Alton and Cook arrive at the Thirsty Pilgrim on horseback just at midday. They park the skeletal horses with a crime scene technician carriage. There’s no fear that the undead horses will wander off thanks to their very strict control spells. The two detectives head through the narrow alley to the drainage canal behind the tavern. The light rain continues, and they splash through deepening puddles.

At the drainage canal, they meet up with Detective Trageser and a variety of crime scene technicians. Trageser is using a new piece of technology to document the crime scene, with bright flashes of light, he photographs the little evidence that survives in the rain.

There isn’t much to photograph. The street sweeper that found the victim had already cleaned the area uphill, where she had rolled a little ways. Removing the victim’s body also removed evidence of where and how she fell. The little blood splatter had mostly run off in the rain and there were no footprints to follow.

One of the technicians, a ranger mongrelfolk from the Allied Lycan Tribes out West named Ulfrik Hordsson, reported quietly to Cook.

“There’s nothing here to track, sir.” Hordsson’s long fur hangs limp in the light rain. It drips and pools around his feet. “If not for this blasted rain I’d be able to conjure an image of the killer from his tracks, but without that...”

“We’ll have to use more traditional methods.” Cook nods sadly. “I understand.”

Meanwhile, Alton heads to Thirsty Pilgrim’s rear entrance. The bartender hovers at the doorway, not quite crossing the threshold. Cook catches up just as Alton introduces herself. The bartender invites the detectives in out of the rain.

The back room of the Thirsty Pilgrim is only lit by the light of the hearth where a soot-stained dead ork turns sausages on a cast iron griddle. Cook cringes at the sight of the poorly maintained zombie, but personal servant dead aren’t uncommon and there’s no law broken by keeping just one zombie.

The bartender is an olive-skinned human with dark unkempt hair. It’s unlikely that his ancestry contains only human based on the point of his ears and the unnatural orange color of his eyes, but he’s certainly no half-elf or anything obvious. He’s impossibly tall, and competes with his ork servant for space in the cramped kitchen.

“Name’s Gus,” is all he says as introduction. “What all is you looking for from the ditch this late?”

“Can I get a last name for the record?” Cook asks, scribbling in his little notebook.

“Hoyt. With a y.” The very large bartender glowers over the notebook. “You’re not going to call me as a witness or anything, are you?”

“Depends what you tell us,” Alton shrugs. “If it leads to a better witness than we probably won’t need you.”

“Right.” Gus grumps. “Well, what do you want?”

“What can you tell us about Marion Durandal?” Gus gives them a blank stare. “The dead girl?” The blank stare continues. “The headless dead girl in the ditch this morning?”

“Oh, her.” He shrugs again. “She was here before she died. Can’t say I paid her all that much attention.”

“Did you notice anyone unusual or anyone who shouldn’t be here recently?” Alton hopes a leading question will head in a useful direction.

“Older blond guy was asking about a Marion a while ago. He was built like an ox, but getting a little on the bald side up at the top.” Gus would be the only person who would likely notice that from his particular vantage point.

“Could that be our paladin?” Cook supposes.

“A paladin!” Gus boggles, his eyes expanding in shock. “Okay. I could see that. We have had jerks in here with more sword than sense lately. A paladin would only be out of place for motive.” The building is suspiciously just out of the line of sight from the Blackfeather Adventuring Company outpost just down the street. There should be a number of adventurer hopefuls in the area at any given point.

“Has there been anything more than just ‘guys with swords’ to suggest a paladin in the area? Any alignment-related violence?” Alton gives Cook a nasty glare for his mistake.

“We’re looking for the victim’s father. He is a paladin and we need to talk to him about his daughter.” Cook explains, sidestepping the issue of the paladin’s potential guilt.

“In that case, while I haven’t seen anything with any anything related violence, excepting the body in the ditch, I’m pretty sure that the only place that would actually house a paladin would be Lenny’s. They’re over across the bridge from Sacred Dark. Lenny’s got that bleeding heart on his sleeve.”

“Thank you Gus,” Alton says, “That’s the exact kind of information that prevents you from ending up on the witness stand.” She flashes him a winning smile, even white teeth sparkling in the dim kitchen light.

The detectives take their leave, grabbing their horses from crime scene techs on the way out.