Conversation · Titus Hardie

The big guy takes a long, considered gulp of beer. "And? How does she come into it?"

"Ruby could have gone up -- shot him -- come down -- all under seven minutes."

"While we cannot say for certain right now, we will find out."

"Sure, cops, sure..." he turns the Eugene. "We need to have a look at that secret passage, boys."

"You got it boss! Professional law enforcement will investigate."

The big guy smiles. "You got something else to back this route up? Or is that it?"

"I don't know, but I'll find out."

"Sure, cop, sure..." he turns the Eugene. "We need to have a look at that secret passage, boys."

"What do you mean weird, Theo?"

"Was run by a fella called..." He thinks. "Nyflox something, who wore a yellow dust coat -- like the one you have on right now." He squints at you. "Weird guy. Never liked him."

It is a very comfortable coat for such an oldie...

"Through a secret passage."

"I see. But what's back there, I mean -- storage rooms or shit?"

"Wild stuff, Titus. Stuff you're not prepared to believe."

"Cop, I'm gonna stop you right there." He pushes up his hat. "I'll save you the embarrassment -- I won't force you to tell me you've not been back there."

"Still, there's definitely something there to check out..." He turns the Eugene. "We need to have a look at that secret passage, boys."

"... a secret passage. That leads to the roof."

"You've not even been back there, have you?" The big guy sighs at his beer. "Fuckin' clown. Honest to god, this shit is only funny in the circus."

"I'll level with you, Titus. I've still got to check it out."

The big man pinches the bridge of his nose. "Course you do, clown. Of fucking course. That's how you do it in the Revachol Circus Militia."

"You do agree the shot came from the roof, right?"

"Why not? You can't draw a straight line into Klaasje's window from any of the surrounding buildings -- not from what I know about Martinaise..."

"Maybe from the coast? I've been too busy with this shit to see if it's possible. So no." He shakes his head. "I don't think it was a sniper. It was close up."

Put the numbers out there. This will impress them.

"There's a 72% chance that the bullet came from the roof."

"Seventy-two percent!" He picks up his beer. "There's a percentage and all -- where'd you get it from, your guys in the lab?"

Definitely lie. The truth is not credible.

"I analysed it on the spot. Turns out I can do that."

"No, you can't. I know what you did here on the weekend. People talk -- and what they say doesn't sound like a science-cop. You're a madman."

"Those numbers were an ass-pull, man."

"Yeah and they don't put her on the roof either. It's just mambo jumbo. He hasn't got shit."

"Yes. Big lab. Back in Jamrock. The... Jamrock Ballistics Lab."

"Wouldn't hurt to have one of those in Martinaise." He nods. "What else have you got -- that puts her on the roof?"

"Wouldn't hurt to have one of those in Martinaise." He nods. "Still -- all the labs in the world don't put her on that roof. How did she get there? Climb?"

Better not push it, back to other ideas.

Fine. Don't impress them with ballistics.

Unless it was an exceptional, almost godly sniper.

"An exceptional sniper could have done it."

"It's possible. Someone from their own unit could have taken the shot -- from a spot on the coast, as I said. The roof's still the sanest choice for me."

"See boss, they're contradicting themselves. Now they're saying it wasn't the roof. They can't put her there, it's all bullshit."

"See boss, he's contradicting himself. Now he's saying it wasn't the roof. They can't put her there, it's all bullshit."

Wait -- that would go against the theory I'm presenting here.

Ah yes, of course. Good catch -- go ahead:

"A skilled Sam Bo artist could have climbed the outer wall, like a spider..."

"Garbage." He crosses his arms. "It wasn't a Sam Bo artist, cop. I've been doing this for ten years -- let me give you a lesson. Boys?"

"It's never a Sam Bo fighter and it's never a bullet-bending sniper."

"Or a ghost." The lieutenant adds. "It's never a ghost either -- don't worry, we've got better than that." He looks at you.

I told you not to say that. This is not a joking matter for him.

"That's right, Gene." He nods. "Now, cop, you established a window of opportunity -- the only reason why you still have my ear. Don't waste it."

"I also found footprints upstairs in the old workshop."

"Footprints." He takes a sip of his beer. "Recent?"

He looks tough but there is a nervous twitch in his dark green eye. This is all too close to home for him.

The tracks were recent -- but not worn down in the right foot like Ruby's. It's best to omit this pesky little polemic for now. Too confusing.

"Recent." (Nod.) "Size about 43."

"Forty three is pretty large for a girl, don't you think?" He rubs his chin. "But then Ruby's what you call a butch-girl -- she's no daffodil."

"Yeah, but that's what's so cool about her!" The blond exclaims. "It's why we've been thinking..."

"I know what you've been thinking, Glen. We'll talk about it -- once the murder charges have been cleared."

"Titus, you're not really saying..."

He's thinking all right. Glen gets silence for an answer -- push forward with this theory.

"Recent." (Nod.) "A week or two."