Conversation · Kim Kitsuragi

"What do you see?" The lieutenant cleans his glasses, squinting at the shapes in the mud.

"No unusual horizontal bootprints, like the ones I saw in the Whirling's pinball workshop..."

"No. These prints are pretty standard."

(Point.) "A heavy one. Two hundred kilogram imprint."

"Two hundred?" He thinks for a moment. "Could it be the combined weight of two people, one carrying the other who's tied up? Let's say, a heavily built worker carrying a similarly built, soon-to-be-dead man?"

He might be right. Two hundred kilograms of living weight is unlikely.

"Maybe it was a giant?"

"Maybe it wasn't?"

There is real, palpable excitement in his voice -- at the prospect of it not being a giant.

"I was thinking it was the Giant of Koko Nur."

"Mhm," he nods enthusiastically. "And I was thinking it wasn't the Giant of Koko Nur."

"You're right, it probably wasn't."

"Mmmhm..." The thought pleases him.

"But maybe it was -- just imagine it, a giant man at least two and a half meters tall."

"It could have been -- but if it wasn't..." He waits for you to finish the sentence.

"One of them was carrying him over."

"Probably yes. This would also fit with the victim being dead from a previous gunshot wound. They had to carry him, because he could no longer walk."

We're liking this. The pieces fit.

He makes a note in his blue binder: "Is there anything else that's noteworthy here?"

"Possibly, yes." The lieutenant marks something down in his notebook.

But why?

Let it be.

There are eight pairs of tracks in the mud. Three stick out.

"You're thinking: why did they have to carry him?"

"Yes, they could have used a makeshift stretcher or just marched him up to the gallows."

Maybe the carrier wanted to impress his peers... demonstrate his physical might?

"Maybe the carrier wanted to impress their peers with a display of physical might?"

"You mean a display of athletic ability meant to belittle the victim? A local champion carrying the intruder alone? I can see it. Anyway -- the others?"

"Maybe the victim refused to walk to his own lynching."

"You have a point there." He clicks his pen, thinking for a moment. "Anyway, it's something to consider. What else can you see?"

"Maybe the victim wasn't conscious."

"Even easier to carry on a stretcher -- or between two men. Anyway, it's for future consideration. What else can you see?"

"Our reading of these prints could be wrong."

"I'm not assuming it isn't. But it's still helpful -- is there anything else?"

Maybe there was a physically impressive strongman in their midst. Someone who wanted to impress their peers.

"I don't know."

"I do." The lieutenant marks something in his notebook. "The fat guy, I think I heard them call him Angus -- most likely to have carried the victim over."

"I do." The lieutenant marks something in his notebook. "One of them carried him over."

"It could have been an extremely obese person."

"The fat guy from the mess hall isn't that obese, he's more like a farm boy -- definitely not 250 kilograms on his own. You have to admit, he's the best fit we've got."

"A morbidly obese 250 kilogram man? Let's say it is a very low probability. I'm thinking..." He looks around. "Maybe there's a more commonplace explanation."

"I can't see any prints fitting the armoured boots the victim was wearing, can you? Someone had to carry him. Are any of the other prints deep enough?"

"Yes."

"Which ones?"

Point at the pine tree.

"That's a tree. I think we're close to a conclusion here."

"None of them."

"Mhm. I think we have arrived at a conclusion here."

Point at random prints.

"I don't know..." The lieutenant squints, trying to assess their depth: "Are you sure? I could swear you're lying to me."

It would take more subterfuge to trick the lieutenant.

"No."

"An obese person is becoming less likely."

"From here, the boots the victim wears..." The lieutenant stops mid sentence. A sudden change in wind direction blows the stench of rotting meat right in your face. He tries to continue...

It's bad. Very bad. Before you can heave the wind changes direction again, the greenhouse plastic flapping in it's gust.

"He appears to be wearing some kind of armoured boots. I can't see any exotic prints here..." His face muscles twitch. "Someone had to carry him. Are any of the other prints deep enough?"

"My god... what was that?"

"Wind keeps changing... are any of the prints deep enough in your opinion?"

(Point.) "Light step. Number 41 shoe."

"I'm guessing that's the skinny Hardie boy, the one with his front teeth missing."