It was the day after her meeting with Arron. Another murder. She had taken personal interest in this one though.
She thought there was something artful in it. Painful, hopeless. Torrin would have liked it.
The killer felt blind. She presumed, circling the corpse. A church trained engineer in his late twenties. Probably just graduated. Upon inspection to the mouth there was nearly no damage other than the removal of the tongue, eyes looked like he applied a different tool. Something that scooped round maybe.
Spiritual and pragmatic. She felt something of that as she fiddled with a red bracelet, lest she forget.
"And you are?" A young guardsman, round of jaw, and wearing a uniform a size too large for his wire frame asked her. He had no reason not to because her red coat and grey hat weren't of any uniform. The Conclave didn't have uniforms.
"Rebekah Parsons. Agent of Empire." She held out for him a small badge made of copper. It had a unique embellishment of one of the builders' marionettes.
He saluted immediately.
"How long ago did it happen?" She asked him, tables immediately turned. she already knew, still best to keep them on their toes.
"This morning, Ma'am." The young man asked, she smiled to his immense discomfort. She liked it when people called her that.
"How many is that now, two in six days?" She asked and he nodded.
"Six in the last month." He said quietly. A strange coldness there. Was that what she sounded like?
The room itself was covered in drawings, diagrams and designs. Even just simple art. Cityscapes and portraits of an older woman. His mother maybe.
She pulled out a cigarette and went for the door so as not to corrupt the scene. They haven't dried out yet.
A parting gift from Torrin.
As self destructive as the bastard could be. She missed him already.
"Those are illegal now ma'am." The young soldier said.
She turned to him, smiled.
"How about you let this one off for an agent of your god." She grinned. "Believe it or not I don't like this any more than you do." He looked back at the man's eyeless face. Nodded again.
Leaning on the door frame she blew the smoke out as she smoked. The man was splayed over a turned over a cabinet. As if he was levitating.
With knowledge comes power, with power comes blindness.
She was surprised nobody had really looked at the scenes after all this time. Nobody educated at least, all they thought they knew was that it's tied to a series of murders that happened nearly a decade ago. Which was ridiculous.
Rebekah had a personal theory on that. But apart from that she thought there was little to connect.
Those killings were far more violent, vengeful even. They were party members. Why a student?
It seemed like half the research for the case was done by journalists trying to make it bigger than it was.
A spectacle, just like the killer wanted.
Her fingers burnt as the cigarette reached the filter and she realised she had spaced out.
She moved from her perch and loomed over the corpse once again.
"Tell your captain these killings are isolated. This killer is new, probably high intelligence, low income. People like that are angry." she threw him an empty pad.
"Write that down and keep it for later. You'll be amazed how useful it is." It was obvious law enforcement should take notes but outer guards were more enforcers than protectors, the interior wasn't much better. Parsons wanted to change that.
"Anything else. Ma'am?" He asked again. He'd caught on that she liked it, he was handsome. But he also looked childish. Not fitting the black and red accented garb of the outer city guard.
She took another look over the body.
"This is likely religious which probably means it's political too." Rebekah said crouching down and looking at the engineer's eyes, Thomas his name was.
"If it's revenge it could be half of them." She mumbled to herself.
"We could maybe look into other students. Maybe after immigrants." She droned on and to his credit the boy carried on writing.
"They're getting confident." The guard said to her surprise. Astonishment even.
"Go on." She said not looking at him.
Putting a man on the spot was usually an effective test if you wanted to know how he reacted to stress.
"I would lean more toward the immigrant angle. Unless the killer is a hypocrite." Rebekah did look at him then, questioningly. He shrugged. "If he's a student I mean."
"What's your name? guard." She said, looking over at him.
"Private Tench. Ma'am. Leonard Tench." He said, still clearly uncomfortable with where they were.
"That's a good observation. Thank you, Tench." She said getting up.
She gestured to the pad in his hands.
"Put that down too." That made him smile slightly, that was good.
He still wouldn't sleep for a week, she never did at first.
"Do we know what colour his eyes were?" She asked him. "May be relevant." she doubted it. But it was good to check.
"We could probably find out, from what we know he was social, part of the liberalist movements." He said. "Could have met the killer at one of these functions."
"What makes you say that?" She asked, standing and putting hands to hips, frowning.
"If this is as intricate as everyone says wouldn't it stand to reason he knew the victim. Maybe not for long. But long enough to plan." He said.
Maybe she was wrong but he seemed too smart for this place. "he'd at least followed the victim a couple times right?" He assumed. Though the assumption was likely correct.
"Go to school, Tench?" She asked. Coming close to the man. He had dark hair and green eyes, a southerner.
He shook his head.
"Come with me." She said, pulling out a cigarette, not waiting for him to follow.
"I want to talk." She said as she made her exit, down a metal staircase bolted to the side of the building. Winced at the blue sun, lit herself another cigarette. Tench was following beside her then.
—
"Are you willing to go?" She asked. "I could endorse you," She said, genuinely.
They reached the old canal just down the hill from the victims' home.
The poor thing was put on the spot walking beside her.
"I don't need an answer now, I will give you a postcode you can mail to."
She handed a small bit of paper with the address of a mail office and a personal code on it.
"Are you interested in a new job? There will be one waiting for you after this." She asked.
"Doing what?" He asked, turning the card over and reading it.
"My job. It's horrible, you'll be great at it." She smiled again. Watching two children in dusty clothing stumble idly by, looking at her red bracelet once again.
Looking up at buildings of soulless ceramic which the sun's heat radiated from.
Why haven't we done anything about this? She wondered and not for the first time.
she looked on at the ceaseless decay. Only highlighted by the occasional mural, and those were usually painted over by church agitators looking to bother the new locals.
"I think I'd like to." Guardsman Tench said finally. "But I have a kid." That really surprised Rebekah.
"If I endorse you I could have you moved into the inner city Tench." That startled him even more.
"I'd have to talk to my wife."
"Of course. Mail me tomorrow with more information if you are interested." She said, stubbing out and disposing of her cigarette in a small tin she carried.
"If it clears with my superior I'll get you a position at the college. You're wasted here man."
They gave their farewells and she was on her way. Only just thinking then of the irony of wanting to send Tench to a college. Or how useful it could be.
She smiled, crooked and tired. Then she was scheduled to report.
***
Two days later, she received his letter. Tench, Leonard Tench. He was twenty, born in Crowley, near Peninse, a town on the southern border. Record, stellar.
Likely his family were refugees.
Peninse was where Torrin lost his arm, she had never forgotten that day. Of the explosion, of the old man who'd helped cart Torrin to the medical tent, or her mistreatment at the hands of those who arrested them.
She made sure they were dead.
The meeting with Arron went well and it turned out Arron had been looking into it too. He was always ahead of her, she hated that. Or maybe she loved it, depending on the day.
He got the immigrant angle at least. Rebekah was leaning more toward students. Most people outside the capital still didn't have higher education and this man seemed to.
She sat in her apartment smoking the third of ten packs of cigarettes gifted by Torrin the week before and looked over document after document of images, drawing and reports on the killings. Even the old ones, maybe they inspired him somehow.
But none of it connected. The Injuries on the old victims were frantic. There was no metaphor.
The loud buzz of night life came past her window and she sighed pressing fingers to her temples.
It was night, when did that happen?
She stubbed her cigarette and untied her hair from its ponytail, raven black hair similar to Torrin's came loose and brushed her back as she walked.
In the morning she needed to ask about Tench. Arron owed her a favour so it should be fine.
Plus she thought he'd like the idea of an agent in the college.
She passed by her kitchen. Almost obsessively clean, and then past her bathroom. Which was also pristine. Then to her bedroom where she threw herself alone, onto the biggest bed she could afford, alone.
Content with her day.
now to face the dark of reminiscence.