Conversation · Kim Kitsuragi

"He did everything he could," the lieutenant interrupts him. "We did everything we could. The company hired unvetted mercenaries. Lieutenant Du Bois got between them and the locals."

Here comes the cavalry.

"He did so at considerable risk to his own life. He was shot, and survived only because of his armour. We stopped an execution, not a negotiation. The loss of life was minimal compared to what it could have been."

"I also solved the case. It's solved. All of it."

"Detective, it's better if I do that..." he says in a lowered voice.

It's so much better if he does this. A million times better.

"Thank you for the input, Lieutenant Kitsuragi. I didn't mean to suggest you didn't handle the situation..." He brushes a stray strand of hair out of his eye and coughs.

He thinks of apologizing but decides against it.

"You've spent the week with him -- on this case. What is your take?"

"On the case?"

"On Lieutenant-Yefreitor Du Bois."

"Well..." He pulls up his collar. "The drinking, the gun-losing, also losing the badge -- that's all true. Although he has not been drinking on the job this week."

"See?"

"One week."

"Then there's the apocalypse thing. At first I thought it was a joke -- but it's not. He actually thinks the world is about to end. In a bloodletting, or a gloaming. We're about to become vapour, even..."

"It's worrying. Especially considering his political views. Detective Du Bois is -- as you may know -- a Mazovian socio-economist. He wants to liquidate the ruling class. Which -- again -- for a police officer... is a little odd."

You should yell something.

That's not a good idea.

Yes. Let's let the big boys talk.

"Odder still -- he is also a full blown fascist. An ultranationalist woman-hater and more than a little racist. Which, I guess, goes well with the grind? I do not know -- but he is vocal about both beliefs."

"And then there's the motor carriage in the sea -- something I was not present for..." He breathes in sharply. "But -- despite all this -- he is a great detective. One of the best I've seen, in fact."

"He can talk human beings into telling him anything. And he doesn't stop. In all the time I've spent with him, he has not once stopped working on the case. He is tireless. Madly driven."

"Well... except that one time when he stopped to sing karaoke. Which, by the way -- I have to disagree with you, Mr. Vicquemare -- was a valiant effort. He really sang his heart out."

"Okay, he did something..."

"Other than that one time, he has tirelessly worked on the case. And he solved it. We have a confession, a murder weapon, and the perpetrator -- locked on the island right now, awaiting transportation."

"He apprehended a revolutionary brigade who stayed hidden for fifty years, ever since the Revolution; who's probably committed other murders over those years..." He pauses. "Oh -- and he also discovered a new species."

"A... new species?"

"A colossal stick insect. It was on the island, camouflaged as the reeds. It... unfolded from the reeds. I think we may be dealing with the Insulindian phasmid."

He takes out the photo and shows it to the officers across the yard. Thick white snow falls all around you -- flakes stick to the glossy photo of the phasmid.

You hear gasps beneath the howling of the wind.

"As you can see -- it's about three metres tall. In fact, we think it may be the largest land invertebrate ever discovered."

Say nothing.

"Fucking hell is that..." The man cranes his neck, still looking at the photo. "Is this somehow... connected to the case?"

"Detective?" He turns to you.

"Boom. Boom. Boom."

"Yes -- but also..."

"Khm... yes. I believe the pheromone it emits may be responsible for the killer's mental degradation."

"The old man was not aware of the phasmid's presence. Exhibiting a strange, atypical dementia, he fell into a stupor after its appearance. He became near-catatonic."

"So it is connected...?"

"..."

"I must say, this," he points to the photo, "is absolutely extraordinary. It's... I don't even have words for it."

"Yes. It really does make it hard to fire the drunk..." His tired eyes follow the photo as the lieutenant puts it away.

This is a very, very sad man who has just seen something that's made him forget his sadness.

Now you make your case. Now is the time. Now or never.

"There was also a dead man -- on the boardwalk. A missing person I found."

"Yes-yes. Fallen through a gap in the boardwalk, drunk."

"How did you know I found him?"

"The body was transported to Precinct 41. Our morgue. I had Tillbrook and Mollins take care of funeral arrangements and family-stuff."

"You're not the only cop in the world, Harry. This all comes back to us."

"Still," she says quietly. "Good work with the missing person, detective."

It's still a point for you. No denying it.

"The killer -- Lilianovich Dros -- we have a strong motive for him."

"Lilianovich?" The special consultant raises an eyebrow. "A Revolutionary matronym..."

"I don't have time for this. Straight to the motive, please."

"Of course. Excuse me. I just thought it was noteworthy."

He wasn't quite sure about the straggler before he heard this detail. It must have convinced him.

"Cuno. Keep your head in the game."

"Alright, yeah." He bites his lip. "Cuno's in it."

He understands you have to nail this.

"Actually, I'm not that sure if I have a motive. I had another thing..."