Conversation · Volition

"Yes."

Jackpot!

"What do you mean?"

"I made the call. And I would appreciate it if you didn't tell everyone. In Martinaise they call it snitching."

"Reporting crimes is confidential in Revachol, miss."

"Before we go on -- if it's snitching then why do it?"

"Because I couldn't handle it anymore." She takes a drag -- her voice thick with disgust. "None of these people called. He just kept hanging there. Then they started stripping him..."

Tearing off his armour, demeaning him, throwing rocks at him...

"The voice was disguised," he asks, clearly wishing to distract her from the images. "Did you?..."

"I didn't exactly disguise it. I just muffled the mic and nicked the landline a little."

"Nicked it -- how?"

"With nail clippers. And I diverted some radio fuzz into it. Into the cold wire."

So she's Garte's mystery phone cutter!

"And, in the process, you broke the landline downstairs."

"Did I?" She looks into her coffee. "Fuck. I didn't mean to. I had no idea what I was doing."

Jigsaw falling into place. This is satisfying. Good catch, I appreciate the symmetry.

You should be wary of what this guy likes. He's easily duped by his love of jigsaw puzzles.

Still, that's pretty clever tampering. Simple and clever, crossing the lines like that.

"Seems like you had some idea. That was nifty."

"Thanks." She manages a smile.

She looks a bit like a little girl who's just been complimented on her bike repair skills.

"Why go through all the trouble?"

"I don't know, sir. It was stupid. I was drunk too. I was probably afraid the Union was listening in -- locals say they have ears in the wires."

We're not entirely convinced about that answer, but okay -- let it slide. Pushing won't help here.

"Thank you for making the call, miss. It was the right thing to do."

"I didn't want to, sir. But if I hadn't, he'd still be hanging there..."

"I didn't want to, sir. But if I hadn't, he'd still be hanging there..." She looks away.

"He won't be down there long, miss. We will move the body to the morgue soon."

"I didn't want to, sir. And he's still hanging there..." She looks away.

"We will move the body to the morgue today, miss. Don't worry."

"Well, thank you for making the call anyway."

"At least you called."

"A risky move, altogether."

Don't mention it.

She must have had training of some kind...

"Which landline?"

"The one downstairs, officer. I used the Whirling landline."

That's some clever tampering. Simple and clever, crossing the lines like that.

You were right to suspect there might be foul play involved with the broken phone line!

So that's why the phone is out of order. She tampered with the Whirling landline!

"The caller's voice was disguised."

"The call -- reporting the hanging? That was you?"

"I made it." She nods. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't tell everyone. In Martinaise they call it snitching."

Say nothing.

A bitter cringe. It hurts her.

You wonder... is it enough to...

"Did you make the call?"

Don't say it.

She hunches her shoulders a bit, making herself smaller.

It hurts her. But does it hurt enough to...

"Oh yes," she says bitterly. "I have multiple viewpoints. From the roof, out of the bathroom window. In my dreams..."

"What can you tell me about him. Name, eyes, age..."

"I'm sorry, I can't do it." She puffs on her cigarette. "Not right now. Later maybe. I keep seeing him. Like he is now. I can't talk about his -- I don't know -- hair..." Another puff, more nervous.

"I know it's difficult, miss. We can return to it later."

She meant she sees him in her dreams.

"I've also seen him in a dream."

"You have? Not like I do, I imagine." She's run out of cigarette -- time to light a new one.

She sees them in each other's arms.

"I see him as me."

She dips the cigarette in the lighter's flame and inhales, then looks at you -- with her lungs full of smoke.