Conversation · Evrart Claire

"But enough about me and my container." His face turns serious. "The killers the company hired... I think there were three of them. All hardened commando-types."

"I think I've heard enough."

"No, you haven't, Harry." He waves at you with a jolly smile. "I haven't told you anything about the crime yet."

"Our victim?"

"There was a collection of colonial mugs there, and I found a similar mug in the trash with the hanged man's clothes."

"Racist mugs in the trash AND in the apartment?!" He grabs his head with both hands. "You guys are just light-years ahead of me."

"I have so much confidence in the ability of your organization. I'm relieved you're doing this and leaving me to do what I do best -- helping people. With the power of politics."

"Yes-yes... Do you think this 'weasel' is somehow connected to the murder?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no. I don't cross paths like that." He shakes his head, laughing. "All I want is for you to succeed in your investigation. I would never complicate things for you."

Oddly, it seems to be true.

"But this weasel might have cleaned up after the killers."

"Believe me, Harry, he's a nobody. Just your basement-variety nobody... Can't imagine him being connected to a high-calibre case like this."

"But he does live nearby... maybe it's a pedantic weasel? Fascists are neat freaks, if you don't mind me saying so. I feel like a real detective right now, Harry! Am I getting this right?" He imitates bashing something with an imaginary baton.

With a police baton. Like a crook or someone.

That's not how you baton someone! The technique is way off. You strike with your whole body not just the baton...

"Great technique. You'd make a great sergeant."

"Would he? I'm not so sure about it."

"Oh, you're too kind, Harry! Way too kind." He chuckles. "I know I'm not a real police officer. You are!"

That's all he's going to say on this subject.

"There's more to police work than whacking an imaginary baton."

"Of course, of course, Harry. I'm not a real police officer. You are!"

Say nothing.

"Of course, Harry. Stoic silence. I like that. Very befitting a police officer." He bows slightly in his chair. "I'm not a real detective. You are."

"No. You have to put your weight behind it if you wanna do real damage."

"Oh, Harry," he bursts out laughing. "Thanks for the tip. I'll leave doing the 'real damage' to you -- you are the real police officer after all, not me."

"But he does live nearby -- maybe it's a pedantic weasel? Fascists are known to be neat freaks... I feel like a real detective right now, Harry! Am I getting this right?" He imitates bashing something with an imaginary baton.

"Do you think this weasel has something to do with my case?"

"How do you know the mercenaries were hired by the shipping company?"

"How do I know? Let me tell you about these people." He slams his fist on the desk. "That's their MO. It's what they do."

"Last winter some poor workers in Terminal E went on a little strike. The company sent in Sediment -- a security contractor. The strike was over the workers' right to wear protective footwear, Harry."

"These guys turn up and start beating people. Tell you what, Harry, I wouldn't be surprised if we got the same mercenary company -- after a little rebranding. And I'm sure as hell not surprised to see an army of scabs under my gates."

"So you believe the scabs were organized by the security contractor?"

"You said it, Harry! Hell --" the fist lands on the desk again -- "one of those guys looks big enough to take down that proverbial elephant! Boys like that don't just happen to show up during strikes."

"The name of the company is Krenel this time. It might have been Sediment before."

"Of course, you're always one step ahead of me, Harry. I'm no genius. I'm in this position because people like me."

"Let's change the subject."

"By all means, Harry. What's on your mind?"

"The remaining mercenaries are organizing a tribunal to take on the Hardies."

"Tribunal?" He appears aghast. "That sounds serious Harry. We Union men should be shitting ourselves..." He rubs his chin and smiles suddenly: "I wish you hadn't told me that. I'm gonna lose sleep over this. Let's change the subject."

He's clearly happy about the tribunal.

"Okay. Yes."

"You're right, you're right. My sleep isn't your concern -- tell me, Harry, what else can I help you with?"

"You don't seem too worried about it."

"Oh, Harry, what do I really think about the tribunal? You're trying to climb to second base with old Evrart before you've even courted him properly."

He wants you to do more things for him before.

"Another question."

"Absolutely Harry, absolutely. Sock it to me."

That does sound quite unlikely, yes. The big guy leading the scabs at the gates is colossal.

He's not scared of them. If anything, he likes them being here. Strange...

"So you think the security contractor organized the scabs?"

"I really went in there. Whose place is it? I just need to know."

"Why?"

"Okay, you're right. It's probably not important."

"See, Harry? Many questions become irrelevant once we ask ourselves why we're even asking them." He winks at you. "But I'm sure you have plenty more where that came from."

"What if it's connected to my case?"

"Believe me, he's not a killer. He's a nobody. Just a basement-variety armchair fascist, who comes up with needlessly complex conspiracy theories."

What if one of those complex theories is right?

"Did one of his theories turn out to be true?"

"What if it did? What if he took a whack in the dark? Started telling people the strike is funded by a protection racket that drove local shops out of business?"

"What if he planned to write a hack-piece to the local newspaper regarding these crazy theories he had developed. Just to stir up trouble. Wouldn't that be annoying?"