detective Bellamy Blake from the Chicago Police Department has arrived Mrs. Griffin.”
“Yes, thank you, Simon. We would like the tea served now then, if you please. Oh, and do inform Clarke that we have company. I’m sure the detective would like to speak to her as well.”
The butler, or Simon, as was apparently his name, bowed deeply and scurried away, probably in search for tea. Bellamy had to bite back a snicker; these people and their customs seemed so utterly silly to him. He quickly sobered up though, when the authoritarian looking man made his way over to him to shake hands with him.
“Thelonious Jaha, Detective. It’s good of you to come. Dreadful thing that happened, simply dreadful,” Mr. Jaha said, all the while shaking his head ever so slightly.
Bellamy nodded in agreement, and made his way over to the uncomfortable, but very graceful looking cabriole couch Mrs. Griffin was sitting on.
“Mrs. Griffin,” he addressed her, “I’m terribly sorry about your loss. Please, accept my heartfelt condolences.” She held out her hand to him, and he pressed a light kiss on top of it.
“Thank you, Detective. You are most kind. Now, to the unpleasant subject of solving my husband’s murder; what can we do to help?”
Bellamy was a little taken aback; usually, the widows were quiet and hard to pry open. How many times hadn’t he had to deal with hysteric women, who constantly cried and cried? Mrs. Griffin was a welcome change from those types, but there was a sort of hardness in her eyes that worried Bellamy. Why wasn’t she more torn up? It was odd, to see the wife of a victim act so together, especially when the body had been found only a few hours earlier. Was Mrs. Griffin simply always this closed off, or..? Bellamy was used to women whom he could easily read, but Mrs. Griffin appeared before him as a closed book, and it rattled him more than a little.
He startled a little when he felt a hand being placed on his shoulder. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t even heard Mr. Jaha walk over to him.
“You must understand how much this investigation means to Mrs. Griffin and I,” Mr. Jaha said. “Finding whoever did this and seeing them punished is our top priority.”
“Well that’s certainly odd,” a voice said from somewhere behind Bellamy. All three occupants of the room turned their eyes towards the newcomer. “See, I thought your top priority was the illicit affair you’ve been having with my mother behind my father’s back.”
The voice turned out to belong to the most breathtaking woman Bellamy had ever seen.
Her blonde hair was cut in the very popular short bob that all young women seemed to find so attractive, but it was unwashed and lay flat upon her head. She was wearing a black dress that ended just above her knees, and she was barefooted. She had no make-up on, and the dark circles under her eyes had dark circles. It was obviously that she had been crying; her eyes were red-rimmed, and her skin was pale, as if she were cold. And still, even despite her complete disregard for her looks (or maybe even because of it), Bellamy found her to be intensely fascinating. Her blue eyes glittered with animosity, and Bellamy was left wondering what kind of atrocity he had committed, until he realized that her gaze wasn’t fixed on him, but rather on her mother and Mr. Jaha. For Bellamy had no doubt about who the young woman was; Clarke Griffin demanded the room’s attention even more so than her mother, who shook her head forcefully as she rose from the couch.
“Clarke,” she started, her tone firm. “You are behaving like a brat, and not the bright young woman you usually portray. I realize that the grief from having your father torn away from you is overwhelming, trust me, I know. But this foolish idea of yours- that Thelonious and I should be having an affair- is ridiculous and insulting to your father’s memory. I will not have you behave in this manner, especially in front of guests.”
Never once did Mrs. Griffin raise her voice, but the message was clear: Defy me, and it will have dire consequences. Bellamy got the feeling that Mrs. Griffin was not a woman you wanted to disobey.
Clarke didn’t seem to feel the same way; her blue eyes had turned impossibly colder, and her lips were pressed together in a tight line. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was full of spite.
“I think the Detective will be very interested in what I have to say. Shall we kick start this investigation, hmm?”
She gripped Bellamy’s wrist and started tugging him out of the sitting room. Bellamy had no choice but to follow; Clarke was surprisingly strong for a woman her size.
He couldn’t help but to glance back towards Mrs. Griffin and Mr. Jaha. The two were staring after Bellamy and Clarke with identical expressions on their faces. Bellamy furrowed his brow; something was going on here, something that didn’t quite add up. He got an uncanny feeling in his gut as he tore his eyes away from Mrs. Griffin’s somber face.
Something wasn’t right here, and he’d be damned if he didn’t solve this case, sooner rather than later.