Karate is really kicking my butt this week – in a good way. Shredded my abs because sensei decided to do some High Intensity Training yesterday. I’ll be yellow belt on Monday probably! This has nothing to do with noir crime and trench-coated and fedora’d detectives, I’m just excited about it.
Chapter 2: Planet of New Orleans
Standin’ on the corner
Of Toulouse and Dauphine
Waitin’ on Marie-Ondine
I’m tryin’ to place a tune
Under a Louisiana moonbeam
On the planet of New Orleans
In a bar they call The Saturn
And in her eyes of green
And somethin’ that she said in a dream
Inside of my suit I got my mojo root
And a true love figurine
For the planet of New Orleans
New Orleans
With other life upon it
And everythin’ that’s shakin’ in between
If you should ever land upon it
You better know what’s on it
The planet of New Orleans
Now I’m tryin’ to find my way
Through the rain and the steam
I’m lookin’ straight ahead through the screen
And then I heard her say
Somethin’ in the limousine
‘Bout takin’ a ride across the planet of New Orleans
If she was an ace
And I was just a jack
And the cards were never seen
We could have been the king and queen
But she took me on back to her courtyard
Where magnolia perfume screams
Behind the gates and the granite
Of the planet of New Orleans
New Orleans
With other life upon it
And everythin’ that’s shakin’ in between
If you should ever land upon it
You better know what’s on it
The planet of New Orleans
With other life upon it
And everythin’ that’s shakin’ in between
If you should ever land upon it
You better know what’s on it
The planet of New Orleans
The Theirin mansion was, for the most part, as spotless as she’d seen it the night before. Cailan had been murdered in his private bedroom – he and Anora had not shared a room – by a knife to the throat. He’d been left sprawled face-down, a pool of blood soaked into the lush cream carpet. Whatever else, his end had been quick. He probably hadn’t even seen it coming.
“No suspicious fingerprints, not even on the body,” Alistair reported, tallying up the findings of the rest of the police crew. “No sign of the murder weapon.”
“Time of death?” Elizabeth asked.
“Not long after midnight. The party was probably still going on.”
“It was. I hadn’t even left yet. Who was it who found him?”
“One of the maids, about ten minutes before we got the call.”
“Seems late.”
“Well, my brother liked to sleep in after a party, you know.” He grimaced, the fact that the victim was his brother ever more forcibly imprinted on his mind.
Elizabeth looked around, though she didn’t think there was anything she’d missed that she’d catch with a glance. “Has the guest list been pulled?” Not that it would necessarily contain the names of every single person who had been at the mansion the night previous, but it was a start.
“Yes, ma’am.” Alistair didn’t say it, but his face did: with so many strangers present, and no real clues as to the murderer, pinning down a suspect would be extremely difficult. It could be anyone. Cailan was a well-liked person, but anyone could have a secret motive against him. And with the friendly, open way he had, anyone could have strolled into these private rooms. He might even have invited them in for all they knew.
She lingered until it was certain they wouldn’t get any more physical evidence from the scene, and then went downstairs to where Duncan had set up a room to question possible witnesses. Mac Tyr had authorized it; Mrs. Theirin was in no state to be giving directions, he said, and Elizabeth understood.
They’d have to interview the staff, interview the guests… She herself was no witness, she had seen nothing out of the ordinary all night. She only hoped someone else had.
Days passed. They’d taken statements from all the servants and staff, tracked down everyone on the guest list and gotten their testimony, such as it was, and they were still no closer to finding a suspect. Mrs. Theirin had given a public statement about taking the reins of the company; she looked grieved, dressed all in black, but she was calm and composed, hiding her feelings under a layer of steel that Elizabeth admired. Although she only admired it if her feelings were genuine – Mrs. Theirin was no less a suspect of murdering her husband as anyone else. But she had a solid alibi for the entire party.
Celene Valmont was also looked at with suspicion, but she wore her feelings more openly, less guarded, though she made no public announcements. If she was an actress, she was a very good one.
Mac Tyr and Howe were also not unaccounted for, and they had spoken to the press about their grief and loss, but she was surprised to see them come in the afternoon after they had done so, in person to Duncan’s office. She happened to be there, trying to help him track down a particularly stubborn witness on the phone to come in, when the door opened and they stepped in. She and Duncan both rose to greet them.
Mac Tyr gestured for them to sit again. “We won’t take much of your time, Chief, Detective. Rendon and I realize how busy you are trying to discover the truth of poor Cailan’s murder.”
“Loghain and I, and on behalf of Mrs. Theirin, want to pledge our support in bringing the murderer to justice,” Howe said solemnly.
“If there’s anything we can do to help, I want to know about it,” Mac Tyr said.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Duncan said. “That’s very good of you. We will let you know if there is anything, but right now there is nothing yet.”
Perhaps there would not be anything, ever, the way things were going, Elizabeth thought.
“We’d like to donate a reward when you catch the killer,” Howe said. “Justice must be done.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Especially for you, as the lead investigator, and from me as your father’s friend.”
“Thank you, sir, but that’s not necessary,” Elizabeth said. “I will do my duty to the best of my ability regardless. The Denerim Grey Warden Police will do no less.”
Both Howe and Mac Tyr nodded slowly. “I think we’ll still donate something to the Academy on that event,” Mac Tyr said. “It would only be right. Thank you for your time and your service.”
“Thank you for coming,” Duncan said.
The leads they had? Only that Leliana, alone, seemed to have noticed a waiter who was just a bit too pretty to be genuine, and that Sten Hildreth, Cailan’s qunari bodyguard, had gone off to drink himself into a stupor immediately. He had been entirely too miserable and incoherent for his testimony to be of any use whatsoever.
And that was all. It was nothing.
She walked home, forsaking even a taxi, even though it was twilight and raining. She needed to think. She had a car, but she really only used it to drive to visit her parents in Highever. Working these long hours with so little to go on gave her a headache. Alistair walked with her, uncharacteristically silent, still lost in his own thoughts and mourning. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, then offered her one. She took it, let him light it, inhaled deeply, and blew a long stream of smoke into the air with a sigh. The rain drizzled softly onto her hat and the shoulders of her overcoat. It was cold, and getting colder as the sun went down behind the thick clouds.
Someone had to be lying. It was the only solution. Perhaps the principal suspects had not actually cut Cailan’s throat personally, but they knew who had. How else could Cailan have been killed in his own bedroom without anyone noticing anything, when the house was filled with people? It wasn’t as if a ghost had done it.
The assassin themself was not really her concern. She would like to catch them, yes. Definitely. Someone who could kill, and kill so skilfully, was a menace to society. But that would not bring justice to Cailan’s death. She needed the mastermind behind the assassin. It would not logically be one of the Orlesians behind it all – they had no reason to kill him, not when he was reportedly about to bring them a very beneficial business arrangement.
Was it someone else? What was Cailan up to, that the only way someone could think of to stop him, was to stop him permanently? Mac Tyr and Howe might have issues with the deal with the Orlesians, but would they truly stoop to murder? Or was it his power, his wealth? Only Mrs. Theirin truly benefitted from that. But she’d already had access to his power and wealth.
Her mind ached from going in circles, and she turned her head as they passed a dimly lit bar with the warm, nasal sound of a jazz horn drifting out of it.
Alistair followed her gaze and took the cigarette from his mouth. “Tomorrow’s a work day.”
“And Sten Hildreth is in there,” she pointed out.
“You won’t get anything more out of him here and now. If he was too hammered to give testimony before, he’s definitely wasted now.”
“It can’t hurt,” Elizabeth said, stamped out the remains of her cigarette, and turned her steps towards the Gnawed Noble, Alistair faithfully behind her.
“Hey there, lady,” said the bouncer, Geraldine ‘Shale’ Cadash. “You come to help us with our new resident drunkard?”
“You mean besides Oghren Kondrat?” Elizabeth rejoined, but she did not feel up to much banter tonight. “I just want to speak to Hildreth, Shale. That’s all.”
“You’d be better off speaking to the coat-rack,” Shale grunted, but let them pass.
The Gnawed Noble was sparsely populated at this time of night; Oghren Kondrat’s red shock of hair was at one end of the bar, and at the other was the massive figure of the qunari.
Elizabeth looked at Alistair. “Go distract Oghren, would you? This could be delicate.”
Alistair snorted in a way that showed exactly what he thought of that, but went. “Whatever you say.” Oghren was a far-too-frequent visitor of the drunk tank, and always said exactly what was on his mind, which was occasionally amusing and often shocking. He himself was by nature a stubborn, obstructive person. The last thing she wanted was him coming to make crude comments about her quest for information.
She slid into a seat beside the qunari. “I’ll have an amber ale tonight,” she said to Edwina.
“Right away, ma’am.”
She looked at Hildreth. He was staring deep into a huge mug of black beer, and it was evident from his unfocused gaze that it hadn’t been his first. “Mr. Hildreth?”
“Go away,” he mumbled in a deep, rumbly voice.
“I want to help, Mr. Hildreth.”
“You want to gawk at the failure. The one who couldn’t do his job.”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked gently.
“Do you not know about a qunari’s honour?”
“I know that once a qunari has taken an obligation, he or she will give their life to fulfil that obligation. But Mr. Hildreth…”
Hildreth slammed a hand down on the bar, making a resounding bang. She didn’t jump, but she stopped talking. “Theirin’s dead, and I didn’t even see his killer! I should be dead now! For failure, or for- for- I should have been killed instead of him! It was my job!”
“What were you doing that evening?” In her own hazy memories, she vaguely recalled him, lurking in the background behind Cailan, at the edge of the gathering, always watching.
Hildreth shot her a sour look of distrust. “Nothing, woman.”
“Please. I only wish to bring justice for Cailan’s death.”
“Then kill me.” He reached into his jacket, fumbling, and shoved a pistol in her direction. After a startled moment, she realized that it was presented to her grip first. “Do it. You’re on the police force, you can do that.”
She did not touch it, although she wanted to take it from him – for his own good. “No. You’re much too drunk if you think that. The police are not permitted to murder civilians. …And if you’re going to commit suicide, kindly do it not on these premises.”
Hildreth snorted and put the gun away again, very slowly and carefully. “All right, you’re not as weak as you appear. You wanted to know what Cailan did?”
“I want to know what you did,” Elizabeth said. She had a pretty good idea of what Cailan had been doing; he’d been observed up until a certain time, perhaps a quarter to midnight, and then he’d gone. There was at least a half-hour between his leaving the party and his death.
Hildreth hiccuped. “Close to midnight… he went upstairs. Didn’t say why. I don’t need to know. To freshen up, maybe. Wasn’t on the cool side that night.”
“No, I agree.” Thank goodness the champagne had been nicely chilled.
“Didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“You went upstairs?”
“Yes, he meandered around like he does, but eventually he made it to his room. I waited outside. And waited. And waited. Until I figured he’d gone to sleep. He did that sometimes. He’d yell at me if I came in and woke him up. I should not have let him overrule his own safety like that, not before, not last night.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said. She wanted to say that he couldn’t have known last night would be out of the ordinary. She wanted to say that if he hadn’t agreed to Cailan’s whim about sleep, he might have been fired and Cailan would just find a bodyguard who would do as he wished him to. But qunari didn’t like being comforted with well-meaning half-truths. Especially not when someone was dead because of it.
“I went home, leaving my night counterpart on duty. Heard the news when I woke up. Been here ever since.”
“I understand,” Elizabeth said, and finished her drink. “Thank you for talking to me, Mr. Hildreth. You’ve been very helpful.”
Hildreth snorted and let his head hit the bar with a thump. “No, I haven’t.”
“Yo! Eliza!” Oghren shouted from the other end of the bar, waving enthusiastically around Alistair’s shielding flailing. “If you’re looking for a good time, don’t go with a morose old block of rock when you could be with The Oghren!”
“Oghren!” Alistair exclaimed. “I told you, it’s not like that-”
“I know we’re both equally drunk, but I doubt he’s bigger where it counts, lassie!”
“Oghren,” Elizabeth said, lighting up a new cigarette and advancing on him, then changing what she was going to say at the last moment. “Thank you for not butting in when I was speaking to Mr. Hildreth.”
“Eh… you’re welcome? Anytime, you just give old Oghren a call.”
Elizabeth was too used to it to roll her eyes anymore. “Have a good night, Oghren. I’m heading home, Alistair.”
“I’ll see you the rest of the way, no worries.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter 3: Calling Elvis