Conversation · Washerwoman

"And now suspicious-looking people are sneaking around the church. I don't like that."

Those would be the dance music enthusiasts in their tent.

Interesting. You could look into this ruckus, if you have the time.

Perhaps the mysterious music is somehow connected to the case? A rusálka, or a half-demonic apsara, singing...

"The Ecclesiastes have tried to get things going there, but things just keep happening. Crime. Accidents. Other things. The place never stays open." She frowns. "It's a pity. It used to be such a nice church."

"I got shot!"

"Aye, even I can see that. I told you not to bring your trouble with you, policeman. We've got troubles of our own here..."

"Though I suppose you took the worst of it. Turns out you were your own ill omen." The woman chuckles to herself.

"This is no time for jokes. Can't you see I'm in pain?"

"What do you expect? Police officers get put into dangerous situations all the time. Sometimes they get shot. It's a rough trade you're in."

"I guess you were right. The men with guns were coming for me after all."

"I'm not sure those were the last of the men with guns, either." She nods. "There are always more coming for your kind, officer."

Then we'll be ready for them.

"My partner got shot, too. He's still in the hospital."

"What do you expect? Police officers get put into dangerous situations all the time. Sometimes they get shot. It's a rough trade you're in."

"Still, I'm sorry to hear about your partner. He seemed to be a decent enough sort."

"I'm sorry I couldn't warn him in time."

"I warned you," she nods solemnly. "I warned you men with guns would be coming after you. They always are with your kind..." Her features soften.

"So be careful. And don't be a hero."

"He was a prig who wouldn't dance with me."

"Wouldn't dance with you? Is that what you look for in a partner?"

You did call him a monkey fucker. That had something to do with it.

"Guy was cramping my style. Every superstar goes solo in the end."

"What kind of foolishness is that? A cop's got to have a partner. That's in your nature, however you may deny it."

Should you try THE EXPRESSION on her?

Absolutely not.

And risk fleshly contact with this old crone? Spare yourself!

"He was alright."

"That the best you can say about your partner? Sounds like it wasn't working out."

"He was my half-brother."

"Losing a family member's tough," she nods solemnly. "But we've all lost someone we're close to, some more than once."

You could follow up on that, but suspect you're not going to pry much out of her.

"Can you confirm for my partner Kim that no one listened to the radio recently?"

"I told you before! No, there has been no listening to the radio. Not last week, not in the weeks before."

"Hm..." The lieutenant furrows his brow. He looks back to the children and sighs.

"Let's just get it out of the way as fast as we can. Contact dispatch from my Kineema and ask them to connect you to the station. Maybe they can shed some light on this."

"Anything else, now?" The old woman frowns. Her wrinkles frown with her.

"Tell me about yourself. Who exactly are you here?"

"Me? No one. Just an old washerwoman. Mother called me Isobel, if that's what you're asking. And my married name is Sadie."

No one? There's something about her... She's definitely not a 'no one'.

"Now it's your turn, mister...?"

"Harrier Du Bois, but call me Harry."

"Why, I guess I will, Harry. Aye, it just rolls off the tongue. I used to know a Harry. Strong lad, but dumb as a rock."

"What happened to him?"

"He did too many narcotics. So many he fell off his boat and split his skull on a buoy." She rubs soap off her hands. "Folks who saw it, say his head cracked open like a melon. Nasty-nasty."

"Lieutenant double-yefreitor Harrier Du Bois."

"Quite a handle you got there." The old woman nods, with evident respect. "So many titles. One of them double."

She's got a couple of ranks herself. Honoured chief and so on.

She acknowledges you as her equal.

"My name is... Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau." (Sigh.)

"Your parents must have had big plans for you." She pauses, measuring you up and down. "Wonder if you measured up?"

The question must be prompted by your sloppy posture. Straighten you back, man.

"I lost my name."

"These things happen occasionally. Don't worry, you'll find yourself once more."

She makes it sound like losing one's name was as common as a mid-life crisis.

Around here it's probably even more common.

"You can call me Tequila Sunset."

"Why would I do that? That's a fool's name. Are you a fool?" Her bony finger raises before you can speak. "Don't ridicule yourself before an old woman, officer. It's undignified."

Like the hag can tell the difference between fool and cool? C'mon... As far as names go, Tequila Sunset is dangerously cool.

"Uh... call me Harry."