Rivera Heights always garnered attention.
Home for some of the wealthiest members of the city, so there was no surprise in the grandeur of it. An enclosed residential area atop some sprawling hills, demarcated by one of the branches of the river Virid that circled the whole expanse of the massive area, the greenish- blue water highlighting the sights that could be seen. From the mansions with walls made of alabaster of varying light shades with reinforced steel-glass that made the alabaster shine under the scorching sun to the ardent grass fields and sun tanned roads lined with solar paneled lights.
It was a sight to see indeed. But this time it had gathered attention for a completely different reason.
Murder.
Miles looked past the marble archway that led to the large garden. He walked through it, his sneakers squelching against the puddles that had formed along dents in the stone path. The smell of the flora around him could barely erase the nauseating smell of the burnt corpse lying face up. Despite the lights that blinked from numerous patches in the clear yellow walls, he still held his torchlight close, allowing the yellow light guide him through the night.
Miles could almost hear Alice tell him to investigate somewhere else as he had entered the room. Her message rang loud and clear. She didn't want him anywhere near the actual corpse so that he wouldn't steal her spotlight, something that she was always concerned about seeing that he was her biggest competition.
But that was made her fall short sometimes, she failed to notice the hidden details and too often focused on the centre pieces. Miles waved his flashlight as he marched down the path, rows of well trimmed hedges following by the side. The smell of moist soil made his mind unwillingly hurtle back to the time his father and sister had taken up gardening as their new joint hobby.
Miles shook his head as he remembered the poor plants that had died to their hobby. He blinked, his father had been a good man then even though he had never been close to him but he was at least what everyone thought him to be at the time. Miles worked his jaw as he forced himself not to think, not to wallow in the memories of those nights when he was alone. When he was only a punching bag to his father, to take the brunt of his pain and venom after his world had been ripped away from him because of his greedy mother.
Miles shuddered. The aroma of alcohol filled his nostrils, stemming from memories that refused to be calmed. The same pasty feeling of blood flow, even though all his wounds had long been sealed, sent goosebumps up his arms and chills crawling up the base of his spine.
Concentrate!
The fog became stronger and the fact that it was night made it more difficult to drain life from the memories that had taken flight. He stopped to catch his breath, trying to focus on anything, anything at all that could ground him back to reality. The blare of sirens skirted through the night or rather early morning with a deafening precision that could even cause such a sophisticated society to descend into utter chaos.
Miles focused on that, the wailing and the faint screams and shouts that echoed of most likely neighbors that were devastated by the news. Miles felt it ease its grip on him as he began to draw up a description for the man that had been murdered tonight.
Wesley Kyles.
Star footballer. Rich man with the looks and the character to make anyone fall. Award winning actor and the face of many brands. Miles took a deep breath. Anyone that usually garnered adoration always made Miles skeptical, unless proven wrong of course. Most of them if not all had a dark side to them that social media and their fans couldn't see. A side only those that lived with them saw. Miles fought the tingle that licked at the base of his spine.
That side was a key in solving this murder. And it often hid in the most neglected or overlooked places. Miles paid more attention as he veered away from the path and into the small grass padded gaps between the thick hedges. His muffled footsteps matched with his breathing. Miles crossed over a tiny stream of water that gently lapped down from a tunnel originating from the north end of the garden. The next patch was covered with bright flowers arranged in arcs with tiny gaps too thin to pass through, from bright hibiscuses to thorny roses.
Miles squinted at the last arc of roses. Unlike the others, this one wasn't as neatly arranged, it had been pushed apart, thorns stuck out, leaves were ruffled, he even noticed that a number of the petals had fallen to the floor and they tilted outwards a bit as though someone had been trying to wade through them. Miles also noticed the subtle smell that had been ingrained into his olfactory bulb every since he was little. Another shudder dragged down his limbs.
Burnt oranges.
Miles allowed his eyes to roam through the rest of the garden. He could see other sections of the gardens that held patches of flowers, some trees, and other hedges, at the centre of all stood a massive fountain.
Miles looked away from it all before resuming back to studying the rose bush. Miles noticed that at the centre of it all where the flowers tilted away from unlike the other arcs which were more clustered together, the dark loamy soil had furrows in it. The furrows extended to uneven lumps that formed ridges. It almost looked like someone had been running their hands through it in a hurry... Or rather digging. Miles stepped over the first set of roses, ignoring the jab of thorns against his skin.
Miles kicked up the soil which aroused more lumps to move. After he had done it for a couple more minutes which yielded no fruit since there wasn't anything underneath, he stopped.
Then something else caught his eye. One of the flowers held a small piece of cloth by its thorn. He took it carefully and looked at it. It was black. He brought it close to his nostrils and it smelt of those expensive perfumes that could choke you to death if in excess. He gagged and brought out a small plastic bag from his backpack and sealed it before placing it back in it. The burning of his left eye came up again, he raised the eye patch and took the eye drops from his pockets before quickly applying them. The burning sensation cooled down after it had been moistened which made him lower the eye patch once again. Miles focused back on the bush.
The thorns and the other bushes also kind of flattened at the end, a single branch close to the ground stood out which was now curved, tilting forward. Miles kneeled in front of it. Miles saw cracks that ran along the front of its scaly surface. But at the centre of it all sat a swab of blood so tiny and easy to miss if he hadn't been holding his torchlight. Then there was the tiny white flakes that were almost translucent around the blood. With the blood, it wouldn't be far fetched to assume it was skin. Miles stood up as he took a step back, torchlight still trained on it and allowing imaginary scenarios to play in his head.
Miles could almost picture someone for whatever reason, maybe Wesley even, digging through the soil in a hurry to hide something. Miles looked at the soil again. Something that hadn't been hidden underneath this bushel for whatever reason. He then imagined the mystery person trying to run but catching his feet on the branch before tumbling to the floor. More leaves and petals were flattened on the ground, the grass around also equally mirroring it unlike the other blades of grass everywhere else that stood pin straight.
Miles wondered, it was obvious that they hadn't been able to hide whatever they had wanted to in the rose bush so they would have tried to in all the other sections that sat sprawled in front of him Miles stepped over the branch before striding to the first thing he laid his eyes on. The fountain.
The fountain was in the form of a fish that stood on a high glazed pedestal that shone. It almost looked life-like with the blue scales that had a sparkle to it, its deep set eyes at either side of its head glowing with azure light that made it almost seem ethereal even. Water gracefully arched from its mouth to a lower cup that stood beside it on a similar looking pedestal, although it was shorter. Miles kicked at the sand and then stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
For one, the base of the fish fountain tilted at the right, unleveled. Then, the sand around the right side that was tilted was darker, something he would have attributed to stray droplets if he did not see that the sand by the left side still retained the same natural yellow hue while this was much darker, almost nearing brown if possible. He leaned in as he held the torch. He could see worms and insect larvae wading through it as though it were home. He sniffed. The smell of burnt oranges was thicker, much more concentrated than it had been at the rose bush but there was another strange scent that intertwined the smell. Miles could almost feel the cogs in his brain turning.
The stunning clothes and white smiles usually had a darker side to them, something that lay beneath all the glitz and glam, something that he knew better than most. Likewise, he had the feeling that it also applied here, that there was more to that strange scent that tangled with the burnt oranges aroma. He got on both knees and put his nose to the ground and then he smelt it.
The smell of decay.
Faint but equally pungent, one that was too hard to miss given that he had spent the first night after he ran away from home, heavily injured, in a graveyard. He immediately sat up and with adrenaline pumping through his veins, he began to scrape through the soil. Like he suspected instead of the coarse grains of sand, it was greasy as though oil had been poured through it. As he dug the smell worsened, the strong scent of burnt oranges was unable to stifle the decaying scent. After a few minutes of focused digging, he inhaled sharply
A human face stared back at him. Or rather what once was. The face was already a multitude of colors, pale skin now adopting a more greenish tint to it. Reddish brown fluid flowed out of their nostrils and mouth, scrapes and scabs with dried blood swiping alongside their face. Despite the decaying state the body was in, Miles could still see the purple eye and the busted lips.
He dug a little more and then he saw long black hair, tangled and matted at the head stained with heavy blood that had several larvae already crawling through. The person almost looked like a girl on closer inspection.
Miles felt queasy from the way the soil felt in his hand, the smell and the grease unintentionally making him sick. As soon as he had dug enough that their body was fully uncovered, he paused. The girl's body, if he was correct, was swollen at several places and the wounds.... Her wounds were ghastly, large gashes with purplish-red blood flowing out from it in places where her completely soiled clothing had been ripped. His stomach twisted.
Miles judged from the bodily fluids that flowed out of different orifices and the greenish tint that coated her skin showed that she had most likely been killed two to six days ago and had been left to rot here for whatever reason. Miles wondered whether Wesley Kyles had a hand in this. He brought his pen and small note and began to jot, writing as fast as he could to keep up with the multitude of thoughts that swept through his mind.
He would have to direct the CSIs to do a more thorough search of the garden in case he had missed anything and of course, an autopsy had to be done on the body to know how exactly she had been killed. Finding such a body in Wesley Kyles' garden would have incriminated him but now that he too was dead it made him wonder whether this was somehow connected to his death. And of course of the other workers would have to be questioned on the man's behaviors at home, whether or not he truly was what the public saw him as. Miles highly doubted anyway.
Miles could almost feel the anger course through his veins as he truly eyed the corpse and remembered the vivid picture of Wesley's burnt corpse. No one deserved to be killed. With one last look at the corpse, he promised himself that he would get to the bottom of this case and bring whoever was behind it to justice. Because that's what gave him purpose. That was what gave him a reason to exist even when he could feel the pain from his past swallow him. The pain of being rejected, pain of being regarded as worthless.
That was what kept him going even when he woke up screaming, terrified, disgusted and drained. To fight for the dead that couldn't fight on their own, to defend the living that were unable to fend for themselves. Resolve tightened his belly.
He was going to get to the bottom of all of this no matter what.