Series of Death, Draft 02, CH 07 (Patreon)

“A call came in,” Hela’han said as Marlot entered the office. He grunted. What was going on with the lion that he wouldn’t sit down and talk? It was like he’d already decided that things had spoiled to the point there was nothing left to eat, so why bother sitting at the table, and Marlot couldn’t believe that. Trembor didn’t just give up, no one something like this, not on him.

“Sir?” Hela’han called as he reached for the door’s handle. “What do you want me to do with the message?”

“What do I care—” He snapped and cut himself off as she paled. “Sorry, I’m having a bad day.” He should tell her to erase it. He didn’t want to deal with anything else today. “Send it to the buffer, I’ll deal with it.” At some point, when he felt better.

He dropped in his chair and took the ID out of his jacket. With the anger and arguing, he’d forgotten to give it to Trembor, so what was he supposed to do with it? If he’d killed the coyote, he’d just go to a kiosk, get it processed, but the body happened independently of him. Was there a process for that kind of situation? He could return it as a lost card, but what if the system glitched again he sent it back to his office?

He looked through his drawers for an envelope, he’d mail it to Trembor, since he was investigating the body and he already knew Marlot had the card, or he should if he’d paid attention. He found one of the few envelopes he kept around because despite the advancement in technology, many of the government departments he dealt with as a Registered Investigator still demanded he files on paper.

He turned to the screen and stared at it. How did it tell Trembor why he’d forgotten to give it to him at the crime scene? No, that was easy. It was how to write it and not sound accusatory that would be difficult. He’d keep it simple.

Trembor, I’m sending you the ID for Arlant because you were such a stubborn ass that in the constant accusations you sent my way, the glares you gave me, and your obstinance at not even listening to one word I said, I forgot. Hopefully, it’ll help you close the case.

He reread the short message, the anger in the words, and considered sending it as it was. Trembor didn’t deserve much more than that after the way he’d treated him, but he didn’t want to escalate this argument. Maybe he should have screamed at the lion when he was facing him and gotten it all out of the way there, and they would have talked calmly afterward.

Marlot didn’t think Trembor would calm down once the screaming started

He erased the whole thing and the next version kept to the fact. He’d forgotten to hand Trembor the card, so he was mailing it to him. He didn’t even mention the hope they’d talk, his wondering at what he might have done to case the lion to break so completely from him. He kept it professional.

He printed it, put that in the envelope with the ID card. He’d mail it on his way home.

He leaned back into the chair, wondering what he should do. Work, that was what he needed to do. He gazed at the desk opposite his, Work had been easier with Trembor there. He pulled up his open cases.

The older ones came up first. No one information on them. After two years for one and seven months for the other, he wasn’t surprised, but he had to keep them until he found the killers, that was how the system was designed. If he had them when he retired, whoever the lucky person was who took over his territory would inherit them. Then his active cases, three of them less than two months old, they all had information on them, but nothing he could act on until he got confirmation from outside sources or for walking the pavement.

Which he should do. Get out of the office. Get Trembor off his mind. Close these cases so the meat could stop going to waste.

His stomach grumbled at the idea of meat in his freezer. That would taste so much better than the artificial stuff. He shuddered as he recalled the texture, or lack thereof. Meat should have something to bite into, not slide apart as your teeth bit into it. Maybe if they go that right, the off-taste could be tolerable.

He checked his budget. He could still afford a kill if he could manage a successful chase in his injured state. A week, he figured, was what he needed to be back to normal. He could pay more for food during that time. His bonus for the one case he’d closed would come in and he’d be back within budget.

He looked up baking sites. Did any of them work with artificial meat? No one seemed to. As far as he could tell it was unanimous, the stuff was horrible. He chuckled as he thought of Jale’i and his vaunted baking skills. He should send him a bag of the stuff and let him see if he could make anything of it. If he could, he’d make it so that town had to live off the nasty stuff. It would serve them right.

He closed the sites. He was just making himself hungrier. He’d work on his case for a few more hours, then call it a day, stop by Ezk’Eriel, see if their mother had anything she baked left for sale. He could afford to pay more than he could afford the disgust of the artificial stuff.

* * * * *

Yelling came through the door. Marlot was up and had it open before he making out the words. The volume had been enough. To make it through the insulation, someone was far too loud; and it wouldn’t be Hela’han.

“I’m telling you right now,” a lean ocelot yelled, leaning on the desk to get into the elephant’s face. Hela’han had backed herself as much as she could in the little space between her desk and the wall. “If you don’t tell him I’m here, I’m going to eat you, and then kick in the door.”

“Don’t threaten her,” Marlot growled at the ocelot.

She spun to look at him. “Finally! I was starting to think you were going to hide behind prey all day,” she said with disgust.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“What do I want?” She looked at him, dismayed. “I’ve been leaving messages for you all day. Has she been hiding those from you like she’s trying to hide you from me?”

“If you don’t tell me who you are right now,” he growled, “and what you want, I’m going to eat you.”

She snort4ed. “You can’t afford me.”

“With the day’s I’ve had, I’m reaching the point where a loan for the privilege of having fresh blood dripping down my throat is sounding good.”

Hale’s already pale gray hide took on a sickly color, but the threat did make the ocelot calm down. He had to give that to the lending companies; having a high productivity rating wasn’t the security it had once been.

“My name is Laidan Swiftkill,” she said. “Registered Investigator Swiftkill. I want to know what you were doing in my territory hours before a body was discovered.”

Marlot moved aside and motioned for her to step into his office. Knowing she was able to have something resembling a reasonable discussion, he didn’t want Hela’han to have to endure whatever this might turn into. The possibility he’d eat her still existed. He followed her in and closed the door.

“I’m sure I travel through your territory on a weekly basis, being an RI takes me all over the city, I expect you know that.” He sat in his chair. “Have gone around questioning every other RI in the city about this body?” he could just imagine Trembor dealing with her.

“Not every other RI was at her house hours before she died.” She looked around the large office, her gaze ending on the empty desk. “Aren’t you the RI who works with a partner?”

Marlot’s heart twisted, and he needed willpower not to snap his reply. “I know I haven’t killed anyone I left lying around, so why are you here?”

She started to smirk at the strain in his voice and he bared his teeth. She sobered. “So you claim. Why were you there if you didn’t kill her?”

“When was that?”

“Three weeks ago.”

Marlot swallowed as he remembered driving back, alone, because Trembor had abandoned him for no reason. He felt the howl of despair form in his throat and he clamped down on it and his emotions. He wished he could do the same with his scent so she wouldn’t know how much this hurt.

“You’re going to have to give me details,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

A daze, the world had become a daze. Without Trembor in his life, there was nothing left. Why had he even returned? He should go back to Low Valley, where he belonged. Suffer through whatever humiliation they’d put him through and take his place in that cesspool again.

“I said.” Her raised tone snapped him back. “That I gave you the address in the messages I let for you.”

Messages, right, Hela’han had said something about that. What had she done? He pulled his pad to check, not there. The buffer, that’s where Hela’han would send office-related messages. He found it and played it.

“Mister Blackclaw,” came Laidan’s voice, calm and professional. “My RI Swiftkill, could you get back to me, I have questions regarding your visit to Brakan Goldeneyes. I’d appreciate it if you could get back to me at your earliest convenience.” Then, as an afterthought, she mentioned the address and date.

Neither the name nor the address sounded familiar, but it was within hours of his return. “Are you sure I was there?” he hardly remembered anything of that week.

“I have three witnesses placing a black wolf at her doorsteps, talking with her.”

He looked at her over the display, ears folding back in annoyance. “A black wolf? and that was enough for you to decide it’s me?”

“I also got a description of your car and a partial registration tag that matched the one on it.”

“Alright.” He’d investigate that too. “I wish I could help you. I don’t remember going there.” He looked at the empty desk. “Trembor broke up with me and I was out of it for a while.”

“So, you could have killed her, left her to rot, and not remember.”

He fixed his gaze on her. “Was there any of my fur? Any of my blood?”

“No blood. The killer broke her neck. And no, also no black fur inside the house.”

“So all that screaming at my secretary?” He asked, not trying to mask his annoyance.

She pulled Trembor’s chair as dropped into it. “It’s been three weeks. Do you know the odds of finding the killer after three weeks? You’re the last lead I had, and she was acting pretty suspiciously if you ask me.”

“She looks after my well-being; I haven’t been great lately.”

She looked at the desk she sat behind. “I’ve had my share of breakups. You don’t remember going to see her at all?”

“I can’t tell you much of what I did that week. I’ll check into it, see if I can piece my movements from the scents I’ve left around. If anything comes back, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” she said dejectedly as she stood.

“Laidan, three weeks isn’t that bad. A few months ago I closed a case I inherited when I took over the territory, so don’t despair.”

“It’s a pride thing. I’ve never had a body more than two weeks old in my freezer.”

He nodded. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

She smiled. “Thanks.” This time she sounded more genuine. He escorted out to ensure no altercations with Hela’han, then returned to his desk.

Sitting there, he realized he could have at least confirmed if it was his car that had been seen, in spite of the matching tag. He entered the address in his pad and did a search through the places he’d previously entered, and one came up. The arrival time was within minutes of what the witnesses had given Laidan.

The day after his return from Low Valley. Why would he have gone there? He hadn’t worked any cases. As much as he searched his memory, he couldn’t think of any reason he’d have to go see her.

His gaze fell on the envelope on the desk.

Unless the reason to see her had been given to him?

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