The cabin was surprisingly warm when Timo Lebeau woke up. The electric clock on the wall ran silently, and the long winds above the frozen lake whistled on the windows of the lakeside cabin. He took a moment to get up from the bed, knowing that his breakfast would be served only half an hour later.
The light of dawn was still dim, but the clear skies predicted a bright day. When stepping out from the warmth of the cabin Lebeau was embraced by the freezing morning of Heartlands. He was ill-equipped to fight the cold even with the RCM jacket, which was more conditioned to the humid weather in coastal Revachol. The lieutenant took swift steps away from his little cabin to escape the morning cold again.
While walking to the Guesthouse he noticed an odd view. Above the lakeside, there was a man running on the open road in a worn sports jacket. Even from a distance it was easy to tell that the slim and athletic man was Sasu Tuovo, the union coordinator. Running uphill even in wintertime seemed to be little trouble for him, as the runner climbed rapidly higher up. The lieutenant took a while to follow the lone sportsperson of the village, until he took a turn behind the cooperative shop at remarkable speed. It was weird to see anyone exercising outside education institutes, especially in a place like Paywit.
The full service at the Guesthouse was fulfilling. Frida had prepared scrambled eggs, grilled aubergine, sliced pork meat cooked in butter, fresh bread, and milk for him. The lieutenant was the sole visitor of the Guesthouse, which probably relied more on the summer season, at least judging from the dozen seats it had in its little breakfast hall.
Frida delivered the pork to her lone guest. It smelled delicious, but came with innocent inquiry to an official police investigation.
“So, detective, how is your investigation going?” Friday asked while bringing in a cup of coffee.
“We are just starting mam, I can’t really talk much about the details.” Lebeau defected with a mouth full of bread.
“And how has that been?” Frida insisted without caring on confidentiality of police work.
“It has been according to the procedure. Investigating the scene, gathering material evidence, and reports from witnesses and family.”
“Oh.”
She suddenly became very serious, understanding the gravity of the situation.
“So - you must have met Matei’s wife too?”
“Yes, Ally Loughlen.”
Frida’s nosiness changed into a sad expression.
“Oh yes, little Ally Heyleger. She surely was a handful. My husband knew her late father well. Smallest of their three girls and packed with more character than any other. I really wonder what she saw in that Matei - they really looked like a beauty and an ogre.” Frida memorised sadly. Those thoughts seemed to drag her deeper very fast.
“Still, it must be such a horrible faith to become a widow at such a young age. I know my husband doesn’t have many years, and he barely sees and hears anything, but it still scares me. And losing someone like that - it is just horrible. Hope she won’t be all alone with the kid.”
Lieutenant had absolutely no idea on how to react to his hostesses fears of elderly loneliness. Yet, the words that came out of his mouth stated completely the opposite with no credibility.
“I understand mam.”
Frida shook her head and then decided to pick up a brighter conversation topic.
“If you have time, you should go to the clubhouse in the evening! They have a touring musician there this evening, it should be a great event! As much as any event in Paywit, this is the one time you don’t want to miss!”
“Is it the same musician that was in the tavern some three nights ago? He plays the harmonica.” The lieutenant recalled his meeting with one of the sawmill workers, Jacobus. The simple brute had claimed that the victim and his entourage had met a musician. It could have been that Matei Loughlen was last seen alive by the harmonica-player.
“I think it is! He stayed here the other night, then went to Charpii to play at their innhouse, if I remember correctly. A very funny man, handsome too, nothing like the men here!” Frida laughed at herself.
“If I’d only have forty years and kilos less - I would have still been too ugly for that man!”
The lieutenant tried to put an awkward smile. He had no idea how to react to self-deprecating humour.
“Is he relevant for the investigation?”
The lieutenant swallowed his scrambled eggs and tried to sound assertive.
“I really can’t say more mam.”
“Sure sure, just making small talk!” Frida smiled and winked before moving towards the backroom. The detective did not want to disappoint the old lady, but he needed to change the momentum of the conversation. There was little reason to believe that Frida was trying to snoop rather than being generally interested in any rumours. Being interested in rumours also meant that she probably wanted to share them as well. The detective cleaned his lips with a napkin and interrupted the lady of the house before she escaped to other room.
“Hey Frida.”
“Yes?” She sounded curious.
“Do you know Sasu Tuovo? The new union man, a coordinator.”
“Not really. He is a new face here, he did not even stay in the Guesthouse. Why would you think I’d know him more than anyone else?”
“Aren’t you from Katla? He might be.”
“He might be, but I am not. My parents were, though.”
“So he just showed up here?”
“He surely did. I have only heard from him second-hand. He is often at the People’s House and apparently assists the union people quite a lot. They usually warm up a sauna there in the afternoon when the sawmill shift changes, lorry drivers arrive, and the lumberjacks come back from the camp.”
“I saw him jogging this morning too.”
“That’s what he does, nearly every morning. A strange man that Tuovo lad.”
The detective hurried with his breakfast before leaving the Guesthouse. Like a clockwork, sergeant Phileas Wymbs-Priosto stopped his BvT 230 in the small parking slot of the guesthouse just when the lieutenant stepped out of the warmth of the main building.
The sergeant himself greeted first the morning air by lighting his pipe, and then his superior with a delighted voice.
“Morning lieutenant!” He was dressed in a much thicker coat than the superior officer. Wymbs-Priosto definitely knew that open skies meant colder days, and he did not seem like someone who wanted to risk being uncomfortable.
“Morning sergeant!” Timo Lebeau was not able to copy the lack of sarcasm in his response.
“How was your first night in Paywit?”
“Uneventful.” The lieutenant answered conclusively.
“Hah! Back on the saddle of Jokey the Horse, first thing in the morning! There’s no day like a day with you chief!” Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto sent a heartfelt laugh to the skies of the Heartlands. It sure did feel like an exaggeration to the mild-mannered lieutenant.
“So, of to Grande An we go?”
“To the Grande An, as grand as an année can be!”
The couple embarked on the carriage once more. The lieutenant took a remark of the strong smell of aftershave, again. With a well-rested head the lieutenant suddenly realised the reason for it. He had worked with enough RCM officers to realise when his colleagues were trying to cover the smell of alcohol. Sergeant Phileas Wymbs-Priosto was a drinker. A very experienced one, and there was no reason to assume it impacted his performance as a lawman. But it surely explained why he was so jolly throughout the whole day. Aftershave was either his way of hiding it, or a byproduct of strong alcohol and sweat of an elderly man. Judging from the lack of bitterness, it was probably the former.
They left Paywit behind rapidly. There had been no snowfall during the night and the sergeant drove noticeably faster than before. Knowing that they were on the way to meet the Seven Lemieux Brothers, lieutenant Lebeau raised the question.
“Filly.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Do you find it strange, that Matei Loughlin had enough money, that they were even thinking about moving to another isola?”
“Now when you mention it. No one here has had much money. At least not recently, not at least since the thirties. Why are you asking?”
Lieutenant hesitated a bit, although he liked to think - to hide his embarrassment - that the hesitation was seen as an analytical feature by his new partner.
“So far I have seen only one actor in Paywit with some money, and that is the SLB.”
“I mean, there are different ways of making money than hard labour.” The sergeant suggested.
“Sure. But we might need to address this one when we meet the company. But very, very subtly.” The lieutenant added.
“Subtly.” Sergeant repeated with slight discomfort.
“It is not suggestive sergeant, but you have to admit, that not everyone in Paywit is able to even dream about packing their things, and moving past the Pale.” He referred to the stories of the widow of Matei Loughlen, Ally.
“Hah! They surely are chief. But it sort of sounds like you are hinting at something.”
“It’s not hinting towards anything, it was a question.”
“And there was a tiny little hinting remark following your question lieutenant.”
The lieutenant did not consider his partner that naive, but he surely understood that the question put him into an awkward position. The company was very hard to pull into the investigation.
“We follow the protocol, and the protocol suggests to follow the likely leads.”
“Then we should see if a drunk friend of the victim killed him, that is the likely stuff here.” Wymbs-Priosto laughed morbidly. Lieutenant Lebeau took a humourless look towards him.
“Look, sergeant, you know everyone here. If we can believe Ally, Matei Loughlen had some money coming towards him, and we do not know from where. It might be very relevant for the investigation.”
The carriage curved towards the Grande An. Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto opened his window nervously and emptied his pipe from the moving carriage.
“Well, I can bet Matei’s pocket money was surely not due to his contribution to the field of science.”
And for the first time, there was some sarcasm in his voice.
During daytime Grande An was turned out much more attractive than Timo Lebeau had realised. Compared to the rundown buildings in Paywit, even the farmhouses closer to the regional capital looked cosy and picturesque. The town itself was lively even on a cold day, and local two-story buildings seemed to have an endless amount of small shops and tradesmen’s companies. Compared to Paywit - or even most parts of Revachol - the little squares and tall oaks growing between the houses seemed extremely inviting.
The Seven Lemieux Brothers office was by the little marketplace of Grande An. The company had its massive pulp mill just outside the town together with a logistics depot and other lesser functions, but senior management of the local factories was based on the local headquarters in the centre of the town. It was a plastered, light grey three-story building with a steep tile roof on top of it. One could easily tell without architectural expertise that it had been a relatively expensive and finely planned building with tall windows and large double doors for the main entrance. Outside the old town hall, a beautiful but modest red building in the wide side of the marketplace, it was the only stone building that the lieutenant had spotted.
Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto parked them comfortably in front of the building besides two expensive carriages waiting for company officials and senior managers to jump out. There was a weird smell of money in the air. The Lemieux Brothers was present in most of the isolas and its operations in the Heartlands were probably quite minor in the grand scale of things. Still, especially in a relatively poor region of the Pebble, their premises were not only flawlessly maintained, but also stylish even in the standards fit for Grand Couron.
They entered the building through the main door and below the cursive description of Les Sept Frères Lemieux. The two detectives marched to a large lobby that seemed even more spacious than from the outside, with a long hardwood counter for three secretaries greeting them besides two sets of large stone stairwells.
“Hi Julianne! How are you doing, looks at least that fine as always!” Filly marched to the desk with little hesitation.
“Nice to see you too Mr Wymbs-Priosto.” The secretary, a wide-shouldered woman with tightly tied dark hair and a heavy dress smiled back with a routine in her voice.
“And this must be the RCM lieutenant Lebeau I assume?”
The lieutenant nodded awkwardly. The echo of the secretary’s voice bounced from the stone walls of the lobby.
“Very good - I can see that you have an appointment with Mrs Neyhause, Mr Heylen, and Mr Larch. Nadia will show you to the meeting room straight away.”
A younger girl who must have been less than sixteen, hurried to show them the way politely. The two detectives climbed stairs to the second floor behind the young secretary, entering a hallway between comfortable looking offices that would have definitely met the urban standards, and finally arriving into a small meeting room with a single tall window, a table for eight, soft carpet, and a small bar.
Nadia asked them to sit down and questioned if they wanted to have a drink. Lieutenant Lebeau refused. Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto seemed to hesitate enough, that Nadia asked to mix him a rye with a hint of mint, and the sergeant could not refuse that. Out of politeness, his eyes told the visiting officer with a kind nod. Lieutenant guessed silently that this was not the first drink of the day for his partner.
Soon enough, three well-dressed high-ranking company officials walked in. First of the three was a short lady in her sixties with a light figure, and a wavy hairstyle that seemed to fit her wide, sharp eyes and round face. She was followed by a tall man in a suit with a bad posture, poorly hidden bald spot and aura of command surrounding him. The third person was a thin, narrow-faced man in his fifties, wearing the only brown suit and brown shoes in the shoe.
The tall man introduced himself first, offering his hand to the higher ranking RCM officer.
“Nicolas Heylen, Executive Director of the SLB Heartlands, apologies to keep you waiting lieutenant.”
“Not at all. Lieutenant Lebeau, RCM, 87th precinct.” The handshake of the company man was as firm as a textbook probably would have described it. If nothing else, this man had gone through thousands of handshakes.
“Great to have you here. Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto, Filly, how are you doing.”
“Not too bad Mr Heylen, not too bad at all! Fun to visit the civilised part of the Heartlands once in a while.” The sergeant winked, but there was an acknowledgement of formality in his voice.
“Mrs Neyhause, a pleasure.” The small lady shook hands, followed by a slim, brown suited man.
“Mr Larch, the Chief of Operations of the Paywit Sawmill.” Lebeau recognised the name immediately. This man had a car in a ditch, just at the Paywit Boulevard. And he surely had been majorly f*cked by the workers.
“Gentlemen, I think we can take the seats and start. Thank you very much Nadia, I’ll take it from here.” Mr Heylen commandeered the room. The detectives took their seats on one side of the table, the company representatives on the other.
“I trust that sergeant Wymbs-Priosto has briefed you on the SLB’s interest on this matter, lieutenant, and explained why we summoned you?” Mr Heylen started with an apologetic tone. The lieutenant nodded as a response.
“Yes, I have an understanding why an external RCM officer was necessary.”
“Then you must be certain that the SLB has absolutely nothing against union representatives itself. We seek to solve this situation as much as the locals, and the union itself. It is unfortunate what has happened to Mr Loughlen, and due to the political sensitivities of the issue, we want to make sure that the matter is solved as soon as possible, with the greatest degree of justice needed.” The emphasis of Mr Heylen’s words were well considered. Lieutenant Lebeau had opened his binder while nodding to the statements, knowing that he could expect candid answers as long as he did not step out of line.
“That is very much appreciated. If I understood correctly, there was some tension between the union, their shop steward, and the company itself?”
“Yes. The lumber prices have been declining recently, as the EPIS tariffs for the sem*nese islands were lifted some time ago, which had a great impact especially on the profitability of the pulp. We did go through various scenarios to make sure the whole supply chain could adequately take the impact of the lower profits in the whole of le Calliou. You see, in Insulinde the hardwood and pine of the Heartlands can never compete in production volumes against the warm sem*nese islands. The impact in these areas, where unfortunately a lot of the lumber is used for pulp, the market price changes are severe.”
While the lieutenant was able to follow up the dumbed down explanation, his interest was in the investigation. And there was a lack of the elements relevant for the investigation, which he wanted to clarify.
“If I understood correctly, this tension escalated some weeks ago, when the workers caused a commotion and their salaries were confiscated?”
“They were intoxicated at work, and they were threatening to halt the whole operation of the sawmill!” Alexander Larch announced rapidly. He had looked tense for quite some time. The lieutenant remarked that the fast remark seemed to make Mr Heylen nervous, but Mrs Neyhause kept on following the conversation in a rather passive manner. She was the only one who had not announced her role.
“Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto has briefed me of the situation. To my understanding he also solved the situation with minimal damages.”
“Well -” Mr Larch seemed to struggle to describe the events of the day when his carriage was flipped to the ditch, and let his superior, Mr Heylen, take over.
“There was both material damage, and one of our fire safety officers was physically harmed. The SLB takes these sorts of matters very seriously, as we do not tolerate any abuse of our workers.”
Fire safety officers were clearly a synonym for the security that the company had brought in. Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto had finished his drink and seemed for the first time uncomfortable. There was a pretty clear reason for that, as the shallow mandate Revachol Citizens Militia had in the isola, the power of the corporations would easily override them. And sadly to the sergeant, his new partner seemed to respect the objective aim of justice, despite visiting in challenging new areas.
“I understand completely, Mr Heylen. But from what I have understood, the misbehaviour in the workplace involved the victim that I am here to investigate, Matei Loughlen. We must follow up any possibility of a grudge relevant to the case.”
Mr Heylen nodded politely. Mr Larch took a nervous look at him, but Heylen knew these situations far too well to show any uncertainty.
“Of course. As soon as we heard about the sorry fate of Mr Loughlen, we made sure that there would also be an outside investigator to make sure that union representatives and their concerns are heard. That is where your involvement comes up.”
Mr Heylen was keeping his cards to his chest. What came out of him was probably rehearsed and this man had probably negotiated for millions and millions of réals in the past. Death of a drunkard he had never met was not something that would make his act stumble. Lieutenant scribbled some notes, and checked his colleague, who was clearly not going to raise any questions. Timo Lebeau looked through a past page of his binder and decided to go for a careful offensive, showing that he had already heard other parties as well.
“So you had hired extra security even before the incident? Four people, if I understood correctly?”
“Yes, if by extra security you mean our new fire safety officers. There have been close calls on fire safety in the sawmill, so we wanted to protect the company property – and of course workers' lives – from potential fires.” Heylen seemed to stick to his argument about deeply caring about the wellbeing of the workers.
“So you hired four men to stand around, waiting for fires, in a time when the industry’s profitability has decreased severely?” Lieutenant took a chance to challenge the narrative.
“Not to stand around, to do inspections, detective, to keep the sawmill secure.” Mr Lynch jumped to the conversation with an annoyed tone.The Chief of Operations of the Paywit Sawmill was actually the only one, who had actually even been in the ground. He had looked uncomfortable already when discussion went towards the tension between union and the company, but now he seemed to be openly annoyed by the new officer poking on company business. Bringing in security must have been his decision, and not only he had to defend it against any investigation, he also needed to justify it to his superiors, Mr Heylen and Mrs Neyhause.
“I am sure you understand that we would not waste valuable company time without a good reason. Just like we don’t want to waste the valuable time of the Revachol Citizens Militia. You’re here to talk about Mr Loughlen’s death, and not the sawmill, am I right?” Alexander Larch seemed to be on the offensive. While his superiors stayed quiet, lieutenant Lebeau was sure that any hierarchical organisation would have internal tension in these situations.
“Mr Larch, you can be sure that we would not want to leave a stone unturned in the investigation. Paywit is a small community and any ill-faith between the new security staff and locals might be relevant.” For the lieutenant, his own argument seemed well made. But the reaction he received was completely the opposite.
“I don’t think you fully understand how Paywit really is, detective.” Larch leaned against the table. He had a hostile look on his face.
“In Revachol you surely have your delinquents. Anything from addicts with knives to gangs of youngsters willing to beat a cop just to show how tough they are. Here, it does not work like that.”
Larch gave a challenging look on Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto. This could have been a sign that the local officer should have kept the visiting lieutenant better in line. Larch continued with a malicious tone.
“Most of the households have a firearm. And this is not some small arm they managed to buy from antique stock, or a smuggled leftover sh*t from the sem*nese conflict. All those countryside houses have cabinets for hunting rifles with enough stopping power to drop a grown moose. If one of those men decides, no matter if they are drunk or not, to go and shoot a foreman they don’t like, they can do it from such a distance that one of my hard working managers won’t even have a chance to hear the shot before the bullet impales them. And it’s not only that. You know what happens, if someone new to the area tries to mess around?”
The question was rhetorical. Larch made a little explosion with his hands and opened his eyes to emphasise the surprise answer he had planned.
“They go to the forest. And the forest never ends. The local guys put a hood on the victim, drive him to the furthest old forestry camp and push him down the hill. At worst they might be stuck with a broken leg some forty kilometres from the closest house. Either they freeze, starve or the wildlife finds them. If someone drops you in the remote corners of this goddamn forest that is all over, there is no way someone will find their way back.”
The lieutenant found the idea making him feel uneasy. But he realised that this was probably Larch’s personal reflection as well. As a company man, he was not from Grande An, and even less from Paywit. The forest and the souls living next to were a complete mystery. He was not only talking to the detectives, but also to his peers. He wanted to show the conditions he was trying to work with.
“But no, the security would never harm a worker, only to prevent harm. But sure, our fire safety officers have experience in crowd management too. You are free to interview them, but only two of them were in the sawmill on the day Mr Loughlen died.”
“We will share their details with you.” Mr Heylen stated diplomatically, showing that he was still very much part of the conversation.
“Thank you. But I would still like to know what led to hiring extra security? I understand the fire safety angle, but you must be aware that this seems to relate to the recent cuts in workers compensation and increased incidents with the union.” He did not want to mention Larch’s carriage to avoid further escalation of the conversation.
“We cannot really change the economy, but of course there have been some hard reactions to that.” Mr Heylen admitted emphatically.
“And on top of that, the union brought a f*cking guerilla to Paywit.” Larched slammed the table.
“Excuse me?” The claim sounded so wild, that even stone-faced Lieutenant Lebeau raised an eyebrow. Mr Heylen took control of the conversation, sounding slightly agitated that his colleague had brought up even more topics to the conversation.
“They have that new stationed union man, the one from Katla - Tuovo is his name.”
“Yes, I met with Sasu Tuovo, the union coordinator.”
“We believe that Tuovo is not what he seems. We ran some background checks, and it turns out that your friendly local union coordinator is an educated infantry commander from the Katla military troops, specialised in guerilla warfare.” Larch interfered again, with a spiteful tone. His claim sounded like quite a stretch, and more like a retaliation on pointing out that working conditions and compensation was in a dire state. Mr Heylen had to give a subtle look to silence the Chief of Operations, and continued by making sure that he would handle such a controversial topic.
“We have evidence on this as well. The SLB is active in all the isolas, and also in Katla. We acquired confirmation that this man is, or at least was, an officer in the Katlan forces.”
Heylen took a standard envelope from his jacket pocket and passed it to the detectives. The Lieutenant opened the envelope and picked up a copy of a document, with a title of Tredje Jägarbataljonen. It was a document belonging to the Defence Forces of Katla. A lot of the text was in Katlan, but SLB officials had highlighted the most interesting part. The name of Sasu Tuovo sat on a short list of junior officers, above non-commissioned officers and below senior command. His rank was fänrik, indicating that he was not very experienced, but yet commanding a squadron full of soldiers.
There was little question about the authenticity of the document, but that was not the main thing that caught the Lieutenant’s eye. It was more striking that the document was actually a photograph - a very well taken one, but clearly not a photocopy. Retrieving this information from Katla all the way to Paywit must have taken some weeks, so it was done way before the death of Matei. The lieutenant knew little about the security measures of the Katlan army, but he had serious doubts that one could just ask for documents including personal information of officers. Judging from everything, the SLB had acquired confirmation on Sasu Tuovo’s past with the military by espionage. They must have been seriously afraid of the slim coordinator to go to such an extent. Mr Heylen’s words confirmed that.
“This information is of course confidential, and we would ask you to return the document.”
“Of course.” The Lieutenant put the photo back in the envelope and handed it across the desk.
“And you consider this is relevant to the investigation?”
“You are the professional, detective, we just have some information that might be relevant. This is of course my layman’s understanding, but if there has been a violent death in a small community - as you said - and there is a new person in the community that has training on armed conflicts, it sounds relevant for me.”
The lieutenant nodded for a response. He could not help but think that at the same time SLB had not disclosed who were the security personnel they had hired, and if they had similar experience with armed conflicts. There was a lot of mercenaries due to the sem*nese conflict, which escalated the GRIH strike last year into a violent conflict. But that was clearly not the interest of the SLB. Mr Heylen made a closing speech by crossing his hands and giving the lieutenant as decisively honest eye contact as possible.
“Lieutenant, we want to solve this issue as much as the union. If there is foul play, we want the preparator to be brought to justice. The Seven Lemieux Brothers is committed to the protection of the workers, even if there have been some past difficulties with some of them. And I can assure you, internally we have a strong belief that Mr Loughlen’s death is by no means related to the SLB. His working relationship with the company has improved and nothing indicates that the tensions would play a part of his sad faith.”
Mr Heylen sounded very convincing. So convincing, that he was definitely holding some information about the case, possibly about the victim. This was after all the first time that they actually mentioned him by name, and while Larch definitely had something against Matei Loughlen, it did not sound like Heylen shared that view. It was clear though, that the SLB would not reveal anything more than it wanted. The Lieutenant was sure that what he said was the truth, but it was clearly not a full truth. It would have been impossible to hold Mr Heylen accountable based on what he said.
The two detectives thanked the company for their cooperation and shook hands with the representatives. While the young secretary came to show them their way out, Timo Lebeau could hear Mrs Neyhouse speak calmly to her colleagues. She must have represented some higher level of management, something like the international board of SLB, to make sure that the company would not stumble into a scandal. The most powerful person in the room was often the most silent one.
The duo avoided discussing the investigation before leaving the company premises. Sergeant suggested that they would get an early lunch by the marketplace, as it had one of the few nicer restaurants in town.
They entered a yellow two-story wooden building that was the home for Café du Paquier. Despite calling itself a café, it was more of a restaurant and probably a tavern towards the evening. Here the shelves were filled with strong liquors and bourbon, with three beers and a cider on tap. The menu looked very potato-based, and while the Lieutenant had a soup, his local colleague ordered buttered pork with mash and a pint to down the meal. He was not in a hurry to leave such a nice little restaurant.
“Du Paquier is a great place - unless you like wine of course, but then you came to the wrong neighbourhood!” The Sergeant laughed and winked.
“I wanted to show you a nicer place, staying at Paywit might be a bit underwhelming at best.”
Timo Lebeau shrugged as a response. He was ascetic enough to care little about these sort of luxuries. Even in Revachol, which had plenty of places worse than this, he was most of the time very comfortable.
“Do you like it here? As in Grande An I mean.” He still felt obliged to make some small talk. The meeting with the SLB management showed very awkwardly how little the sergeant would like to do to oppose his sponsors.
“Why not, it’s a calm life, but you don’t get shot, the food is good, air is clean, most people are odd but nice, it beats bigger cities for me. My first wife didn’t like it here though. Then again, I think she just didn’t like me. That would explain why the marriage lasted only for half a year. Then again, we were barely kids back then.” He started rambling.
“I see.” The Lieutenant had no idea how to stop the trip down the memory lane.
“My second wife didn’t like it either, but I drank a lot less after we moved here. But she was bored sh*tless in the Heartlands, complained every day that there was nothing to do, people were awful and she couldn’t have any nice things. I think she would have been happier with me being an alcoholic but still living in the city. Well, what do you know - we get better along nowadays, but it’s easy to get along when you see each other through the kids only every 3 years or so. She’s been living in Vesper since ‘36.”
Lebeau did the math. The ‘36 was not yesterday. It was 16 years ago. Their children from the second marriage must have grown up to be adults already. Lieutenant Lebeau made a quick calculation - the sergeant had moved to the Heartlands likely in the late 20s. His second wife probably first moved back to Revachol, then away to Vesper. It was not like there was any aerostatics leaving from Grande An.
“I can’t really blame her. She has probably had a better life after leaving these forgotten little towns and villages, not to mention the sorry ex-husband I am.”
“But you still have the house here, you mentioned?”
“Yes! And what a beautiful house it is! I will show it to you when we solve this little case - I’ll warm up the sauna for you and we can share some war stories. Did I tell you about the time when I had to wait for four hours for backup, while confronting an armed suspect in Charpii?”
“Not yet, but I think we can address our current case.”
The sergeant had finished his pint before their food arrived, and he continued to order a second one. It was not yet even noon.
The couple ate without haste. They did not address SLBs firm grip on the Sergeant, but got to the details about the relationship the company had to the murder. It was clear for both of them that they did not get the full information on what the company knew. It was also clear to them that the company was very defensive about their security. And finally, the way how SLB presented information on Sasu Tuovo, was sinister. It was a show of power to let them know what lengths they were able and willing to go when needed.
Nonetheless, lieutenant Lebeau wanted to show some trust towards his partner and try the ice on critical view on SLB.
“They are not disclosing all the information, are they?”
“Definitely not.” Filly answered with a mouth full of food.
“Don’t get me wrong, the Brothers are sneaky wanks. But while they might not be honest, they might be sincere about wanting to solve the death of Matei.”
“Not Larch though.”
“No, not Larch. But Larch is not the SLB.” Filly smirked. They concluded the discussion without being able to point out what was left out of the conversation. For the investigation itself, the visit had been otherwise rather unremarkable. They had barely discovered any new leads on the case, but at least the full political landscape was starting to be clear.
“Do you have suggestions on whom to interview next? I am planning to seek the harmonica player in the evening. The lady from the Guesthouse mentioned that he should be playing in the clubhouse this evening and he might know what went down in the evening and night when Matei died.”
“Hmm, well, I don’t think we should approach anyone because they are potential suspects, meaning the lumberjacks or the fire safety officers just yet.”
“They are potential suspects to you?”
“Sure, if someone moved Matei’s body, they needed some big guys for that. They are the only ones I can think of.”
“Ok, so someone else. What about the friend that was mentioned, and the ex-girlfriend?”
“Wilke and Imke, yes. Wilke is easy to find, he works with their father on the small fishing boats. In the winter time they do some net-fishing, so we should be able to find them by the harbour. I think Imke is here in Grande An, but I have no idea where. We have to check her location first with the brother.”
“Ok, that sounds like a plan. What about that lorry driver who keeps on popping up - Turbo-Yari or something?”
“I have no idea what he hauls, but he is not in town at the moment. Unlike other drivers he likes to stay in the Guesthouse, so you will be the first one to notice if he arrives.”
“Is there any way to see when he will arrive back to Paywit?” The Lieutenant had accepted that this investigation might took a while longer than expected. Even though his colleague had marketed that Paywit was hardly a place for murder mysteries, it was surely starting to look that everything took a long while here.
“I can radio the Grande An logistics depot, they probably have the schedules of the drivers.”
“Sure, then we should also see the guy who owed Matei some money, Liebhmaier.”
“I think he is a lumberjack as well. I’ll check the foreman’s office when we are back in Paywit to see where he is working at the moment.”
“Ok. This sounds like a plan.” It surely sounded like a plan.
“We should get the coroner's autopsy report by this evening as well. I will get it to you tomorrow morning.” And following that, the sergeant winked.
“So, back to the important things. Can the plan wait for a digestive? Usually here we have schnapps after a good meal.”
“I am ok, but go ahead.” Lieutenant tried to hide the fact that he assumed his partner had at least four drinks before noon. On the first day, Filly might have tried hiding it. On a second day, they were good enough pals that Timo Lebeau understood he was partnered with a semi-functional alcoholic.
Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto took the carriage and drove them rather flawlessly back to Paywit, although slightly slower than on the way to Grande An. He did this road on a daily basis, and probably he could have done it completely sh*tfaced. And he probably had done it. Communities like Paywit were not kept together by rule of law, but by the social control of the people itself. They might have been flawed, particularly hilly-billies, but the local habitants were gossipy people who were forced to spend decades with each other, without a lot of social alternatives. This was enough of a reason for people to behave.
Having a RCM officer around, especially one paid by a local employer, was hardly the law enforcement that people were needing. But when it came to it, Filly had his finger on the pulse of the village. He was hardly the hard-boiled detective you needed to reveal great urban murder mysteries. He knew the flaws of the people, joined them, and had just enough authority in most of the cases of local quarrels to understand both sides, making strong enough point to bring one of them to justice. And for Filly himself, it was a perfect job. He went around, talked to people, while being something between tipsy and moderately hammered.
It was a comfortable life. And f*ck it, what did Timo Lebeau understand about being in, what he assumed to be, late fifties and working for RCM? Great ideals like justice and noble causes were cool when you were young, but at some point people must have just realised that life cannot be sacrificed for some abstract purposes.
During the ride back to Paywit, Lieutenant Lebeau questioned his own principles for the first time in a while. It was not that he was distancing himself for them, but he had become much more tolerant of other ways of thinking.
They stopped close to the Guesthouse, where the small harbour with a modest wave-breaker stood. All of the boats had been lifted up from the Lac Vert for the winter, and many smaller ones were turned upside down and covered with snow just by the harbour. It was a harbour, because it had boats and a concrete strip to push the larger ones to the river. There was none of that industrial GRIH equipment, containers, cranes or anything like that. Most of the boats were for leisure fishers, and that was perfectly fine for the large lake, which in the end was only a small body of water.
Behind the harbour there was a small warehouse that had a large open hall. It was a building with plywood walls and a sheet metal roof. By the road they could already see two men working with some large fishnets. The detectives jumped out of the carriage to face the sunny day, and marched towards the local fishers.
The warehouse door was open and it was as cold as the outside air. The snow beside the door reflected bright sunlight to the hall itself, and the two men were hanging up fishnets on the walls and ceiling. The local fishers used long poles to pull the nets through holes drilled in the ice, allowing them to continue net-fishing through the year. The poles, which must have been at least a dozen meters long, were laying outside with their small gooks on both ends. The hall also had some framed photographs firmly nailed on its plywood wall. It seemed like an attempt to make it a bit more cosy than just a warehouse. After all, this was a closest thing to a permanent office for these men, as the freshwater fishing boats did not need a cabin.
The crunching snow under the feet of the detectives informed the fishers that they were arriving. When Filly knocked the door frame, two short and wide men wearing blue overalls, one older and another younger, were already facing them.
“Hello Jodocus, hi Wilke! How much is the fish today?”
The older man, Jodocus, took a couple of steps forward and shook the Sergeants hand.
“How you doing Filly? You are on official police business here?”
“I very much am Sir! This is our investigator from Revachol, Lieutenant Lebeau.”
Lebeau shook hands with both of the men. Their grip was loose but hands rough and wide.
“Nice to meet you.”
“So, you must be looking to the murder of Matei then?” Jodocus deduced rapidly.
“We cannot confirm it as a murder yet.” Lebeau commented soberly. Wilke had a morbid grin on his face.
“If you are looking for a murderer to find it out, you probably should look elsewhere.”
“We only kill fish.” His father concluded.
“I think I saw Matei about a week ago anyway, so I am not sure I can help you much officers.” Wilke continued. The Lieutenant had anticipated that they probably would not be able to learn much about the events of the evening of death, but that was not what he was interested about.
“We actually wanted to discuss more on Matei Loughlen’s personal matters, and I have understood you were friends with each other for a long time.”
“That’s right, the boys have played together since you were bloody toddlers. Maybe you help out Filly on this one Wilke?” Jodocus suggested disconnecting himself from the discussion.
“Sure thing dad, and of course Mr Lebeau.” Wilke stepped out of the hall, but his father could have probably eavesdropped their conversation from inside the warehouse. Nonetheless they could hear the nets, which had frozen on the way from the lake to the warehouse, clanking against the plywood, meaning that the old man was still working.
Wilke opened his overalls for two buttons, showing the warm sweater he had underneath. Even towards the heart of winter, sunlight felt warm. The bright light drew young fishermans features clearer. Wilke was a kind eyed man with a short and wide figure, rosy cheeks, and of course a thick brown beard. Everyone in this village seemed to have a thick beard. It was either to protect them from the cold winds, laziness of shaving, or a way to show off the local machismo. Wilke wore a cap with earmuffs that looked rather ridiculous, but seemed like essential equipment for the freshwater fisher.
“So - you detectives wanna hear something about Matei? Rest his soul.” Wilke ended his sentence with a bit more politeness than anyone else.
“No we were here wondering if you could give us some good fishing spots! Fishermen know usually were to snatch plenty of fish.” Filly interrupted giving a little wink to the younger man. He gave a barely audible laugh.
“That’s just an old wives' tale. Or at least the net-fishers like us have absolutely no idea where to catch anything. You see, volume is the key.” He winked back to Filly, to which Filly laughed back so hard that he nearly farted.
“We were told that you were still close with Matei before the evening when he was last seen alive. Was there anything special about him before that? Any new persons or businesses he would mention, or something that seemed abnormal to him?” Lieutenant Lebeau started with a routine manner. He wanted to make sure that Filly did not set the tone of the conversation.
“Sure, we met a week ago after work. He passed by before heading home. It’s not like he had anything special going on – I mean more special than anything earlier this year.”
“What do you mean by that? Something changed earlier this year?”
“Yea, the union election, and he was according to his own words ‘a natural candidate’. And he won. Some people can take it well when things go well. You know, make something out of themselves. Matei was not like that. When he got elected as the union representative, he suddenly got co*cky. He drank more, disobeyed the foremen regularly, picked up fights in the tavern with Jan and Lukasz, and seemed to have some get rich quick scheme. He did not want to talk about the details, but I’d put my money on Turbo-Yari. That lorry driver always has a hustle going on. Dodgy f*cker.” Wilke’s tone was saddened, outside mentioning Turbo-Yari’s name which seemed to just bring up some disgust in him. The lieutenants grasped that.
“Do you know if they were planning on something, or if they already were doing something?”
“No idea. And I don’t think he shared it with anyone. After Matei got elected as the local union representative, he first talked about everything, but after last summer, he has been super secretive. It’s not like he was more silent, even the opposite. Seemed to take more risks and act just like he always knew more than anyone else. Sometimes he just acted mad as a door.” Wilke used local expressions that were hardly familiar to the Lieutenant, but the context was clear. But he did not yet answer the question.
“So what is Turbo-Yari up to?”
“I think smuggling. That’s what the lorry drivers always do. He is crazy enough to go through the Pale anyway, but he is just generally bad influence. Drinks a lot at the Guesthouse and Matei seemed to lose control when he was visiting. I’d see him stumble back to work from the cabins only in the morning.”
“This seems like what we got from the widow as well. Well, we didn’t get much details, but that Matei had been either working or drinking lately.” Lieutenant could not find much else to discover about the mysterious lorry driver, at least before Filly would get information on his schedule.
“Yea, Ally probably had it hard.” Wilke let out a melancholic sigh and shook his head.
“They didn’t have it easy to begin with. I always felt that they got stuck together as the most visible people in the village, rather than genuinely liking each other. You know, it was more something that other people expected them to do. They were doing quite bad, but then got the kid as well. So yea, when he was drunk, Matei often told stuff about escaping Paywit. He didn’t specify it, but it sounded like it would mean escaping without Ally and the kid. But it could be just me - Ally always disliked me, probably ‘cause she was jealous of my sister Imke. Her and Matei used to date like ages ago, but they stayed friends, which is a bit weird considering how much Matei likes to burn bridges.”
“Yes, we are aware of the local tea. Ally told us that Matei had met with your sister recently.” Lieutenant Lebeau nodded. Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto would have probably had a better way to play the rumour, but he had wondered off to the warehouse for some reason.
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit. They never really disconnected, and Imke broke up with her boyfriend a year ago.”
“Do you think they were romantically involved?”
“You mean sexually?” Wilke answered. It was like he did not understand the difference between the two, but yet continued without waiting for an answer.
“I mean, I don’t know either way. Imke is in Grande An and whenever Matei had an excuse to visit there, he would visit her. He never stayed overnight, but he wasn’t exactly faithful either way. Me and my sister don’t talk about things like this, but I remember when Matei used to brag about other ladies looking after him swinging his big dick around. He calmed down after the kid was born, but this year it was more of the same old sh*t.”
Lieutenant Lebeau knew that there was something about Wilke’s saddened tone he was missing. His usual partner, lieutenant yefreitor Lamm, was great at this. Lamm was an egoistic, nasty-mouthed big man with a tendency to provoke and push people, even to the lengths that it led to violence. He was a bully. While he had only one tool to get what he wanted, intimidation, he was very good at knowing when to use it and in what format. Lamm knew when to make a person uncomfortable, lie to them, punish them, or even threaten their closed ones. The older 87th precinct officer would have known how to read Wilke, but to Lebeau he just seemed like an old friend, who was saddened by the state of affairs. He saw Matei’s death as a result of a long line of horrible choices.
“Could we get your sister’s address? We’d like to pay her a visit to see about this.”
“Sure. But I think she haven’t seen Matei for at least a month.”
“Of course, we have no reason to suspect her or anything.” The lieutenant wanted to make sure that he would not scare one of potentially most important information sources away. Wilke knew Matei intimately. He was literally the only person to whom Matei was not the man among men.
The sergeant returned to the warehouse. He was holding a framed photo and returned to the lieutenant and fisher.
“Sorry, I thought you had some interesting portraits there - never thought that I would have seen pictures of Jodocus as a young man. He was there when the cruiser visited and capsized by the Île de la Flèche.”
“Yea, glory days. He never received compensation for the work on that, the cruiser company went bankrupt literally the moment when the cruiser was lifted.”
“Hah, same bullsh*t always.”
“Sure, although he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s a great photo there of him and the other fishers fitting the pontoons on the cruiser. Beats untangling fish one day to another I guess.”
“So I also noticed this photo.” Wymbs-Priosto said with a hint of sympathy in his voice. He showed a photo of Wilke together with Matei. They were both maybe ten years younger. Both of them were smiling, Wilke bit more awkwardly and Matei with foggy eyes. The photo was taken in summertime and both of them were wearing dress shirts.
“I think that’s the only photo of the two of us. That’s from my cousin's wedding. Matei was still dating my sister, so it must be summer of ‘42 or something.”
Matei did not look noticeably different in the photo. Just younger.
“Could we have this? We don’t have a photo of him just yet and we might need one for the investigation.” The lieutenant asked as politely as he could.
“We will return it afterwards.”
“Sure. Anything else I can help you with?”
“Well, if something comes up, feel free to knock our door.”
“Of course.”
They left the two fishers to work on the nets at the warehouse. It was afternoon, but they still had daylight. The two detectives had a short reflection in the car about Wilke. Filly knew Wilke surprisingly badly, considering that he knew all Matei’s run-ins and fall-outs ever since he was in his early teens. Then again, Wilke had not been anything like his friend. He was never mentioned to the RCM, just seemed to live his life and start working with his father. It was like most people in the Heartlands lived.
Then there were those who stood out. There was of course Matei with his grand plans and the big act going on. Other than that, not a lot of people stood out. There were the security personnel, but they were not going anywhere. The harmonica player they could only interview in the evening. The rest, ranging from people indebted to Matei to begrudged, they did not have a solid suspicion to interrogate anyone yet. That is when Filly pointed out, that they did know someone who stood out and would be easy to find in the afternoon. The union coordinator Sasu Tuovo was definitely not just one of the villagers.
Lieutenant Lebeau felt a troubling influence from his partner. He always knew that Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto’s bills were paid by the company and that was their way of influencing the investigation. He did not like it. But at the same time, he could not go against the suggestion either. They did not have much better leads, at least not at that very moment.
The drive to People’s House was a short one. The red-painted wooden building had a large hall, some separate meeting rooms, a library and a kitchen, making it one of the larger buildings in the village. Its basem*nt also had a sauna in a typical Heartlands fashion, and at the early afternoon hour the sauna had been heated for the morning shift to wash themselves and prepare for the weekend.
The two RCM officers parked their carriage next to the shed for firewood on the yard. Just by the stone stairs that sunk to the basem*nt, four men were cooling outside the sauna. Hot steam escaped from the door behind them, and the men who wore only towels had steam evaporating from their hot skin. They were drinking cheap beer directly from glass bottles and gazed towards the officers arriving at the scene.
Two of the men were standing on the wooden cover on the ground, while two others were seated on worn plastic chairs. They were sturdy lads with hairy, muscular bodies, wet hairs and beards. Only Sasu Tuovo’s slim figure seemed to lack an inflated belly, but also he was strikingly muscular – just a lot thinner than any of the other men.
The largest of the men decided to greet them by opening his towel slightly.
“Hey officers – you came to see the co*ck expo I suppose?”
Lieutenant had little trouble recognising Jacobus despite the fact that he was practically naked. His worn body looked like the rough landscape of the Heartlands itself – a scarred mountain of meat, unforgiving and beaten by years.
“We’re still looking for it, they told us that there would be some bigger dicks there.” Filly laughed his insult out and Jacobus approved it with an equally hearty smirk. Thijs was sitting behind him with a sour look in his face with another blond bulky man with spotted skin and messy, curly hair. Sasu Tuovo was standing next to the local men and let the banter run its course, before he exchanged the pleasantries.
“I’m afraid that the sauna is for union members only, but I assume you are not here to wash yourselves.”
“Yea, plus that place is dirty as f*ck after Liebe bathes there, so I wouldn’t go there anyway after him.” Jacobus laughed and pointed at the blond man, who gave him the finger. Liebe sounded like a nickname to the lieutenant, who interfered.
“You are Liebhmaier?” He addressed the blond man fast.
“No, I am his mom.” The lieutenant took this as a confirmation.
“Alright momma Liebhmaier, I’ll have a chat with you later on. But first we’d like to talk to the union coordinator.”
“Sure. Go ahead lads, I’ll join you in a bit.”
Sasu Tuovo nodded to the rest of the gang who stood up and started to retreat back to sauna silently.
Tuovo did not seem to mind the cold one bit. The sunshine seemed to warm his half-naked body even in the absolute cold of the winter and the warmth of sauna and dark lager gave him enough courage to disregard the negative temperatures completely. He must have carried at least a third less weight than most of the sawmill workers, but his pale body hardly seemed weaker. There were some old scars in his arms and shoulders, but these were not from hard labour.
“How can I help you this time officers? Are you any closer to solving what happened to Matei?”
“We have some follow-up questions, you have a moment now?” Lebeau answered only the first question.
“Of course, I’ve finished the rounds today anyway.”
“The rounds?”
“Yes, I visit the lumberjacks on a daily basis to see their working conditions and assist them with their contracts.”
“I saw you running this morning.” Lebeau stated, hoping to make a connection. He was in luck this time.
“That’s how I reach them usually, by foot or skis. The camps are often far away and you can’t reach them by a carriage at this weather, plus the union can’t just rent a horse for me for a few months. We are on a budget here.”
Lieutenant Lebeau remembered something he had maybe heard from the radio when he was a child. The forestry work was done during winter, but they lumber would be only transported via the river when spring came. The lumberjacks lived in isolation for weeks at the time. He did not have a chance to show his worldliness before his partner continued with the questioning.
“It can’t be all running can it though? I heard you had a reading club yesterday. Good ol’ socialist classics I assume, big Nielsen books or something more elaborate?” Filly gave a mischievous little wink to the union coordinator.
“Competition law, actually.” The Katlan man smiled back to Filly.
“There are not much legal experts here, so when the SLB told that the lumberjacks were entrepreneurs and could not collectively agree try to bargain the prices for their work, they did not have a way to contest that claim. So I have been helping out the local union to get the legal basis straight, and we have then offered education to the lumberjacks.”
He seemed delighted to explain to RCM officers about the way they educated citizens on their legal rights.
“It’s very much how things happened even before the revolution. The cooperative village store is only affordable for everyone, as it’s a cooperative – and that dates back before the revolution even. It would be otherwise another spot where the workers and farmers would be extorted further and further, this time not on their remuneration but on their expenses.”
“So, the revolutionary burn has finally gone from ember to navigating financial regulation?” Lieutenant asked more sarcastically. He did not want to show that he knew about the military background of Tuovo, but wanted to push a bit to see how much of that resulted on actual threat of violence that the Seven Lemieux Brothers had hinted on.
“The union movement has never been about violence. Of course in the Antecentennial Revolution many lined up with the communists, but in Katla the movement has been driven by representative working democracies. I get the scepticism many people have with the union, but what happened with GRIH hardly defines the whole workers movement.”
Timo Lebeau wanted to delay the conversation a bit. Tuovo seemed to be in his comfort zone all the time, but he wanted to borrow a move from his old partner Lamm’s playbook. If they would wait outside long enough, he would be cold and want to push the responses just to get out from the questioning.
Sadly, his partner did not share this patient approach.
“Is that why the union brings people from Katlan Defence Forces to agitate workers in the Heartlands?” The playful tone that sergeant Wymbs-Priosto usually had was completely gone. His eyes looked sharp for the first time, and while Lebeau was annoyed how Filly had completely taken the initiative without warning him, he was impressed how fast he managed to pull together a whole hard-cop performance. Suddenly the massive countryside officer seemed like a towering authority with his moustache and pipe, with a slightly threat of aggression peaking between the lines.
Tuovo did not break the eye contact with the officers. He took a gulp of the beer and gave a much more cunning smile this time.
“I believe I am the only one here in the Pebble, so the SLB’s ex-military recruits still outnumber me with comfortable four to one. And besides, I have returned my uniform a long time ago.”
“Care to elaborate? We know that you served with the jägers in Katla. You had officers union as well or did you get lost and ended up here?” Wymbs-Priosto kept his accusatory tone, but Tuovo did not seem to mind.
“Of course. Although I assume that you don’t much about the curriculum I went through do you?” The question was rhetorical. The union coordinator lifted his hand and pointed above the lake, where the sun greeted them.
“That same sun follows us from the Cathedral of Advesperascit to Yekokataa. Sure, I entered the officer school in Yelinka when I was a young man in Katla, but my talent was elsewhere. I could study languages, and they took me to Vesper where the EPIS-countries had diplomatic missions. Even though Vaasa was not part of the Coalition formally, we had a military attaché who I ended up assisting. It would have been a great career path to diplomatic career path that my family would have hoped for.”
The lieutenant was happy that he had not tried to show his worldliness. Suddenly it all started to come together. Sasu Tuovo was not only an officer, but a man who had seen more power than most people could even imagine. He had gone through important meetings were the ones that would never need to face the consequences of their decisions that would changes lives of millions. And yet, somehow he was in this forsaken frosty excuse of a village.
“I take it that something happened between then and now.” Lebeau gave his educated guess. Tuovo gave now a more honest smile.
“Of course. I was young, got to travel and learned a lot of languages. It would have been a great asset for the diplomatic service, but with a language you learn to understand people – not only what they say, but also how they think. Suddenly, personal success seemed hardly important, if you could not make a dent to make things better for those who had less.”
“So jumped to socialist cause like the an university freshman?” Filly commented more than asked. Very weirdly he still did not sound sarcastic, even when he probably intended to. Tuovo shrugged and kept on staring towards the sun.
“Look, you know what they found at Martinaise right? The hole. The rip in the fabric of material world and time itself. In the same time we know that Ubi Sunt? and several other places are being swallowed by the Pale. Ironically, I read physics, studies of the Pale, and yet the inevitable destruction of world as we know it didn’t speak to me. These are incomprehensibly great issues that are scary on existential level, not on individual level. The end of the world is a secondary problem, if you can’t get your cup of coffee in the morning, does it officers?”
“I do like my coffee.” Filly admitted.
“So do I. And that’s exactly it. While the world around us is collapsing and ending, this does not mean that people would stop worrying about how to feed themselves and their kids, or just to be sure that they will be able to do it also a month from now. With some luck, they might even gather enough wealth to make sure their kids don’t have to live with the insufferable fear of losing all material security.”
“It looks like you managed to sneak some Mazov and stuff about infra-materialism in between the physics books.” Filly really tried his edge of sounding sarcastic this time. He still could not shake the union coordinator.
“Of course, but you know it as well as I do Filly. Have you told me about how Paywit was before the pulp mill?”
“Well, I wasn’t around back then, and it’s not like you would write great stories about a couple of houses by a big puddle anyway. Not that I am hanging by the library reading autobiographies of Heartlands villagers.” Filly made a good point. These villages were barely interesting for the people living there.
“Sure, but the struggle has always been the same, same history before the revolution, same history after it. You have seen the farms by the delta right? Most of them were little more than slaves – here there were no big land owners, but all those farmers paid rent for the land to the monarch. One king after another, mad one or good one, not a single soul here could have owned anything.”
Tuovo had finally finished his beer and left the empty bottle standing on the snow.
“That by the way includes the Loughlen’s. Mateis and Kubos father bought the farm from the state by hard labour. The revolution did not change much here; otherwise, the farmers went from being slaves to the landowner to being slaves to the low market prices. Hell, after the brief period around and after the revolution, large companies flooded in and bought most of the land for peanuts, ripping a possibility for the citizens to ever own it again. It does not have to be like this. That is the model in Katla, especially in Vaasa – fair representation and collective bargaining have made it possible for the peasants, workers, owners and society as a whole to cherish. It take bit of convincing to everyone, but I don’t expect that they told in SLB about my visit there?”
Both of the detectives stayed silent. The Seven Lemieux Brothers had not mentioned that the union representative had actually visited their premises. It was now also obvious, that Sasu knew that they had seen the SLB. While it was hardly a surprise, Tuovo seemed also very aware that it was the SLB who had provided information on his past with the military. It did not even sound that it was kept a secret.
“I get that they are jumpy after the takeover that went down in GRIH. But what we are doing here is hardly about the tactics of the Dockworker’s Union. I have met with Edgar Claire twice – back in ‘49 and just before coming here. The way they have worked in Revachol, and what people claim to be the Le Retour, that is hardly what all unionists want. This is why the local union did not want some warmonger around, but someone capable of negotiations and organising recognised representation of workers. For the Katlan way of doing things, the Retour hardly would mean an armed revolution, as much as I have once been bearing arms.”
Le Retour, the return, was part of Revacholian folklore. Since last summer anyone from the pub regulars to small magazines and anyone who was even vaguely political threw the term around like it was a magic bullet on explaining all that happened in the city. But it was not clear what was happening in the city.
From his brief history in RCM, Timo Lebeau had always seen Revachol as a city in a middle of change and lack of any formal governance. The city had always had limited freedom, but never a total one. Sure, the Coalition ships sailed still within a good firing distance from Revachol, but the Revacholians were not in chains and lived under one of the loosest legal frameworks in the whole Mundi, strangling them. Of course things were moving, but was it really the return? And if it was a return, to what? Not to the Commune of Revachol for sure, most people barely remembered what went down forty years earlier and no one wanted to return to that.
Whatever it was, Lieutenant Lebeau decided to show his cards a bit and try to get more out of the union coordinator.
“The city is going through something, but this is not Revachol. The Seven Lemieux Brothers wants to solve the death of Mr Loughlen nonetheless, and they seemed very certain that they themselves - not the security hires, not the company itself - had no involvement in it. Is that only to soothe the union?”
He tried to be as vague as possible to not show when and how much they had discussed with the SLB, while showing that he was suspicious of the company’s motives as well. He wanted to seem like a potential ally, partly to play the good cop, partly to just push sergeant Wymbs-Priostos buttons to show that he was still the lead of the investigation.
“Outside the personal vendetta of the Chief of Operations Larch, it is not like Matei had much impact on union organisation. He got the numbers interested first, but he had absolutely no idea what to do in his role. At least for the past months I have been here, Matei was mainly a menace due to his drinking - not because of agitation. Even with the tension in Revachol taken into account, Matei Loughlen was not much of a threat to them. After all, it is never the loud ones you have to worry about.”
Tuovo definitely meant something when he talked about the loud ones. Lebeau and Filly gave a look to each other.
“His brother Kubo seemed convinced that SLB might have had a hand in Matei’s death.” Lebeau concluded.
“His brother Kubo has been drunk ever since Matei’s body was found, likely also the night before. Of course he might want to elaborate that, but I cannot guarantee when he sobers up. The man is not in a good place.”
They had stood outside the sauna for a good while. The union coordinator seemed to have cooled down enough. Despite being from Katla, the half-naked ex-officer seemed to limit on enduring cold.
“Apologies officers, but if you have any further questions, they will have to wait. The sauna won’t be warm for the whole evening.” Sasu Tuovo concluded. There was no coming back to a murder investigation from fragmentation of the whole physical reality as they knew.
“Sure.” Filly allowed him with a hint of defeatism in his voice.
“Could you ask Liebhmaier to join us when he is ready?”
“Should be in a bit.”
Tuovo stood up, thanked the detectives, and disappeared to the basem*nt. When he opened the door to the sauna section, they could hear a happy banter of grown men, and hisses of the sauna stove when water was thrown to it.
The interview with Liebhmaier turned out very unfruitful. The blond man joined them outside, but despite his jolly mood and openness about his finances, he offered very little information on the death of Matei Loughlen.
The money he owed to Matei was far from significant. He usually paid it off from the next salary, but had to loan some more in the middle of the month when he finally got days off. He would drink them in Grande An and return to Paywit as a drunken shadow of a man with some new crab louse in his pubic hair. He did not seem like a particularly violent man, more of a regular happy-go-lucky drunkard and whor*goer with little financial self-control. And besides, he had been in Grande An on the night of Matei’s death.
This was hardly their prime suspect. Then again, they hardly had a prime suspect.
The RCM officers returned to their carriage. Filly turned the engine on just to get it to warm up, while having an educative rant about the need of block heaters and why people in Revachol must have had it so good. Lieutenant Lebeau did not know much about engine’s and need for pre-heating in cold conditions (that were rarely present in Revachol anyway), so he ended up just nodding furiously to whatever Filly was saying.
Paywit had a delicate balance that was based on a complete imbalance due to the financial dominance of the Seven Lemieux Brothers. They had spent a better part of the day running after the political forces of the village, but it seemed to get them nowhere closer to solving Matei Loughlen’s murder. No matter how delicate an issue the unionising of lumberjacks was, or how the restlessness of Revachol seemed to spill over to the rest of the Pebble, it hardly explained why a frozen corpse of a local man ended up on a lay-by with a gunshot wound in his head.
They both agreed on it. There were a good dozen people in the village with a half-co*cked motive to be hostile towards Matei Loughlen. Any of them could have ended up with a drunk argument with the victim just to pull a gun and end a life in the dark hours of Heartlands winter. They had not even disclosed that it was not Matei himself who took the shot, as a shot below the chin would indicate a suicide. Then again, no corpse would first kill itself, then dispose the weapon, and finally drag itself into a lay-by. There was clearly some foul play in the death of Matei.
They missed a timeline. Between midnight when Jacobus had left the party and the early morning when Alissa and her schoolmates found the body, Matei was all unaccounted for. It was amazing as there was barely anyone in the village who would not have known everyone. Yet, there was a complete blind spot in the late night.
The detectives decided to regroup in the co*ckpit. Lebeau opened the map of Paywit and his binder, drawing a straight line on a binder page, and another one between the last known location of Matei and the place where they had found the body.
“So, we are missing six hours between midnight and the morning he was found. Matei Loughlen’s home is here. The tavern is here. The lay-by is somewhat in-between them, so it wouldn’t be a far-fetched idea that he was still heading home before his death.”
“That’s some two kilometres from the tavern to the lay-by, then three more to his home.” Filly concluded by measuring the map with his thumb.
“That is not that far.”
“So he could have walked to the point where he died? Well, more like he stumbled there, at least by judging the witness reports I got.” Filly suggested.
“He didn’t have any shoes, no jacket, no personal belongings on him. It could have been a robbery-murder?
“What a highwayman, waiting for drunk men to steal their shoes and jackets in the middle of the night. If someone freezes their ass off hiding behind a pile of snow in the ditch just to get a jacket in a village where anyone could recognise it, that sounds a bit far-fetched.” Filly concluded, and he so nearly sounded like mocking Lieutenant’s remarks on far-fetched ideas. He was absolutely right. There were very little chances of random violence in these communities where perpetrators and victims were usually closely connected. Lieutenant Lebeau felt a bit silly of even suggesting the theory.
“Also, didn’t Matei have his blood and brains on his sweater?” Filly asked out loud.
“In that case he was not wearing the jacket when he was shot.”
“Also the spill would have been much less if he’d been shot in the cold. It gets absolutely freezing in the night, so you won’t get that big splashes on anything. Twenty years ago we had a week-long blizzard so cold, that even your piss would freeze into an arch!”
“Alright, focus a bit sergeant.”
“Bet you don’t get nights that cold in Revachol.” The sergeant winked back to him. Lebeau shrugged. At least they did not have the wet wind pushing from the Insulindic Ocean, penetrating your jacket, skin, flesh and bones. Here the cold was harsh, but dry. One would not get sick, but they would get hypothermic, fall asleep and then to eternal darkness. Lieutenant Lebeau could feel it in his bones, that unfortunate hikers, drunkards and those lost in the forest had perished under the inhuman temperatures the Heartlands winter brought. No, they did not have nights that cold in Revachol.
“Not in the same way, no. But that makes me think - Matei must have been inside, when he was shot. Otherwise it would make very little sense for him to be that underdressed.”
“So someone brought the body to the lay-by. It’s not a great hiding spot.”
“No. I don’t think whoever brought the body there was trying to hide it.”
If Heartlands had something, it was space. If you wanted to hide anything here, there were endless forests, swamps and lakes where to dump a body. Even covering it with snow would mean that it would not have been recovered before next spring. Matei Loughlen’s body was not hidden.
“So in that case our hypothesis is that he was shot indoors and brought to the lay-by on purpose, just so he would be found?”
“Yes. And we have a window when it happened. Now we just have to get further into the night of Matei’s death.”
Lieutenant did not know how it had happened, but Filly smelled like aftershave again. The sergeants nose was enthusiastically red, and he smiled so wide that his nose pushed moustache into his mouth.
“Well well - look at us huh! Just two cops, copping around, doing some police work and solving some good ol’ crimes!”
“This crime is not exactly solved yet.” Lebeau calmed him down.
“Sure, but I guess now we only have to find out who were the people that went for the afterparty with Matei, and that’s that! They gotta know it!”
“We’ll, in that case we have one last lead, and we know where we are supposed to find them.”
“The Clubhouse!” Filly did not try to hold his excitement.
“Yes, the clubhouse indeed.”
Filly pushed the pedal and the carriage started moving. There was little sunlight left and weekend was just behind the corner. Most villagers were passing by the cooperative store, while the blacksmith and repair shop crew were in their yard loading a truck to head to Grande An. The tavern had early customers, and the sheet metal chimneys of the barracks were pushing smoke to the bright sky.
It was beautiful here, especially if one looked towards the lake. Lac de Princesse Irene had some lone ice-fishers sitting on it, but otherwise the scenery was uninhabited. While the end of the shoreline had the remains of the old pulp mill and the plywood fences of the sawmill, next to the little log cabins rose the most beautiful building of the village. The clubhouse, Manou du Sud, was a stylish two story stone building with white walls and bright blue window frames. Its main body had large windows, a large covered veranda on the lake-side, and a lower wing that held the kitchen. This building usually provided dinners for the tourists and limited upper and middle class of the village.
The staff was just lighting up decorative lanterns on the yard, when Filly parked his vehicle in it. The establishment was fanciest outside Grande An and would lure the well off persons from the nearby villages as well. Filly explained that local taxi service basically survived on the assumption that he would stop some of the local tradesmen and larger farm owners from driving back drunk from the clubhouse. Even if Manou du Sud was a rather nice place, it would not make people behave any better than in the tavern of the village. Money or not, people were still people.
When the duo stepped out, Lebeau was quite sure that he missed Filly taking a sip from his flask. He had to have a flask in his person all the times, which was ironic, as the sergeant did not even have his firearm with him at all the times. He left it in the carriage regularly – if he needed it, he would get it, the man said. Somehow Lieutenant Lebeau was more content hearing that. He had somewhat had accept the fact that Wymbs-Priosto was drinking and driving. Drinking and shooting was far worse.
“Mister Sergeant! How can we be of your service today!” A slim and suave young woman greeted Filly from the door with a formal salute. She was dressed in a wool jacket, white shirt and a formal thick black skirt. Filly laughed the greeting away.
“Evening Amadea, we’re here for some official RCM business.” He waved his hand around a bit. Timo Lebeau understood that sergeant visited here often and usually not on official RCM business.
“Oh of course sergeant. Can we help you with anything?”
Amadea sounded genuinely willing to help. Her customer service would have been above par even in Revachol.
“You are having musician playing today right? A guy with a harmonica?”
“We have musicians playing today. An orchestra.” Amadea declared festively.
“Monsieur Hauvarlet and Olivier Aumair. You might have seen the posters at the centre.”
The two detectives looked at each other. They had no idea there was a village centre. And they definitely had seen posters of Monsieur Hauvarlet and Olivier Aumair. Amadea read their reaction immediately and seemed a bit stressed.
“Oh no, we put the posters there just on Monday – maybe the snowfall and the wind hid them again.”
“Oh no no, we saw them – it is just that, I couldn’t believe you got Mr Hauvarlet!” Filly recovered quickly, for no apparent reason. It made Amadea smile though.
“That’s a relief. It is only the second time we managed to get them at La Manou!”
“Yes, very good. Could we meet the orchestra by any chance?” Lieutenant Lebeau interrupted. He used his most formal tone to show to his colleague, that they were not here for pleasantries.
“Oh yes of course! But you might need to wait a bit. Monsieur Hauvarlet and Olivier Aumair should be here any moment now, but their gig starts only in two hours.”
“So they are not here yet?”
“Not yet Sir. But feel free to wait for them at the bar.”
Filly seemed to be very willing to accept their fate.
“You heard the Lady, Lieutenant. We might have to wait a bit.”
Lieutenant Lebeau knew exactly what his colleague meant. He tried to hide his reluctance.
“Sure, we can wait in the bar.”
In all fairness, the bar of the Manou du Sud was beyond all the standards of Revachol. It was extremely clean, the high ceiling and wooden structures of the building were stylish and timeless, and the small chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling were both classy and bright. The two officers landed on the high chairs against the bar and next to the entrance. The clubhouse had a larger restaurant area behind them, but it was mostly empty at this hour. Filly sat on the bar stool as it was his own couch.
“So, lieutenant, what is your poison?”
Timo Lebeau did not want to say that he did not drink during official RCM business.
“Tonic.”
Filly leaned towards him, and gave him a wink from way too intimate distance.
“Very good Lieutenant. I know exactly what would work for you – the Kyöliö special!”
He shouted the name of the drink loud enough to wave his hand towards the waiter. Waiter seemed to immediately know what he meant.
“Great choice Lebeau, great choice! If I wouldn’t know better, I’d say you’re a man from the Highlands!”
“Better than a man from Hjelmdall.” The Lieutenant made an awkward joke to hide his discomfort. Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto exploded in laughter. He had to hold the bar so as not to fall down. It was so much that the Lieutenant had no idea if he was serious or mocking him.
“Ahhh, a-ha-ha, ahhh – that’s amazing lieutenant! You must be the funniest senior gun in the whole RCM!
The waiter knew exactly what the Köyliö special was. He poured vermouth on the bottom of a highball glass, and filled the rest with tonic water, the breaking a small leaf of pine on top of the drink. Lieutenant measured the glass in front of his eyes, and did not even notice that his company had ordered a pint with a whiskey as a shotgun. Timo Lebeau was not as comfortable with the drink in general, and even less while working. He had never been big on mingling with the fellow officers who often enjoyed beers together. But with the Sergeant’s liberal attitude to day-drinking and the refusal of the bartender to take any payment, he felt obliged to at least try the drink.
The sour liquid went straight to his gums. It was not delicious, and it was not meant to be either. It was a great drink.
They had to wait nearly for a good hour for the musicians to turn around. During that, Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto managed to piss off already one waiter, tell stories of two of his marriages, and share his insight of the problems of modern radio dramas. The senior detective was able to down three drinks while Lebeau struggled with his first one. And as any drinker, he would love to talk about the drink itself.
“You know the story behind Kyöliö special?”
“Can’t say I do. What is Kyöliö?”
“Not what, but where!” Filly started to explain
“Kyöliö is a lake in Vaasa. Not a big one, but it is home for a massive pulp mill - massive even in Vaasan scale. The local engineers who came from there brought the co*cktail with them, they said that the sour taste was similar to the smell of Lake Kyöliö water that was contaminated for decades by the mill. It’s a bit misfitting though, the SLB pulp mill in Paywit didn’t use the chemical kraft process, but it produced mechanical pulp. Anyway, the Vaasan engineers were regulars in the clubhouse and brought the drink with them.”
Timo Lebeau took a sip. He could not taste murky waters in Vaasa or smell the chemical pulp waste that was so famous. He had not tasted or smelled either, so for him the vermouth and tonic tasted just like vermouth and tonic.
“So the clubhouse was built for the pulp mill?”
“The whole clubhouse, as pretty much all the nicer things in Paywit, resulted from the pulp mill. The odds are that if you see a stone building in Paywit, it is related to the pulp mill. There used to be dances here three nights every week when the factory was still alive. That’s why we get so many older people here these days, they still remember what the clubhouse used to be.”
The bar and dining area had started to fill up as it became dark outside. The staff had lit more torches by the door and rather finely dressed folk were chatting up on their tables. Some were older couples or pairs of couples, but there were also groups of men that either focused on drinking or unglamorous local dishes. The local taxi chauffeurs waited by the door, smoking. This was a great night for them - they would get some five to ten customers, some who needed two rides, and all of whom were drunk, jolly, and pockets full of tip money. They could make two weeks worth of salaries on this sort of event.
While tobacco smoke was filling the room, they saw the two artists arrive. Monsieur Hauvarlet and Olivier Aumair marched to the scene like they owned the place. Hauvarlet had pushed the two grand doors open like stepping into a saloon, and the tall clean shaved man with straight blond hair threw kisses around the room. He carried a large backpack and a guitar case so casually, that they seemed to bounce on every single door frame. In his long leather jacket and comically large sunglasses with orange frames Hauvarlet barely seemed like a real person at all.
Behind him Olivier Aumair held his large accordion in his armpit like an assault rifle. He was a short, long armed man with a puffy jacket, paddy cap, thin moustache and thick eyebrows that hid his eyesight. Aumair seemed to be happy to let Hauvarlet take the lead, and the shorter man barely nodded to the bartender asking them to pour pints for the artists. They were followed by a broad-shouldered and sharp jawed woman wearing a fur coat.
It was not fully clear how often they visited Paywit, but many of the clubhouse clients welcomed them with handshakes, hoorays and occasional catcalls. Hauvarlet winked to men and women alike, overstepping etiquette often by emptying an occasional appetiser from the visitors' tables.
“That’s Monsieur Hauvarlet and Olivier Aumair!” Lebeau notified his partner enthusiastically.
“So which one is the harmonica guy?” Wymbs-Priosto asked with a bit lower voice.
“No idea. I think we have to ask.”
“My money is on the slim guy.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. He just looks more like a harmonica guy?”
“What about the other guy?”
“He looks more like an accordion guy.” Filly stated confidently. Lebeau nodded analytically.
The two detectives marched towards the small stage by the corner of the dining hall. It was elevated about knee high, and the two musicians had started to unload their acoustic instruments. The heavier built man was tuning a guitar by the wall, but the taller man went through some notes in front of the stage, seemingly ignorant about the anticipating stares that the audience gave him. Monsieur Hauvarlet had an effortless aura around him, and it was hard to penetrate it even though the two officers were tipsy and dressed in their uniforms.
Lieutenant Lebeau pushed his chest out when stepping to address the tall man on the stage.
“Are you Mr Hauvarlet?”
“Who wants to know?” He did not raise his eyes from the notes.
“RCM.” Lebeau answered drily, aiming to sound commanding. Hauvarlet raised his look from the paper. He seemed genuinely surprised, but sounded mostly annoyed.
“What the f*ck RCM is doing here?”
“We are looking for the fella playing the harmonica. Is that either of you?” Filly asked politely.
“Well let’s see - Olivier, do you play harmonica?”
The other man shook his head.
“Now, let me ask meself.” He picked a small pocket mirror and stared at it intensively like an absolute idiot, addressing his little reflection.
“You there, handsome sir! - Oh yes, what do you need to know!? - Do you play harmonica?! - Oh my yes I do!” He closed the mirror and stared at the RCM officers.
“Well it seems like I am the harmonica player indeed. Although you illiterate f*cks could have just checked, I dunno, the f*cking giant poster at the entrance, on which you would find my face with - and I cannot emphasize this enough - a f*cking harmonica in it.”
“So I take it that you are Mr Hauvarlet?”
“I am indeed. And from your divine deduction skills and scrappiest f*cking uniforms I assume you two are RCM detectives, and not just any officers.”
The disrespect went a step too far. Lieutenant Lebeau shifted his tone from dry to past-serious. He normally would not act so aggressive, but the musician really needed to be put in his place. Also, Hauvarlet was not a local and did not probably know how little power the officers actually had here. This was one of the rare occasions when Lebeau could give a decisive push.
“Mr Hauvarlet, we are here in an official RCM business. A man who was in your company was found dead four days ago. You were among the last persons to see him alive according to witness reports. We want to hear you on the development of the evening and we can do it either here, or by the precinct.” He was absolutely not sure if they could actually even arrest the man, but knowing that his main gig could be disturbed by two law officers, Hauvarlet bit his lip and shifted from taunting to whispering.
“f*cking sh*t not so loudly. I have a reputation to keep as someone who parties and people stay alive and happy while partying with me.”
“Pff alright alright. Give me a f*cking second.” Hauvarlet put his notes down, picked up a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. He sat down by the stages and lowered his voice. Suddenly the charismatic artist looked even a bit alarmed.
“So what you wanna know about, who’s dead?”
Lebeau sat next to the musician. Just a bit too close for him to feel comfortable. It was a classic move from lieutenant Lamm. Normally Lebeau would not have done it, but after the strong drinks he seemed to have found a new level of decisiveness. He asked Filly for the framed photo of Matei they received from Wilke.
“The man on the right. You recognise him?”
“Yea yea yea, that’s Marek, we did part yea.” Monsieur Hauvarlet seemed even excited to notice that he was indeed part of the investigation.
“Matei. His name is Matei, not Marek.
“Sure, Matei.”
“So this was four nights ago?”
“Yea, yea, in the tavern, that glorious sh*thole here in Paywit.”
“How many were you?”
“Yea he was there with the Jacobus guy, another big dude with an oranje name, his brother the sour-faced wanker, another big dude who passed out pretty much as soon as he sat on the table, then we got Georgette and a lady who probably wants to stay unnamed.”
“Why does the lady want to stay unnamed?”
“Because the lady is very married, and we did some things that were not very appropriate for very married ladies.”
“Fair enough. So I take it you were drinking?”
“Hah, that does not justify what we did. We were getting tanked officer, it was not a f*cking tea party. We partied so hard that the staff got tired of our sh*t - even though Georgette was with us!”
“Who is Georgette?”
Hauvarlet pointed his finger across the room. The lady with sharp features who had arrived with them was having some mulled wine and laughing with two younger men, who seemed to be from Grande An rather than Paywit. She was very openly flirty to the extend, that even Timo Lebeau felt intimidated on the other side of the room.
“Was she with someone of your entourage?” Filly inquired with a little smirk. Lebeau connected the dots.
“Are you saying she is a … lady of the night?”
“Oh that is such a strongly worded name! Carries a lot of baggage. Anyway - I would advice you not to use that name especially in front of Georgette.”
“How come?”
The sergeant gave a mischievous smile.
“She’s a living proof why a Heartlands hooker doesn’t need no extra security. I’ve had to rip her off a troublesome client twice, and I’ve seen her haymaker drop a grown man cold. You don’t want to insult anyone with her temper.”
“Yea that lady goes hard. I think that’s why she was with us. We are the best party in town when Hauvarlet and Aumair hit the town! Anyway, it seemed that your man Marek did get more interested in her after every drink. He started bragging about money, but I am not sure who the lumberjack tried to fool.”
This did not exactly shock either of the detectives. The profile they had did not exactly paint Matei Loughlen as a faithful man. Timo Lebeau did not even bother to correct Monsieur Hauvarlet on Matei’s profession. It was clear that the musician cared very little about his party company, even if they ended up dead after.
“So on that evening, you left the tavern to go somewhere? Was that all of you?” He returned to the turn of the events carefully. Hauvarlet seemed like a prick, but he might have been their most reliable eye witness of that evening.
“Yea we went to an afterparty. It was me, Georgette, and the unnamed lady. One of the lumberjacks had passed out, Marek’s brother just kinda f*cked off at some point, and that other oranje lad was so sauced that he returned home. We went to Georgette’s but realised that there was not much booze left. Marek left to fetch some, but he didn’t return, which was better for me.” Hauvarlet winked.
“What time did you see him?”
“I dunno, maybe one or two past midnight?”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Nothing more than he was going to get us some good stuff, whatever that meant.”
“And he just didn’t come back?”
“Nope. Just disappeared to the night. And he seemed pretty motivated to stay to be honest.”
“How come?”
“Well - later the evening went, I felt more that he wouldn’t mind getting co*cked either. I think he was counting the odds that at least one of us would have jumped on his junk when things got moist enough.”
Lieutenant Lebeau was rather surprised. He completely forgot his intimidation tactics and turned towards Filly to confirm if he heard right. Filly shrugged like he cared very little, forcing Lebeau to continue questioning more awkwardly.
“So, you mean that he would have been happy to sleep with any of you?”
“Yea yea. That’s what you get in these backwoods. Everyone is just so desperate for a shag that they can’t get too picky about sex, if they have the luxury of getting some.”
“So he seemed like he would go - ehm - both ways?” Lebeau struggled.
“Hah! Why wouldn’t he? All these lumberjacks jack each other's lumbers. They camp in the middle of the forest for weeks at times. Didn't the academy teach the young RCM officers that a bit of occupational camaraderie is a vital part of workplace integrity?”
“RCM also has female officers.” The Lieutenant noted accurately.
“Well aren’t you an amusing c*nt.” The harmonica-player concluded so suddenly, that Filly bursted out laughing. Hauvarlet seemed a bit happy that his snarky comment entertained someone. It was clear though that the little authority lieutenant Lebeau had was gone.
“Anyway, these hillbilly wankers have more open minds and hearts than your so-called liberal urban dwellers. Here you don’t have the luxury of hom*ophobie or whatever the academic circle jerks want to call it. You shag what you can. In Charpii its cows, here its anything that moves.”
Suddenly a thought flowed to lieutenant Lebeaus mind, sneaking through the perversions encouraged by intoxication. The scarcity in the figurative dating market in places like Paywit was a more defining reason for situational bisexuality than any values. Suddenly anyone they had met could have been shagging with just anyone. It sounded so complicated and simplistic in parallel.
The revelation, which was mainly a shock for Lebeau, left an uncomfortable silence. Further from the stage, Olivier Aumair interrupted the investigation with an annoyed little shout to Hauvarlet.
“Hé - les instruments sont prêts. Je t'attends.”
“Maybe you let me now begin performing and mind your own f*cking business for a while officers?” The annoyingness caught Hauvarlet’s tone. He really insisted on it.
“Maybe we do that.” Lebeau concluded the discussion.
“Bonne f*cking idée cape monkeys. Now, excuse-moi monsieurs, the stage calls!”
Filly looked over his shoulder.
“But I don’t even wear a cape.”
Hauvarlet turned his back to the two detectives and stood up. The change in the artist was like a lightning bolt. In mere twenty seconds he jumped from the feet of the stage on it, threw his jacket in the corner and grabbed a guitar. Straight in front of the detectives now stood a figure, taller than anyone else, pulsating charisma and raw, unplugged energy. The voice of monsieur Hauvarlet carried through the dining hall and he needed no amplifiers to make sure he was heard. He did not bother with introductions - they had introduced themselves in all the tables on the way in.
“Et maintenant, y a-t-il ici une reine sans roi? C’est la chanson pour Roi Vainqueur!”
Olivier Aumair let out a little un deux et un deux trois and his accordion filled the room with a fast tune shaped in the harbours of Sur-la-Clef. It was fascinating how the audience at the same time was fully captivated by the livid act of the two musicians, yet they were shouting encouragements like in a sports competition. Tipsy ladies had stood up to take dancing steps by the time Hauvarlet's guitar joined the accordion.
The detectives retreated from the front of the stage closer to the bar. The sheer volume of the two artists was somehow deafening for an acoustic performance. These men were barbarians and professionals at the same time, and the audience knew where to meet them. The room had turned from a dining hall to a riot. It was like the Revachol undergrounds filled with young anarchists and addicts. Everything was the same, yet so different. At that very moment Timo Lebeau realised that Revachol was not the Pebble.
While the music filled the room, the officers retreated to have a drink. Filly had ordered it without Lebeau even noticing. The loudness had somehow put the officer from 88th precinct in a minor shell shock, and Wymbs-Priosto shouted to his ear uncomfortably close.
“Should we talk to the last witness!?”
“Sure!”
It took them a little while to find Georgette. The room was filled with more people and smoke. The spirits were elevated and Hauvarlet’s promise to ‘be the party’ certainly seemed a reality. The detectives went by the walls for a while, but finally Lebeau noticed a familiar figure smoking just by the main door. Unlike other smokers, she had not bothered even bringing a jacket outside. Her silhouette was colourful with a tight dress, drawn against the dark snow of the Heartlands. Her hands and shoulders were uncovered and her laughter could be heard from afar.
The lieutenant stopped to measure the likely last eye-witness. Georgette was an attractive woman, but that was not the most striking thing about her. There was a confident look in her eyes, and after knowing the stories about her, Lebeau noticed her knuckles resemble professional boxers. And the more he looked, the more he realised that the woman was both skillful and naturally improvised on old-fashioned scuffles. Her elbows had definitely struck some jawlines. With the wide shoulder, she could probably lift even someone larger than herself on the wall. She was absolutely dangerous.
And most embarrassingly, the lieutenant's staring did not go unnoticed. Georgette’s sharp eyes met him with decisiveness and precision. She was not like the other prostitutes. Not like the poor girls of the Martinaise or fancy escorts of the Grand Couron. She was the boss around here.
She waited for Lieutenant Lebeau and Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto to gather enough courage to come and talk to her. With lethargic indifference she watched the men walk to her. Georgette’s greeting was weirdly elegant and definitely assertive.
“Hello. Is the law enforcement bored of the music already?” She grinned. Filly seemed to notice Lieutenant Lebeau’s uncertainty and took control of the situation.
“Hi Georgette, how are you doing? This is Lieutenant Timo Lebeau from RCM in the capital.”
“How are you doing ma’am.” Lebeau offered his hand formally. Georgette gave it a little handshake. Her grip was very light, but only on purpose.
“It’s a lovely evening. And what brings someone from Revachol here? I assume it’s the dead body, but some dead paywitois is hardly a reason to leave the pleasures of the city.”
“The RCM saw a need for some additional resources. Homicide is a homicide after all.” Lebeau answered. He tried to sound cooler than he was.
“Alright then.” She did not seem to buy the vague explanation.
“Could we ask you some questions ma’am? It seems that you were among the last people to see Matei Loughlen alive.
“Did I? Well, then of course. But I assume you want a bit more privacy?” She nodded to her friend, who cordially decided to leave their company. Lebeau took out his notebook and started to shuffle through some pages.
“Firstly, could you -”
“Now now, I am not a charity and we are not brutes.” Georgette interrupted her.
“You have to wine and dine me properly before any hard talk.”
“Alright, you heard the lady Lieutenant! She needs a drink!” Wymbs-Priosto deciphered the request. Normally assisting RCM should have been enough of a reason, but it might have been that Filly wanted to take advantage of the situation as his glass was empty, or just to have a chance to offer something nice for their witness. Georgette waved her finger with a little disagreement.
“No no - not only me, get drinks for yourselves as well. Don’t tell me that the RCM dines with only one plate on the table?”
Lieutenant Lebeau shook his head. He very well knew that he personally dined often alone. But that was more of a feature of his rather than the RCM at large.
“Alright, you heard the lady again - waiter, could we get a round here!” Wymbs-Priosto shouted enthusiastically. Lebeau did not like the idea, but he wanted to focus on getting all the information out before their informant wanted to cash in a second round of favours.
They nurtured the drinks for a while, before the detectives got into the questioning. Georgette seemed to be very much at ease. Even though she had not come to the authorities despite being present on the night of the suspected murder was suspicious. Yet, she kept on radiating confidence with aggressive decisiveness in her looks. Lieutenant tried to bring his notebook up with more tact than
“You knew Matei Loughlen?”
“Sure, but that’s hardly a revelation lieutenant. Everyone tends to know each other here.” She gave a flirty smile to hide the fact that Lebeau’s question was rather stupid.
“So were you close?”
“No. We knew through friends and he was a regular in the local institutions. A bit of an idiot but the boys seem to respect him.”
“Did you meet him on the night of his death?”
“I sure did.”
“And you were in the tavern?” Lebeau couldn’t match the woman who looked rather elegant with the worst drinking hole in the rural village.
“Of course I was there.” She took a good sip and smiled knowingly, like someone to reveal a winning hand of cards.
“I own the tavern.”
“Oh.” Lebeau was not able to contain his surprise. He was not used to prostitutes owning major establishments. However, it was clear that Georgette of Paywit was hardly a usual prostitute. Even with an intoxicated mind Lebeau understood that she was a powerful figure in the village. The lady seemed to have beaten people up without Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto interfering. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. Lady Georgette was many things, among those, a real power figure. It was wise to stay on her good, polite side.
“So, I understood that you partied until late?”
“We surely did. We only left, as I wanted to give the staff a chance to clean up the place.”
“And you were together with a handful of people, including Matei Loughlen?”
“Of course. Matei would not skip a chance to party, especially before days off - although weekdays barely stopped him from drinking. Monsieur Hauvarlet was with us as well, Jacobus from the sawmill, Matei’s brother Kubo who left earlier though, and of course my friend who would like to stay anonymous to avoid some gossip.”
Lieutenant did not feel like pushing to resolve the anonymous woman's identity. Whoever had killed Matei, or at least moved his body, must have been nearly the size of the victim. Although Georgette probably had more grit than most men to push a corpse around.
“So you continued the party after the tavern?”
“We sure did. Matei was in quite a turbulence. Not like that would stop him. He first wanted to invite us to his own house, and he told us that he had the house empty as the rest of the family was away. But his place was rather far away and it was starting to snow that night, so we decided to stay in Paywit actual.”
“And was there anything particular about Matei’s behaviour that evening?”
Georgette waved her hand in a nonchalant manner.
“He was telling me that he was coming up with a lot of money. First I thought that it was just some classic bullsh*t. Many guys want to make a case that they are willing to pay a lot for someone to touch their willy in a way that their wife doesn’t. But I found it a bit odd, to be honest. I’ve seen Matei drunk a handful of times, and even though he’s always been a hound dog, he was never outspoken about money. And this time he was really specific that he was going to get thousands of réals some day soon, but he refused to tell how or why. Then again, he was quite marinated by then, but he didn’t seem like he was lying. More just unwilling to tell what was going on.”
“But, it did sound like he was trying to impress you?”
“Sure, but that’s what the men in Heartlands have to do. There is little shortage of horny men here when you take care of yourself. But the horny men, they are the ones short of options.”
Lieutenant Lebeau started to understand that the situation Georgette was in, was completely reversed from Revachol. Georgette was likely to name her prices freely and pick the clients as she wanted. There was little to no competition to her, no procurer to act as a middle man taking a slice of the profits, and enough potential clients that they had to be of adequate standard to even qualify for her services. She was not only the boss of the business, but also very wealthy, at least on the local scale. This probably explained why Matei had been so keen on impressing her.
“There were also three other men in your company, lumberjacks and men from the sawmill, if I understood correctly?”
“Yes, but no one else made it to the afterparty except monsieur Hauvarlet. One passed out in the tavern already, Jacobus was so drunk that he seemed to regret that he tried to get in our pants that evening and escaped home completely sh*tfaced, and Matei had an argument earlier with Kubo - his brother - who left without saying.”
“An argument? What kind of an argument?”
“Hard to say. They went outside for a smoke in the tavern. Otherwise they could have just smoked indoors, but Kubo clearly wanted to talk outside. They were there for a good ten minutes and Matei came back alone, visibly upset. He ordered some shots to everyone, but these were not happy drinks. He forced them for the whole group, which was why Jacobus was in such an absolute state.”
“And Jacobus wanted to get into your pants?”
“Sure, but who can blame him. The real issue was that he remembered being married eventually. “ She said the first sentence with good self-confidence. Lebeau did not contest that. Georgette might not have had any of the vulnerable and fragile charm of the femmes fatales and captivating women that were to be saved in the fairy tales. Yet, there was absolutely no denying that she captured the whole room.
“And then you arrived to the afterparty?”
“Yes.”
“And that was at your residence?”
“Residence indeed. It was a good fifteen minute walk. I live in an old pair house for the pulp mill managers, but there’s no one on the other side of the house. After the pulp mill was closed the tore down a lot of the houses, but I bought that one. It’s just behind the birch forest on the riverside. Anyway, there we realised that I did not have much to drink. That’s when Matei wanted to show off again.”
“What did he say?”
“That he had a stash of something better than liquor in the factory. It sounded a bit made up, but he insisted that he had some stuff to really get the party started. Well, we didn’t want to argue against that. So he went to get them.”
Wymbs-Priosto looked very curious and interrupted the conversation, giving out some information from other interviews.
“Hauvarlet mentioned nothing about any good stuff or the factory”
“He was all over a married woman by then, so he was probably having trouble hearing Matei with someone’s tongue in his ear.” Georgette concluded. The mention of the factory got even Sergeant interested.
“Sorry, did he mean the pulp mill?”
“Which other factory would it be? Matei wasn’t in a state to elaborate things by then.”
“So he left to pick up the goods?”
“That’s what he claimed at least. We did not see him after, so I figured that he must have left to go home. It was quite a shock when I heard on the following evening that he had been shot.”
“The investigation is still ongoing.” Wymbs-Priosto insisted again. With the drunk frustration, the Lieutenant realised that labelling the death as a suicide would probably save the village and the Sergeant from a lot of trouble. But one lead at the time, it just seemed a less likely cause.
“Did anything else happen afterwards?”
Georgette gave a friendly, nearly grandmother-ish smile.
“I don’t think that is relevant for law enforcement. We did what consenting adults do, nothing wrong about that.”
In the main hall, the duo finished their main act and audience cheers and claps filled the room. It seemed like a natural conclusion.
“Thank you very much madam.”
“Thank you officers. I hope you will solve what happened.” Her expression changed for a second. Even though Georgette seemed to be able to stomach quite a bit, the death had seriously upset her. She hid a gulp by bringing her drink to her lips.
The two detectives retreated to the main hall. The musicians were going from table to another, enjoying compliments, drinks and tips. The audience coming from closeby villages in Heartlands, seemed to be in an equally good mood. The duo was not only musicians, but also masters of ceremony, hype men and true entertainers. They had not only performed the songs, but jumped from table to another, chatting people up, dancing around and just generally lifting the spirits.
The outcome was boisterous. The hall was buzzing with laughter and requests for an encore. The tall room was filled with tobacco smoke, which ended up mixed with the smell of strong liqueurs. Dinnertime was over and waiters focused on bringing in appetisers.
Monsieur Hauvarlet noticed the officers. He was visibly more intoxicated and had a smug smile on his face. He lived to party and created one wherever he went. Armed with pride of jamboree and two pints in his hands, Hauvarlet stepped in front of the officers. People behind him had jumped on the table to dance, while Aumair stood on a bar stool starting a jolly tune.
“You see, copman, Revachol is not sh*t compared to places like Heartlands! Here, people go f*cking wild. One can be, how do you say, est bête comme ses pieds - act like a f*cking imbécile. They don’t care! They drink until they are stupid! That reminds me, barman! Get some vodka for my accordionist!”
Hauvarlet let out a literal howl. Lieutenant Lebeau gave a questioning look to his colleague. The musician was dragged to dance by two elderly women, who clearly wanted his attention more than the detectives.
“This is a levée en masse! But not for militia - no good sir, today you are called up to arms to drink every drop of alcohol this fine establishment has in it!”
Maybe it was the smoke or just standing up, but suddenly the Lieutenant felt much more gassed than before. He gave a serious look to Wymbs-Priosto, who seemed to be more enthusiastic about the guitarist's offer.
“We are not going to drink all the alcohol.”
“Of course lieutenant.” Filly replied with a defeated tone.
They retreated to the doorway of Manou du Sud and gazed into the cold winter night. When stepping outside the Lieutenant realised how blasted he was. He had to lean in on the doorframe gently to avoid the Heartlands ground getting too wobbly. Filly on the other hand seemed to be unaffected by the hazards of strong alcoholic drinks and the Sergeant started preparing his pipe.
“Well, if we are not going to party, I think we have one place to visit Lieutenant.”
“The factory?” Lieutenant took a deep breath in to avoid any slurring.
“The factory indeed Sir. The great SLB Pulp Mill. You see the pipes there?” He pointed into darkness. The building was so obvious though, as its exhaustion pipes were only man-made structures visible above the tree line. The building was massive, totally out of scale for the countryside village.
“I know where the f*cking factory is. I’m from Revachol, not an imbecile.” Now he failed to hide his slur.
“Sure you are, Sir.” Filly laughed and somehow he seemed as jovial as always.
“So you want to investigate now?”
“Sure.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Why not?”
“It’s dark as f*ck Sergeant.”
“I’ll get a flashlight.”
“But we’ve also had - a few to drink.”
“I’m still pretty peachy Sir.”
“Can’t this wait?”
“It might be a murder investigation. The people expect results.”
“Won’t they wait for them tomorrow morning, the people have to sleep too.”
“Now, now, Lieutenant. Don’t you want to follow the fresh lead we just got as well?”
“I mostly want to sleep or vomit to be frank Filly.”
“Bollocks. The factory is only half a kilometre away, the stroll will wake you up. Let’s get going detective!” He claimed cheerfully. Lieutenant Lebeau moaned and started dragging himself onwards, while Filly marched forward decisively. He had probably had three or four drinks or co*cktails in the evening with an odd pint on the side, plus of course the drinks during lunch and the rest of the day. Yet, sergeant Wymbs-Priosto seemed to be in the optimal condition for any detective work, full of energy and fearlessness. While straggling behind his new partner, Lieutenant Lebeau understood that his partner was an experienced drinker. Filly barely came across drunk. He came across functional. Suddenly it made sense why he was normally rather useless.
Filly was a jolly, sociable alcoholic. He did not misbehave while drunk, but he certainly was an addict that needed drink to be at his best. It was not like he was horrible otherwise, just not in his optimal condition. Among the years Filly had probably been in various stages of intoxication to the extent, that his sober self did not feel like himself anymore.
The duo dwaddled the short journey next to snowy road. The abandoned factory rose in front of them dark and industrial, completely out of place for the countryside village. It was a half-gated industrial unit with a large main building with kilns and boilers rising the highest, accompanied by a tall pipe that could probably be seen from the other end of the lake. It had a couple of smaller buildings, most notably the three story administrative building.
Filly took Lebeau to the courtyard. He scaled the silent walls with the flashlight, finally pointing out one door of the admin building.
“I think Matei might have gone there.”
He pointed at the tracks on snow. There was a narrow path that was partially covered in snow, but it was more than in any of the other buildings. The main structures were surrounded by completely untouched snow. There was little to no signs of recent trespassing around the complex. Unanimously the two men followed the narrow path to the administrative building.
Much to their surprise the door into the building was completely open. They entered the lobby of the SLB pulp mill carefully. It was a dark but weirdly stylish spot, which had had anything of value ripped off. The wallpapers of the lobby had fallen down as the building had largely no heating anymore and moisture got to them.
Filly pointed out, that there was little undusted path towards the stairwell at the left side of the lobby. Lebeau followed his partner, who was currently the faster stair climber. While staring at the cold, forgotten stairs, he noticed stains on them. It could have been blood, yet Timo Lebeau was too consumed to even address it.
They finally arrived to the top floor. This was the accounts and clerk’s office. The metal sign had been taken off, but there were still two wooden mailboxes which indicated if letters were addressed to the payroll or other items.
The path in the dust ended here. There was a padlock and chain on the door, but it could be still opened up just enough to see, that someone had been inside. However, there was no going in without key or breaking the lock or chain. The drunk RCM officers stared the lock for a moment.
“Who has the key?”
“f*cking no one who’d like to visit here at this hour.” Filly smirked and used foul language against his usual manners. Even though the sergeant was in a better condition than his supervisor, he was quite drunk as well.
“I’ll go to find something to break it down.” The sergeant added and turned around. He stomped down the stairs.
Lieutenant Lebeau did not protest. He was too intoxicated, tired and nauseous to care. While Filly was huffing down the stairs, the Lieutenant realised that he was not feeling too well. He struggled to open the stairwell window for a while, trying to get some fresher air. His stomach decided to roll a couple of times in the meanwhile, and Lebeau threw up straight on the window frame. He was not an experienced drinker and the mix of a long day and hard liquor got the better of him.
It took some five-ish minuted for Filly to return. He had a short steel pole with him. Lebeau was half seated next to the window frame and the sergeant had to share a word of encouragement.
“Let’s go lieutenant, I feel like we’re close!”
He completely ignored any finess in the operation. Filly slid the pole inside the nook of the padlock, and the supporting frame. He started to violently jank it to both sides, adding pressure rapidly. The lock didn’t give in, but the bolts holding it came up within a minute. For a brief moment, lieutenant Lebeau remembered his uncl, a carpenter. He had always talked about having proper screws and bolts, but all of them could be pulled up with the right tools. The right tools seemed to be just a pole and a massive police officer in this case. The door cracked open and a weirdly warm breath of air escaped from it.
It was an old office, with a large desk in the middle of it, and a small closed fireplace in the corner. A chair was sideways on the floor next to the desk, and several large photographs of the factory decorated the walls where empty bookshelves did not cover it. There were two large cabinets with sliding doors, one of which was half opened. The room used to be filled with records and archives tracking the factory’s activities, but all of the valuable papers had been transferred when the operations had been shut down.
Not everything was in the original condition. The office had several mattresses on the floor, most of them in a bad condition. Most had thick, smelly blankets on top of them. The office room must have had beds for a dozen people if needed. They must have been brought to the closed room because of the fireplace, as shop floors and other main areas would have been harder to heat. There was even an odd number of buckets in the corner next to a window that might have been used as a makeshift outhouse. Next to them there were some trash, mainly canned food and empty bottles of water and alcohol.
Lebeau was feeling slightly better, after letting the evil flow through himself. It was clear that someone had been in the old office recently and not only to visit there.
“Well this is - an odd location.”
“Not only odd. It’s a crime scene.” Filly pointed his flashlight to the wall behind the desk.
The lit circle showed splashes of blood and flesh which had frozen on the wallpaper behind the desk. They were elaborate and sophisticated splashes, not worn by time and preserved by the cold weather. It was easy to say that those were from the same winter, likely from a couple of days ago. Neither of the detectives needed to say that they were probably looking at the leftovers of Matei Loughlen’s brains.
Filly followed the splash to the floor. Blood trail circled around the mattresses to the door and continued below their feet to the stairwell. Suddenly the frozen stains they saw earlier could be easily identified as blood.
“Well well, unless someone else managed to get shot in Paywit recently, I’d say we found our scene of murder.”
“This is where Matei Loughlen was killed.”
They observed the blood stains on the wall for a short moment. It was a clear splatter from a close shot. The height was slightly above Lebeau’s eye level, fitting Matei Loughlen’s head wounds. He could not have been more than a meter from the wall when someone discharged the firearm. There was no clear hole in the wall, which counted out a rifle bullet. Judging from the mess, it was quite clear that the mess was made by a shotgun.
There was little more details on the splatter, which stared them like a Rorschach test. The detectives started to check the rest of the room.
The mattresses were not recently used, but one could have easily fit a dozen people in the room. Judging from the wooden heating, it was mainly selected as it could be kept above freezing conditions. There were no indication who had stayed there and when. However, the room had more secrets to uncover.
One of the cabinets was open, but there was a key on the door indicating that it was intended to be locked. The flashlight showed why.
The cabinet was filled with rum and rye. The bottles were clean, full and expensively shaped and labelled. Filly leaned in and hesitated a little to grab one.
“Top shelf stuff. I might have to confiscate one as early stage evidence.”
“There must be at least fifty bottles here. That’s odd.
“Not really. This one is from Casherbrume, you don’t see those often.” Filly admired an oddly shaped bottle of rum, which was one of many. Lieutenant recognised the location.
“Of course you don’t. It doesn’t have the Free State trade rights, I think that stuff must be embargoed.”
“Well that explains it then.”
“That explains what?” Lebeau’s tone was more impolite than he intended. He was still feeling quite lousy.
“This stuff is being smuggled.” Filly pulled a mischievous smile.
“I might need to confiscate more of it before RCM - I mean we - confiscate all of it.”
His drunk motivation to capitalise of the findings despite RCM rules was clear. Lebeau turned a blind eye in a quite literal sense. Filly did not seem to mind and started to look for a bag to raid the booze locker before other investigators would arrive at the scene. Lebeau stared at the blankets and mattresses for a moment. Filly had just said it out loud.
“It was people as well.”
“What?”
“It’s not only the rum. They smuggled people through here.”
It suddenly made sense. This was not a permanent place to stop. It was a layover on the way to Revachol. Paywit was probably within a days drive from some of the small, poorly supervised fishing harbours. The coalition airships would not be able to follow those spots, so they were practically unlawful area on the darker end of the Heartlands. It was a route that offered little to no risks for smugglers of any goods. You could enter the zone of control without virtually any change of getting detected.
If Lebeau had to guess, that was the reason someone wanted to stay over in a abandoned pulp mill in Paywit. People, who lived in worse places than even the Pebble. Lebeau knew Revachol. These must have been some very, very desperate folk.
Their expedition got prolonged and the room did not get warmer.
“f*ck.”
It was so cold, that Lebeau was sobering up. He was tired, weak, and absolutely starving after vomiting his daily calories through the window.
“You’re doing alright Lebeau?” Filly checked on him, while trying to fit a sixth bottle of rum into his jacket pockets.
“Thruthfully, sergeant, I could be better.” Lebeau admitted. He was leaning on the table and was just focusing on keeping himself up.
Sergeant Wymbs-Priosto took the momentum. He realised that they probably could not stay in the room, even if they found a way to warm it up. With the blood splatters it was just bad mojo. Besides, they were still relatively close to the rest of the village.
“What if we call it a night lieutenant?”
“But we’re in the middle of an investigation.” Lieutenant half-slurred, half-protested. In hindsight, it really damaged his credibility.
“I think the investigation needs to have a rest too. Murderes rest too you know.” Filly winked. They had had a minor breakthrough, but they were not in any condition to pursue the lead further. They needed energy and light. The night had neither of those.
The duo of detectives stumbled across snowy landscape of the settling village. The party at the Manou du Sud was still going on, but otherwise there was barely any noise in the village. The shouts and music from the restaurant were dimmed to soft echos by the snow. Stars were high and bright.
Lebeau and Wymbs-Priosto had little trouble finding their most convenient place to crash. The rented guesthouse cabin was the only place they actually could access.
Lieutenant forgot to even question why Filly had followed him. While crawling to his bed, he realised soon why. The large figure of Filly landed next to him with the thick winter coat on. The sergeant mumbled something about having some shut eye before driving back to his home, but lieutenant did not believe a fraction of the claim. Then again, he was way too tired to protest.
The drunk duo passed out casually in the same bed, trying to ignore each other like married couple that had grown apart. They had done some proper detective work, but were too tired to appreciate any of it.
