Chapter Eight

THE MURDER

The Mermaid was like the Scrapyard one of Kirkwell’s numerous watering holes. Their similarities, though, ended there. Located near the center of town, the Mermaid catered to Kirkwell’s middle and upper classes. During the war, officers on their way to and from the front frequented it and filled the room with talk of casualty lists, promotions, transfers, shortages, and strategy. Although the uniforms had disappeared and the conversation topics changed, many of the same people still occupied the barstools and tables. Discussions now revolved around employment and business opportunities, politics, and relationships. Young women, including a depressing number of widows, flocked there in search of entertainment, company, and husbands. The performers were good and drink prices were reasonable. For Kirkwell’s aspiring youth, the Mermaid was the ideal place to see and be seen.

Not surprisingly, Roy Czezarchek had never been to the Mermaid. For one thing, he was a teetotaler who was uncomfortable around crowds and strangers. Besides, staying out late was not a luxury he could afford in his line of work. Anna Mullins, on the other hand, frequently patronized the place. When she asked him to accompany her there to meet her friends, he was reluctant to do so. She assured him, however, that he would enjoy himself and she would get him home at a reasonable time. As usual, Roy acquiesced to make her happy. The bar was already crowded when they arrived the next evening, but her friends had secured a table in the corner. After Roy and Anna squeezed into their chairs, Anna introduced everyone. There were six of them, three men and three women. They were so comfortable with each other that Roy could not tell if any of them were couples. They were already well into their drinks, and that, along with the noise and his outsider status, made it difficult for Roy to converse. He instead sat quietly sipping soda while Anna and her friends guzzled beer and exchanged gossip.

Finally, one of the men, the oldest and meanest looking, leaned toward Roy and asked, “Well, Czezarchek, what did you do in the war?”

To Roy, it sounded more like a challenge than a question. “I was in the merchant marine.”

“Oh, yeah? What did you do there?”

“Second mate.”

The man strained to hear. “What?”

“Second mate!” Roy shouted. Then, as if an afterthought, he elaborated, “Navigation stuff, mostly.”

The man scowled and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?” said Roy.

“I mean,” he said, “I don’t believe you. I don’t know what you did or didn’t do in the war, but I can tell from your demeanor that you were more than a fucking second mate on a merchant ship.”

One of the women intervened before a rattled Roy could respond. “Why don’t you have a drink with us, Roy?”

Roy shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked at Anna. “No need; I make enough of a fool of myself when I’m sober.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked in a slurred voice. She turned to Anna. “What is wrong with your boyfriend?”

Anna was by then also deep into her cups. “He has no sense of fun,” she giggled. “It’s my job to remove that stick up his ass.”

At that point all seven of them began plying Roy with liquor. Roy found the whole scene rather childish and refused. Finally, a frustrated Anna exclaimed, “Well, what do you expect from an Ethosian virgin?”

Roy was a bit puzzled by the accusation’s logic, but concluded that this was hardly the time or place to deconstruct it. By then he had had enough. Looking at his watch, he stated that he had to get up early next morning, thanked them all for the evening, and got out of his chair.

Anna became angry. “Oh, don’t be such a baby. Stay here.” She leaned forward to expose a good portion of her breasts. “Don’t you like what you see? Or are you too afraid to take advantage of it?”

An exasperated Roy said, “I better go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Anna yelled after him, “What is wrong with you? Come back! If you can’t take care of me, I’m sure I can find someone here who will!”

Roy kept walking amid the jeering of the bar’s patrons. As he exited the bar, he ran right into a newly-arrived Rael. The two men exchanged odd, startled looks before going their separate ways.

Roy did not go straight to bed when he got home. Instead, he sat at his kitchen table and thought about his life. He believed that God had placed him on the planet for some reason, but, looking at his past and present, he had a hard time figuring out what it was. Moreover, it occurred to him that he might never know – at least not in this world. Although he was sure that leaving the bar was the right thing, that did not seem to carry much weight in the here and now. He yawned and closed his eyes. Two hours later, a dog’s bark jolted him awake. Looking out his window down the street, he noticed that Anna’s bedroom light was on. He walked out on the porch and contemplated going over to make amends. Suddenly, he saw her standing at the window, topless, her breasts almost glowing in the moonlight. She gave him a long look, smiled, and slowly pulled the curtains closed. As she did so, Roy saw a man’s silhouette settle in behind her and place his hands on her hips as she leaned forward. Roy sighed, turned, and went inside to bed. Despite a wave of jealousy that swept over him, he took comfort in the certitude that her actions provided about the future of their relationship. He preferred painful and clear to bland ambiguity. When he arose several hours later and left for work, he noticed that Anna’s house was dark and still.

Kargas occasionally passed his time in Chief Lattamore’s office in Kirkwell’s somewhat dilapidated police station. From there he could easily monitor, sift, and analyze whatever intelligence the city’s policemen accumulated in the course of their duties. He kept his visits infrequent so they did not attract attention. As far as he could tell, his plan to safeguard the royal twins was going as well as could be expected. Iona was gainfully employed, unattached to anyone, and more content than he had ever seen her. As for Rael, Kargas worried that he would reveal his royal identity in the course of his constant partying and womanizing. However, he had not yet done so, and in fact appeared to enjoy living incognito as a rogue about town. Thanks to Fitzgerald Hollander’s cooperation at the Kirkwell Regional Bank, Kargas had sufficient monies to fund the mission for the foreseeable future. Kargas had also recently finished contingency plans for escaping Kirkwell if it became necessary to do so. Although the Rowowans had finally established a presence on the island, their one-eyed overlord seemed innocuous. Kargas was also encouraged by the unrest and paralysis in the Rowowan empire. The only fly in the ointment were continuing reports of a Rowowan spy on the island. Lattamore’s investigations, though, had turned up nothing, leading Kargas to conclude that if such a spy existed, he was currently dormant. For now, the royal twins were safe.

Lattamore arrived while Kargas was reading reports and mentally balancing his ledger. After exchanging pleasantries, Lattamore begged off going to lunch because he had just received word of a murder on the northeast side of town.

Kargas shuffled his papers. “Murder in Kirkwell? That’s rare. Anyone we know?”

“Don’t think so,” responded Lattamore. “Gal in her twenties was apparently killed in her bedroom. A friend found the body and reported it.”

Kargas looked up. “Details?”

“Well, it looks like she was strangled to death after a sexual assault.”

Kargas eyes got big. “Are you going over there now?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if I come along?”

Lattamore shrugged. “No, I guess not. Why?”

“Because we know a young woman. If someone is killing them, we need to find him as soon as possible.”

The two men drove in Lattamore’s police car over to Anna’s house. Upon entering, they saw Anna’s friend sitting on a sofa, crying. The chief detective, Rodney Llewellen, beckoned them upstairs into Anna’s bedroom. There Anna lay on her back on her bed, naked, with her arms and legs stretched out above and below her torso. Her arms were tied together with twine.

Llewellen waited a couple seconds for them to take in the scene. “Her name is Anna Mullins. She lives here alone. Works at the cannery. Her friend downstairs came over to check on her when she didn’t show up for work and found her. She didn’t touch the body.”

Llewellen lowered his voice. “There’s semen in her vagina and bruises on her throat, but no other visible marks. Notice the curious posing of her body.”

Kargas whistled. “Any suspects?”

“Yes,” Llewellen responded. “Her friend said that she had an altercation with her boyfriend last night at the Mermaid. Boyfriend walked out on her. But he apparently lives caddy corner up the road.” He pointed out the window. “Right over there.”

Lattamore looked out the window. “What’s his alibi?”

“Don’t know. He’s not home, but we’re looking for him.”

Lattamore grunted. “Keep me informed.”

After Lattamore and Kargas exited the house, they saw a man walk down the street and enter his house. Oddly enough, he did not seem to notice the commotion fifty yards away.

Lattamore turned to Kargas. “That must be him. Let’s go.”

Indeed, Roy had not seen the hubbub down the street because he was so engrossed in his own misery. He felt foolish for falling for such an unsuitable woman. He was no longer a kid, so he should have known better. He was so depressed that he closed his bookstore early and returned home. He had just put a kettle on the stove when he heard a knock on his door. He groaned inside because he figured it could only be Anna, and he was not ready for that conversation.

It was not Anna, but rather Lattamore and Kargas. Before Lattamore could introduce them, Roy gasped, “Adviser Kargas.”

It took a moment for Kargas to recognize him, but then he stated, “Royo di Czezarchek. I thought you were dead.”

Lattamore looked back and forth at each one, cleared his throat, and said, “Mr. di Czezarchek, is it? Do you mind if we come in.”

Roy did not respond for a long second, but he finally opened the door and led them to the kitchen table.

After they all sat down, Lattamore asked, “Do you two know each other?”

Roy looked at Kargas, who responded, “Yes, Mr. di Czezarchek was a student at the royal academy when I served as assistant adviser to the royal family.”

Lattamore sensed the tension between the two men, but ignored it and turned to the matter at hand. “Mr. di Czezarchek, do you know Anna Mullins?”

“Of course,” said Roy, still staring at Kargas. “We’ve been seeing each other. What’s this all about?”

Lattamore had informed people before about the death of loved ones. He knew from experience that the direct approach was best. “I’m sorry to tell you that she died.”

“I’m sorry, what?” asked Roy, turning to Lattamore.

“Yes,” said Lattamore. “She was raped and strangled in her bedroom.”

Roy was quiet for almost a minute, absorbing the shock of the news while Kargas and Lattamore watched his reaction. Suddenly he looked at Kargas and exclaimed, “You son of a bitch! That’s why you’re here. They’re here, aren’t they? He did it again! I warned you ten years ago, and you didn’t listen to me! Now he’s done it again! You son of a bitch!”

Lattamore interrupted. “Calm down, Mr. di Czezarchek.”

Roy renewed his rant. “I warned you and you didn’t believe me! Now he did it again!”

Lattamore cut him short. “Look, I don’t know what happened in the past or what you’re talking about. For now, though, all I want to know is where you were last night.”

Roy continued to glare at Kargas, but he answered Lattamore, “We got into an argument at a bar last night. I left early, walked home, and fell asleep here. When I woke up it was the middle of the night. I looked out the window and saw her standing at her window. There was a man with her, but I didn’t see his face. But now that Adviser Kargas is here, I can guess whose it was.”

Kargas abruptly stood up, “That’s all we need for now, Mr. di Czezarchek. Thank you for your time.”

As they walked to the door, Lattamore said to Roy, “Mr. di Czezarchek, please keep the details of this investigation to yourself.”

As soon as they got into his car, Lattamore asked, “What was that all about?”

Kargas bit his lip, unsure of the amount of detail to provide. “Royo di Czezarchek is the son of an important Ethosian bigwig. He got a scholarship to attend the royal academy when he was thirteen or fourteen. Smart kid, but high-strung, mopey, and immature. A few months before the war began, a servant girl named Brenda Furthermore was murdered on palace grounds. Mr. di Czezarchek claimed that Rael did it because he saw Rael in the vicinity when the murder occurred. We investigated his charge and found no evidence to support it. In fact, we uncovered evidence that Mr. di Czezarchek might have done it, but not enough to prosecute him.”

“Then what happened?” asked Lattamore.

“Nothing,” responded Kargas. “We never solved the case. The war began and everyone forgot about the murder, except obviously for Mr. di Czezarchek. He enlisted in the army. I thought he was killed at the Siege of Lollister. I wonder how he ended up here?”

“How did the servant girl die?”

Kargas sighed. “Raped, strangled, and posed, just like our current victim.”

Lattamore groaned. “Great.”

Kargas nodded. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Follow what leads you have and see where they go until I tell you otherwise. We’ll work from there.”

Lattamore turned to Kargas. “How do you know di Czezarchek won’t spill the beans about the royal twins? He obviously hates you and Rael.”

“I’m betting he won’t,” replied Kargas. “He carried a torch for the princess for the longest time. I can’t imagine he would do anything to hurt her.”

“It’s been ten years, though,” said Lattamore. “People change.”

“It was a big torch. Keep an eye on him though.”

“Okay,” replied Lattamore. “But we’re stretched thin. It will be tough for my cops to do their regular jobs, investigate this murder, hunt down the rumored Rowowan spy, watch Mr. di Czezarchek, and ride herd over the overlord.”

“Well, do the best you can,” said Kargas. “You’re used to doing much with little anyway. In the meanwhile, I’ll try to think of a solution to this particular problem.”

“Okay,” said Lattamore.

Kargas suddenly asked, “Speaking of which, where is our one-eyed overlord today?”

Lattamore laughed. “Oh, you’ll never guess.”

Horace stood on the beach in front of a crowd of approximately twenty dockworkers and held a rifle up over his head. “This is a model three Longshot rifle, the standard issue rifle of the Rowowan army,” he bellowed. “It is a five round, magazine fed, bolt action repeating rifle. It weighs nine pounds, is forty-four inches long, and has an effective range of one thousand yards. It is the best rifle in the world, and is far superior to your pathetic Allerian Prince Bart.”

Although the crowd responded with profanity and catcalls, Horace continued. “Not only do I believe that the Longshot rifle is better than the Prince Bart, but I’m also prepared to prove it here and now. Mr. Ollenright and I have set up this crude range, and I bet that I can place more rounds within the target with my Longshot than any of you assholes using the Prince Bart. Even with only one eye.”

Ollenright walked over to Horace. “That’s a bold statement, overlord. A bold and foolish statement from a man who wants to lose a great deal of money. I’ll tell you what, not only will each of us bet you twenty of your imperial crowns apiece, but we’ll even let you choose which of us you want to compete with.”

Horace was surprised. “Twenty crowns apiece is a lot of money.”

Ollenright smiled. “Not for a man who has the world’s greatest rifle at his disposal.”

Horace mulled it over for a moment. “Okay,” he exclaimed. “You’re on.” He scanned the crowd. “And I pick Mr. Nunn over there. He looks like he can barely lift the rifle, let alone shoot it.”

“Fuck you, overlord!” Nunn shouted.

Horace led the group to a makeshift firing point. After looking around to make sure everyone was behind the firing line, he reached for the Longshot rifle, loaded it, and carefully aimed at the target one hundred yards downrange. After squeezing off one magazine, he loaded another, aimed, and fired five more times.

Lloyd Boris jogged to the target and announced that Horace hit it three times.

Horace looked at the crowd. “Not bad for a one-eyed supply officer.”

Billy Nunn was a sallow boy of eighteen, but he had spent a year in the infantry at the tail end of the war. As the men cheered him on, he sauntered over to the firing point, picked up the Prince Bart rifle, and carefully examined it. Once he was satisfied, he quickly loaded it, took aim, and fired five rounds. With scarcely a pause, he reloaded, aimed, and fired it again.

Lloyd Boris again hustled downrange, examined the target, and hollered back, “Six!”

“Son of a bitch!” Horace exclaimed.

After the men finished hooting and hollering, they gathered around Horace. “Overlord,” said Ollenright, “You owe us…four hundred imperial crowns total. And we want them now.”

Horace groaned. “Well, I don’t have that much money on me now. You all will have to wait until the bank opens on Monday.” He paused and looked around. “I’m good for it. I’m Rowowan.”

The crowd renewed their catcalling. Ollenright said, “We don’t like people who welch on their bets, overlord.”

“I’m not welching. You’ll just have to wait until Monday.” He threw up his arms. “If I buy the first round at the Scrapyard with the money I do have, will that do the trick?”

The men cheered and headed off the beach. As they walked along, Ollenright fell in alongside Horace.

“Overlord,” said Ollenright. “Do you know why you lost that bet, even with the best rifle in the world?”

“No,” replied Horace morosely. “Tell me.”

Ollenright chortled. “When did you first fire your Longshot rifle?”

“I don’t know. Basic training, I guess.”

“Okay,” continued Ollenright. “When do you think little Billy Nunn first fired his?”

Horace shrugged.

“Like everyone else, he was shooting as soon as he could walk. That’s why he beat you with his antiquated Prince Bart.”

At that point Horace saw Deputy Braxton trotting across the sand toward him. “Deputy Braxton!” Ollenright yelled. “You missed all the excitement.”

“Yeah,” said one man. “The overlord just lost four hundred imperial crowns to us. Turns out that Lloyd can shoot better with his Prince Bart than the overlord can with his ‘far superior’ Longshot.”

Deputy Braxton laughed. “Don’t you know that target shooting is a regional sport in the Ladle Archipelago? We have a target range in the school. My God, overlord, we saw it when we toured the school a few weeks back. And there was a picture of Lloyd next to his trophy.”

Horace sighed. “I wish you had been here an hour ago to remind me of all this. Where have you been?”

Braxton turned serious. “A young woman was murdered last night.”

Horace turned his head sharply. All the men stopped walking and talking. “Who?” asked Ollenright.

“Anna Mullins.”

“What happened?” Ollenright inquired.

“Raped and murdered in her bed.”

“Any suspects?” asked Horace.

“Well, she had a boyfriend. Roy something. Czezarchek, I think.”

“Royo di Czezarchek?” Horace asked.

“No, Roy Czezarchek,” Braxton corrected.

Lloyd Boris spoke up. “Oh, yeah. He’s that Ethosian guy who washed ashore a couple years ago after that Rowowan submarine torpedoed his merchant ship. Paul Levitan took him in until he died. Czezarchek owns that bookstore by that bakery.”

As they started walking again, Horace asked Braxton, “How did she die?”

“Raped and murdered.”

“I mean, how was she murdered, Braxton?”

“Strangled to death.”

Horace raised his eyebrows. “Did she look like an exclamation point?”

“What do you mean?”

Horace stood on his tiptoes and raised his arms over his head.

“Yeah,” said Braxton. “How did you know?”

“Oh,” replied Horace, “I read somewhere that that’s how bodies often look after strangulation.”

Murder was rare in Kirkwell, and the murder of a young woman even more so. The news put a somewhat downbeat coda on the day’s events. Horace in particular was not as ebullient as usual with the dockworkers, though everyone assumed he was depressed at the loss of so much money. In fact, he left the bar after twenty minutes.