The Paramour
Entangled Strings
The trail continues as scrutiny and insecurity amiss, along the dangerous seething thought of oblivion. Following the wife, Leon Oscar was next.
Leon Oscar, the make-up artist for “The Forgotten” was unsurprisingly one of the lead suspects of the case, taking into account the time Larson and he spent together. Leon was a tall, well-built man with long, wavy hair- not unusual for someone in his mid 20s. He was a man of few words, which created an aura of mystery around him. He carried himself on a high pedestal that made him seem intimidating to approach.
Throughout his childhood, Leon kept to himself and worked on honing his art. His parents were too caught up in their own lives to realise any oddity within the family, attributing it to Leon being a late bloomer. An odd gig here and there was just enough to keep him afloat until he was spotted by Royce at one of the local plays in his town and was quickly roped into production.
Scheduling this meeting in his otherwise packed schedule, Oscar met the detective in a small cafeteria by the crossroads. He walked in to find a tall man in a green trench sitting at a table on the porch, beckoning him over. Oscar quickly walked over and sat across the table.
“Oscar, am I right?” the detective asked. Oscar nodded curtly and extended his hand for a handshake.
“Well, let’s get straight to the deal, shall we? I’m sure you have other pressing matters to attend to. Where were you on the day of the premiere?” the detective asked matter-of-factly.
“I was instructed to get to the theatre early that day, so I didn’t take up much time setting up the stations. I took my equipment out and started to get him ready for the show. I was particularly elated because I was assigned to do Henry Larson’s make-up. As I stroked my brush against his face, I wondered how could a man be so perfect. Having been in the theatre scene for quite a while now, I really looked up to him and actively followed up on his activities,” Oscar replied calmly.
“What exactly do you imply by follow?” the detective asked.
“Oh, I meant how we had worked together on plays earlier as well when he was a newcomer on the scene and how he sometimes confided in me about certain ongoings in his life that he couldn’t really share with anyone else,” Oscar replied, averting the question. “Anyway, so as I was saying, Henry walked in, late as usual, alongside Miss Prince, who I’m pretty sure you know by now.”
Oscar took a sip of his coffee and stared into the distant void. His eyes portrayed an emotion that was quite difficult to read by the ignorant, but for those who knew, it was pretty obvious. It was an odd amalgamation of longing, glee, and satisfaction.
“Yes, I do know her. She’s given her statement already, but where were you?” the detective pressed impatiently.
“Right, so, I had to do my job. It was pretty simple, doing Henry’s makeup. There weren’t really any blemishes to conceal anyway. I must agree, the guy is blessed with good genetics. Once I was done, he gave me a hug and walked away with the rest of the cast for last-minute rehearsals. I walked out of the theatre and went right around the corner to catch some air when a man dressed professionally walked up to me with a notepad. Turns out, he was a journalist for The Daily Bugle and was interested in writing a piece on Royce and Larson. Soon we got talking about the ins and outs of the industry when he whipped a photograph out of thin air.
It was a picture of Larson with Miss Prince in a rather, how do I put it, informal setting. I couldn’t really lie at this point. He had cornered me with his words and I had no option but to blurt all about the infidelity to him,” Oscar replied apologetically.
“I see. Miss Prince actually stated about how you were the one who shone light on this issue and brought her up to speed on Henry’s marriage to Miss Alexandra- what was that about?” the detective prodded more.
“Oh yes, I did actually. Once the journalist left, I was overcome by this sense of guilt and it led me to an epiphany. As one of my idols, Larson had his impact on my life and I wanted to leave mine on his. I thought of freeing him from this life of lies and deceit that he was living, so he could finally be with the person he wanted to be with. Soon after, Miss Prince walked away crying.”
“And what about Mrs. Larson? How does she fit into all this mess?” the detective asked instinctively.
“I do remember seeing her a while back during one of the earlier rehearsals. Alexandra, I mean, Mrs. Larson walked into the dressing rooms, looking for Henry. It was getting late for the take and so it was time for the touch-ups. I observed her eyeing us whenever Larson laughed at my quips or complimented my work. Soon enough, I heard that she had moved to her cottage in the countryside along with their kids, although I don’t really know what could’ve triggered that,” Oscar replied nonchalantly.
“I presume the play began right after, so you weren’t present on the theatre grounds since then?” the detective asked, although it was more a statement.
“Yes, the play premiere began while I went back to the dressing room to pack all my equipment and I recognized something that didn’t belong to me. A bottle, with a faint engraving on it saying ‘Aqua Tofana’, ” Oscar replied.
The detective pondered for a while over Aqua Tofana and then it struck a bell. It was a type of slow poison, popularly used by wives throughout the 17th century to kill their husbands without suspicion. Where was this heading to?
“Aqua Tofana, you say? Alright, thank you for your time. I shall take your leave now,” the detective said, swiftly getting up and walking into the streets. Oscar just sat there, as the evening sun gave the skies a purple hue, holding an empty coffee cup, reminiscing the good old days of Larson.
Having carefully pondered over the accounts presented to the detective, it was now time to unravel the facade that hid the killer from the world.
