Conversation · Visual Calculus

Is there something here that would indicate a sniper used this place as a nest for taking the shot? Just some urban detritus, a bottle and a dilapidated old comms tower.

The wind picks up. Fine sea foam lashes your face. It feels like needles. You can take it -- just raise your collar, detective.

In the distance you can hear the breakers roar.

"I don't see it, officer. I don't see a person take a shot here and hit something there..." He looks east, over the coast. "In the Whirling-in-Rags."

Maybe the assailant climbed the comms tower, took the shot there?

"It's not possible to climb that ladder and even if it were -- why? There's no platform up there to aim from." The lieutenant looks up, raising his collar.

He looks like he's cold out here at the tip of the coast. The jacket is warm, but not for this weather.

"Kim, you look cold -- maybe a thicker coat?"

"I'm okay. You on the other hand -- look like you're about to turn into a popsicle."

Technically speaking that would be a...

"Copsicle. You meant to say copsicle."

"No. I did not. We Seolites don't do paranomastic humour."

"You're right. I should look into this situation before I die of hypothermia."

"That seems smart, yes."

"It's my style. Superstar cops don't wear parkas. They rock out."

"Absolute idiocy," he nods in acknowledgement of the idiocy on display.

"What if I want to be a popsicle?"

"Don't be silly, no one wants to be a popsicle."

"Kim, you look cold -- maybe a little pilot cap?

"No."

No what?

"No what -- an orange pilot cap would not help?"

"Yes, that one. No to the orange pilot cap." He turns to face the sea.

"No what -- you're not cold?"

"No, an orange pilot cap would not help." He turns to face the sea.

How do you respond to a pithy no like that? He's just not into pilot caps, it seems.

It does look extremely rickety. And wouldn't help much either.

The salty water has corroded the ladder to nothing but two thin orange rails. In addition, there is no stable nest up there. It would have been useless.

What about the cigarette butts?

"Those?" He points to them. "A smoking assailant who favours Tioumoutiri to Astra or Drouin? Cigarette butts are everywhere. This is a common brand for old men."

Tioumoutiri was a Revacholian colony on Iilmaraa. The suzerainty's population was mostly Iilmaraan Areopagites -- up to 97%. The region was known for its tobacco export. Hence the name.

I want to know a lot more about this.

Oh, you do! The butts you saw had a silhouette of a boy wearing a kofia hat -- a tobacco picker. This boy is the Tioumoutiri brand logo. Contemporary Revacholians prefer Drouin (a local blend from the southern islands) or Astra, a legendary cigarette from Graad. Tioumoutiri is favoured by older men who like its old fashioned paper filter tips, insane amount of tar and the sweet smells of colonialism and halva.

Enough. The cigarettes are unimportant.

Nothing is unimportant, detective.

Still, you felt it was important enough to make a mental note. That means something. You didn't pay attention to any of the other cigarette butts on the coast.

A smoking assailant who favours Tioumoutiri to Astra or Drouin? Cigarette butts are part of the campfire set -- they're also everywhere.

Look over the water -- to the Whirling-in-Rags.

There, 1.2 kilometres over the wave-crossed bay, through heavy, dark grey curtains of rain you see the smallest rectangle, barely visible.

The light is off on the third floor of the Whirling-in-Rags. The young woman is gone, in Precinct 57. Safe, closed off. Her form no longer moves behind the glass there...

The light is off on the third floor of the Whirling-in-Rags. The young woman is gone who knows where. Safe, closed off. Her form no longer moves behind the glass there...

It's glowing in the dark night. The lights are on. Klaasje must be in there... looks like she's kept her promise not to go out at night anymore.

Such a good girl, you think.

It's late. There is no light on the third floor of the Whirling-in-Rags. No shape moves behind it. Klaasje must be out on the town.

Smoking. Drinking. Being happy and elated. Without you -- because you're here, freezing in the wind, aren't you? Doing your detective work.

A glowing light on the third floor of the Whirling-in-Rags. With binoculars you would see a young woman's shape move behind the glass, her limbs long and slender.

There, 1.2 kilometres over the cold water of the bay, through a thick snowstorm melting flake by flake in the waves you see the smallest rectangle, barely visible.

There, 1.2 kilometres over the cold water of the bay, blue from the distance and the air, you see the smallest rectangle, barely visible.

[Finish thought.]

Are you sure? You haven't ruled out the shot coming from here yet...

Oh right...

So?

I said finish the god damn thought.[Leave.]

Maybe the campfire was used by the perpetrator?

"To warm his hands before pulling the trigger? Perhaps. But anyone could have made this. The coast is specked with fires this time of year." He looks around.

"Truthfully -- this seems like a very poor choice to take a 1.2 kilometre rifle shot from. Visibility is awful, there's water vapour everywhere -- I think we can rule out... B double prime, was it?"

To warm his hands before he pulled the trigger? There are no markings on the ground for a tripod, he would have had to lie on a mattress. This is simply not a good spot for a 1.2 kilometre shot.

"No, an orange pilot cap would not help." He turns to face the sea.

"No what -- an orange pilot cap would not help?"

"Yes, that one. No to the orange pilot cap." He turns to face the sea.