A Fraudulent Death, Draft 02, CH 06-07 (Patreon)

Chapter 06

He should have stayed quiet, Trembor thought, as the echo of the slammed door died away. He’d just wanted to explain why he’d handed the evidence over. Why he needed to be punished. He hadn’t meant to imply Marlot was…

He sighed. Why did it feel like he was the only person who believed crimes should be punished, even when they were committed with good intentions? Why they—he—committed them didn’t make them less of a crime.

He looked at the near-empty plate opposite him, the barely touched on in his side. All he’d wanted was a quiet evening with his wolf. To forget the last months. To forget everything but Marlot.

He finished his glass, letting the alcohol burn away some of his disappointment at himself, at the situation, and cleared the table. He considered throwing what was left away. The little appetite he’d had was gone. But meat was meat, and he had to start thinking of his finances. Until all this was done with, he had to live off what was in his account. He put the meat on one plate and put that in the cooler. He’d finish them off for breakfast.

Leaning against the counter, he considered what to do next. His plans were shot, and he didn’t want to not do something. The scratching post was visible from where he stood. Not yet at the point it needed replacing, but it was a reminder he’d let the state of the house go since the last time he’d cleaned it… a week ago, two?

He remained where he was.

He should at least vacuum. The office could do with some tidying. Laundry, he really needed to see to that before he found himself with nothing clear to wear. Only, he had nowhere to go. His winter clothing. He’d have to go outside to shovel snow, so he had to take that out. Unlike Marlot, he didn’t get much of a winter coat. His ancestors were heat dwellers. That was the place to start since they would have to go in the wash too.

He remembered the empty glass and washed that. He wiped the counter, the table. He considered pulling the prep table out and cleaning it, but it was already clean. That was one thing he couldn’t let get dirty, not if he wanted edible meat when he used it.

He looked for something else to do in the kitchen. To not have to leave the last place he’s been with his wolf in recent memory. The place where he’d pushed him away.

He hurried to the living room.

If he got his winter clothing out now, it would be washed and dry in a couple of hours. He’d be able to go hunt while the snow was still a distraction. He should get out of the house. The last few hours here felt like weeks.

He aimed for his office, and somehow ended up in his bedroom, sitting on the bed. He looked at his pad. It was early, but maybe that was what he needed. Sleep the stress of the last few weeks off. It wasn’t like he’d gotten a lot of good sleep recently.

He brought up Marlot’s number. He should call him. Apologize, explain that…

I’m sorry, he typed. I didn’t mean to include you.

He stared at the last six words, erased them. Replaced them with: I love you.

The charge was getting low. He needed to buy another charging plate, leave it in the bedroom; since that was where his pad spent its night. He could move the one from his office. Before setting it on the bedside table, he checked his message center and had a backlog from his family. Why hadn’t he received any notifications?

Because the family lock was engaged. He’d been arrested during ‘work hours’ and he hadn’t thought about it when he’d received it back. He removed the lock and considered deleting it entirely. It wasn’t like he’d needed it for the foreseeable future. He looked the messages over. Series of ‘how are you’ from family members, close and far. More personal messages from his nieces and nephews. He chuckled at the question about the cages, how comfortable they were, where he went to do his business, were the others there nice.

He tried to come up with answers that matched their level of innocence, and couldn’t think of any. He’d reply to them tomorrow.

His pad buzzed as he set it down, and he frowned at the name. Why was Bo calling him?

“Hi, Bo.”

“Hi, Trembor.”

The silence stretched.

Trembor sighed. “Bo, you’re the one who called me.” He tried not to let his annoyance sound, but none of his problems would have happened if his brother hadn’t been gambling. He purposely ignored that the hunter’s ploy had had nothing to do with the gambling.

“Sorry.” The pause stretched. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“No, I’m just…” he looked around the bedroom. “Just resting.”

“Okay.” Another silence. “I was wondering if we can meet tomorrow. Lunch or something. To talk.”

He considered saying no. But if this was his brother finally ready to come clean to his family and ask for help, he needed to be there for him. “Let me check something real quick.” He’d seen a message from Barany in the backlog. A meeting in the afternoon to go over their strategy. “Lunch is good.”

“Okay, good. I’ll message you the address, Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the meal.”

“I’m not destitute, Bo.” He did his best to lower his hackles. He wasn’t yet, anyway. “I’ll pay for my meal.”

“Right, of course. I’m sorry. I’m just…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Trembor looked at his pad once Bo disconnected. Seemed Trembor wasn’t the only one feeling disjointed today.

Chapter 07

“The official cause of death is the broken neck,” Jaxca said. “The twist sheered the vertebrae apart and severed the spinal cord. He was as good as dead before the killer let go of him.”

Marlot looked at the pictures on his screen. “So I’m looking at someone strong as you thought. Did you find any blood under the claws? Fur, skin, any sign he fought back, or something that will help me find the killer?”

“No. I found no indication he put up a resistance.”

“Are you sure? He didn’t look particularly strong, but as you said, predators fight back, I mean even prey will; until they accept the inevitable.” He studied the images, hoping to see something his expert hadn’t. “Anything in his blood to explain why he’d let this happen to him?”

“The blood came back normal. He was fighting a cold. But it’s that time of the year. He ate a few hours before being killed. Meat, some greens, usual predator fare.”

“Fresh?”

The frog chuckled. “All I can tell you is that it was real meat, and in good enough condition it had been kept in a cooler or freezer. This male didn’t eat carrion.”

“How about some injury predating the attack? There had to be something to explain why he didn’t fight back.”

“A few old ones, but nothing that would keep him from fighting back, and nothing out of place on an active predator. The most recent ones are healing bruises, superficial cuts. Probably got that chasing down the meat in his stomach.” The pictures changed to show him what Jaxca mentioned. As the frog said, normal-looking injuries. “Have you considered he was looking to die?”

“Yes, but those people usually either arrange accidents or get someone who can afford them to do the killing. Why would he be left there if it had been planned? Where’s the ID if the killer decided he didn’t want to pay for him? The meat on him was reasonable.”

“That isn’t something I can answer. I ran his DNA, which came back negative for a match. I made a cast of his dentition and that also came back negative.”

“Both?” the DNA database was only a decade old. Not everyone was in it. The government ran campaigns to encourage people to give their DNA, but you had privacy advocates pushing back. It didn’t help that predators didn’t think about their deaths as much a prey, so even the ‘don’t you want to be sure your loved ones know you’ve passed’ messages led more to prey joining than predators.

“It just means he didn’t have any dental work done in the last three years,” Jaxca said.

“Did he have any work done that might still be on file somewhere?”

“He’s had work done. What predator hasn’t? All it takes is only a lucky hit from a prey and a few teeth have to be replaced.” New pictures appeared. “And sometimes a predator as a string of bad luck.” Two canines were cracked and patched, a premolar was missing. An incisor broken. “These are all old, so if the dentist has the files they’re doing to be in their database, not the identification network.”

Marlot nodded. Too many people to keep every record of everyone alive.

“Anything you can tell me that’ll help?”

“You know everything I do at this point. The files are more detailed, but the death itself is rather clean. If I had to establish the sequence of events, it’s that he was surprised, killed, then his possessions taken.”

Marlot’s pad beeped.

“I sent you the official copies of the reports, tagged and everything.”

He took it off the desk and looked at the: I love you, he’d left showing. Three words that made him warm inside. In the corner, the icon notified him he’d received files.

“I have them. Thanks. If I have questions, I’ll pad you.” He disconnected.

A restless night and a few hours of work had given him enough distance from what had happened to realize he’d overreacted again. Trembor hadn’t meant to accuse him.

At least he’d taken himself out of there before he could make things worse.

He brought up Trembor’s number, hesitated, then called it. Surprised, even if he knew the block was no longer there, when his lion answered.

“Hey,” Trembor said.

“Hi.” He smiled. “How are you?”

“Bored. The cubs did their morning questions, although this time it was all bout my time in the cage. To listen to them, I had this big adventure while I was in there.”

Marlot chuckled, “everything was an adventure when we were cubs.” It died as he imagined his lion, caged. He didn’t like the idea there was even one chance he’d end up in one again.

“How are things with you?”

“My body looks to have let himself be killed. He’s not in the DNA or dental database, so that’s going to be fun. The killer did take his ID, so there’s a chance he’s going to pay for him any second now, but until then I’m going to walk around the area where he was found and see what I can get.”

“Not checking the cameras?”

“Not a lot to check. The construction site relied on a security company to do walk-bys. The whole area is on the lower end of the productivity scale, so if cameras were instead in that push, I’ll be surprised they were maintained.” He paused, running a claw on the desk’s surface. “I could use the company while I’m walking and talking to people. I promise I would bring up anything about last night. I overreacted, and I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have…” The lion trailed off. “I don’t have my license, Marl.”

“You don’t need a license to keep me company, Trem, we have a mating contract. Fuck, I’m sorry. That sounded funnier in my head. I don’t mean you have to because we…”

Trembor chuckled. “I know what you meant. I’ll message you after my lunch with Bo. He wants to talk.”

“You think it’s about what Nikal did to him?” Trembor’s brother had to be pissed. Especially if he’d heard the hare had disappeared. There had been nothing about that from the newsies, but Bo had to be keeping track.

“Maybe, or it’s about his gambling problems. I’m hoping he’s ready to ask for help.”

“Whatever it is, I know you’re going to help him.”

“I’ll do my best,” Trembor said after a slight hesitation and lacking the lion’s usual confidence.

“I’ll let you know where I’m at when you call.”

“Alright, good luck tracking down your killer,” Trembor said.

“Thanks. Good luck with your brother.”

Marlot waited, listening to his lion breathe. Imagining himself against him, his muzzle by his ear.

Trembor chuckled. “You should disconnect and get to work.”

“I know.” He looked at the empty desk. “It would be easier to do if you were here.”

The lion’s breathing caught, then was steady again. “After we’re done asking around, I’ll come back to the office with you. I should say hi to Hela’han if nothing else.”

Marlot would take that over nothing at all. “I’ll see you soon then.” He ended the call and set about putting the case in order. Trembor might say he wouldn’t work, but he was a predator on top of an RI, license or not. Marlot was sure that once he showed him the files, the thrill of the hunt would kick in, and the two of them would have no problem discussing it and coming up with ideas.

He entered the information he had on the body in Stalker 1.0. And realized he could take Trembor home afterward to show him the hardware for Stalker 2.0. It was still in pieces, but it would be more time spent with his lion, and he could give him an appreciation of electronic stalking through properly built computers.

He looked at the fields he’d completed. All of them about the physical appearance of the wolf. Would it get anything of that? He’d programmed it to be flexible, but he always gave it at least a name.

He set it to run, then printed the wolf’s picture Jaxca had included with the rest of the report. The best one he’d taken, where the wolf didn’t look so much dead, but sleeping with his fur in terrible shape.

Hopefully, it would be enough for someone to recognize him, and it would lead Marlot to the killer. Or at least the body’s home, where he could get more information on him.

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