Still early in the day, Alton and Cook arrive swiftly into a scene already in progress. Trageser and Isaacs hold a deeply tanned and muscular human man in handcuffs between them. The man is notable immediately due to the fact that he’s naked from the waist up, barefoot, and has a large tattoo of an elephant in vivid green ink across his deeply tanned back. His pants have stains and wrinkles from having been worn under leather armor for a long period of time.

Meanwhile, Captain Waesmaer stands stoically while Sir Durandal argues with wild gestures in his direction. The detectives catch snippets including vehement arguments in favor of dragging the murderer off to prison immediately. They scoot over toward their less experienced opposites to get the low down.

“You don’t have to tell me we screwed up.” Trageser begins without prompting. It’s a pleasant change from having dealt with the banker.

“What did you do?” Alton demands, idly running a thumb on the pommel of her rapier.

“This moron actually told the victim’s father the name of our new suspect.” The necropolitan halfling’s voice is raspy, and oozes scorn.

“So you’re Hendry Wymark?” Cook asks the captive.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Wymark’s accent is heavy with an inflection found only in the defunct Lantern States.

“Did you behead Marion Durandal?” Cook asks, skeptical, but thinking a quick response might be the most honest kind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I just want my clothes back.” Wymark glares across the room toward Waesmaer.

The detectives notice a heap of armor and weaponry in the crate Waesmaer leans on. The dyed olive green leather is the same color as the stains on Wymark’s rough spun cotton pants.

“I ain’t got cash for a whole new kit,” the prisoner protests, “Can I at least have a shirt?”

“It’s not that cold yet,” Isaacs sneers. Behind her hand she adds for Trageser alone, “Is it? I mean, it’s spring, right?”

Cook shrugs. Trageser just shakes his head.

It doesn’t look like Durandal and Waesmaer will be able to come to terms if left to keep arguing on their own, so Alton approaches to find out if she can help. The bickering stops after she interrupts.

“What can we do to help?” Alton carefully addresses the empty air between her captain and the protesting foreign national. She vaguely hopes that both might believe that she’s speaking to only them. Cook catches up with her after a few seconds.

Durandal wins the race to speak first.

“Arrest that man, bring him to justice for my girl’s death,” he demands.

“As you can see,” Alton attempts reassurance, “he’s already being held. As he is a thinking animate person, he does have rights.”

“And I did not?” The paladin is outraged.

“You had a right to a trial, and we had a right to hold you from leaving or committing further crimes while waiting for it.” Cook holds up empty hands placatingly.

“What does that have to do with refusing to jail that monster?”

“Everything!” Waesmaer replies emphatically, “We have procedures we must follow. At this time we need to take a statement from this suspect and then we’ll take the time to verify their story or prove it false. There’s nothing you need to do right now, Sir Durandal.” He shoots the detectives a look loaded with threat.

“My detectives, on the other hand,” Waesmaer continues, “will go question the suspect right now. If you wish to speak with them further when they are finished with this task, please wait in the lobby.”

All parties recognize the implicit dismissal. The detectives snag the crate of gear and head back to the interrogation room, Trageser and Isaacs bringing up the rear with a grumpy Wymark.