Conversation · Kim Kitsuragi

"No, detective -- we have a motive..." He gestures for you to speak up.

Take the advice.

"Pig, what the fuck is wrong with you?! Why you choking? Lay it on them! We have it!"

"Of course. There is no motive..." He sighs.

"He killed the mercenary in an act of jealousy."

"Jealousy... I thought this Lilianovich was an old man. To have been hiding for fifty years... seventy-something?"

"A strange psychosexual fixation. Aggravated -- possibly -- by proximity to the phasmid and its chemicals. He himself gave a political reason -- said he had killed an enemy combatant."

"Also -- we have ballistics from the gun, matching the bullet found in the dead mercenary's head. And two officers on the scene that Mr. Dros confessed to."

"It's a clean win."

Oh, it's way more than that.

Way, way more.

"It's more than that -- a perfect folding mechanism. Like the phasmid."

"Perfect folding mechanism..." He rolls his eyes. "Get over yourself, Harry -- I can still smell the booze on the wind."

God dammit, doesn't it ever leave?! It is there! Like, in your bones or something...

It will pass -- in time.

God dammit -- it is bad. Even you can smell it.

It's just a little celebration.

Chin up. Keep focusing on the positives here.

"It's way more than that. It will win me Dora back."

"That's not how personal relationships work, Harry. You found a straggler. The first since the Thirties. Kudos. But that doesn't change anything."

"It doesn't hide the smell of booze on the wind either." He buttons his jacket.

"It's my masterpiece. They'll teach this in cop-school."

"Masterpiece..." He rolls his eyes. "Get over yourself, Harry -- I can still smell the booze on the wind."

"I'm still not completely satisfied with it. It could be just a little neater."

"Get over yourself -- you're not a perfectionist. You're a cop and you did a good job. With a lot of help from Lieutenant Kitsuragi."

"And none of this can hide the smell of booze on the wind." He buttons his jacket.

"It's way more than that. I'll win her back with this."

Win who back, you don't even know her name!

"I did all I could. Every second was a struggle."

"I've never doubted you can pull yourself together and work -- in bouts. Bouts don't last." He buttons his jacket. "I can still smell the booze on the wind."

It's way more than that.

"Also -- we have a sniper's nest with full view of the room in which the mercenary died. Right on the island. And two officers on the scene that Mr. Dros confessed to."

He nods. "A strange psychosexual fascination. The result of spending all this time in solitude, on the islands of this bay... And trauma too. He himself gave a political reason. In his mind, he had killed an enemy combatant."

"Jealousy? He's what -- eighty? Ninety? Didn't you say he's been in hiding since the Revolution?"

"Yeah, suit. Check this shit out -- the merc was bangin' some chick he wanted to bang. So he shot him. Chick's called Klaasje."

"Klaasje -- as in the suspect he let escape? From Kitsuragi's report?"

"Fucking snitch binoclard..." He collects himself. "Yeah -- that chick. Get over it pig, she didn't do it. It was grandpa on the island. Merc was fuckin' her and he couldn't hack it. Cuno can hack it."

"He's a trained sniper. The weapon he used is more than capable of making the shot."

"Okay." He rubs his temples. "And he'll confess? To the prosecution too?"

"The state he's in now? I don't know. But we got a confession -- he confessed to us."

"A detective and a civilian. Jean -- and the gun. He has it..."

"Okay. We'll see about it when we get coast guard on the island."

This left a mark. They can't deny it, son -- you got the bastard.

There. No one is saying anything. The silence agrees.

This is good. They can't deny it.

"I think once he's resuscitated -- yes. We got him talking once. He'll talk again."

"Resuscitated -- that sounds great..."

"Jean. He has it. No more cooperation needed. He had a civilian there for the confession -- this is doable."

"He also had political reasons."

"Yeah. Politics shit. My pig also connected, like... the weapon to him..." He looks to you.

Slam the weapon man, the murder weapon.

"Klaasje -- as in the suspect Lieutenant Kitsuragi brought in? I've read his reports -- don't fuck with me."

"Snitch binoclard..." He collects himself. "Yeah. Klaasje -- that chick. But she didn't do it. It was this old fuck. Grandpa on the island. Merc was fucking her and he couldn't hack it. Cuno can hack it."

"Fine. Brilliant theory. A real masterpiece. You'll get a station call and you can tell all about it -- to some other officer. We'll send the coast guard to the island. Maybe they'll find your giant insect too."

"Jean, maybe..." She stops and sighs.

"Jude, he's drunk. It's cold. I'm fucking freezing. Let's get him to the station when he's sobered up. In two weeks or something."

The iron smell of blood rises to your mouth.

That's it. The verdict.

"He killed the mercenary hoping to start a war between the company and the Union."

"And it worked? He got a war going?"