THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 018 ] security tapes, mannequins, and stargazing

XVIII.

s e c u r i t y t a p e s ,
m a n n e q u i n s , a n d
s t a r g a z i n g

—IT'S FUNNY HOW fast time flies when you're on a mission to destroy the world.

Just that morning, Zara had nearly killed herself with cyanide-laced coffee, the taste of which still refused to leave her mouth—even after downing four cans of Hazel's root beer. Now she was back at the Umbrella Academy with Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, and Vanya.

Five had stayed back in the van, much to Zara's dismay. She only hoped that he would be back by the time Cha-Cha and Hazel got to the Academy.

She was with Five's siblings in the drawing room, evening sunlight pouring in through the European-styled windows. The Hargreeves had gathered around a small retro television set, watching black-and-white security footage that had been replayed for what must've been the third or fourth time.

Zara was bored, to say the least. She sat aimlessly on a barstool near the liquor cabinet, staring into space. The Umbrella Academy was a lot less interesting without Five. She didn't know why that was.

Normally, Zara liked solving cases. She enjoyed puzzles, and was good at them, too. You kind of had to be, when you were the Commission's Head Analyst.

But, this wasn't even a challenge. It was clear enough—Reginald Hargreeves was sitting in bed, Grace leaned over him, she walked away, he collapsed and died.

Either she murdered him, he died a natural death, or he killed himself. Based on how much of a lunatic this guy apparently was, Zara was inclined to believe the last option.

Why did it matter, anyway? Solving the case wasn't going to bring the old skunk back to life. She should be doing other things. Like talking to Number Seven, or preparing for tonight's attack.

"I mean," Vanya was saying, "Do you really think Mom would hurt Dad?"

Luther paused the video and replied coldly, "You haven't been home in a long time, Vanya. Maybe you don't know Grace anymore."

Zara rubbed her forehead. With the way these people treated their sister, it was a wonder she hadn't destroyed the world before now.

"If he was poisoned," Diego said, "It would've shown in the coroner's report."

"Not always," Zara pointed out, "There's a few chemicals that go undetected in an autopsy. Like potassium chloride or oleander. Not that I've memorized any of this...clearly specialized information. I'm only—" she cleared her throat, "—guessing."

"Plus, I don't need a report to tell me what I can see with my own eyes," Luther added, having gotten used to Zara's strange behaviour already.

Diego shook his head, "Maybe all that low gravity in space messed with your vision," he rewinded the tape slightly, "Look closer. Dad has his monocle. Mom stands up, monocle's gone."

Zara squinted at him. He was good. Not great, but definitely very good when it came to criminal matters. That was sort of inconvenient, seeing as Zara was . . . well, just about as criminal as it gets.

"She wasn't poisoning him. She was taking the monocle . . . to clean it," Diego continued.

"Then where is it?" Luther asked, "I've searched the house—including all her things. She doesn't have it."