(Whisper) "Kim, we did it."

"How did you know?"

"I've done this job for ten years. I've seen it before. It's the politician in the motel room with the dead hooker scenario -- only in reverse."

"Good analogy, boss." The rat-faced man snickers.

"You don't get to talk yet, Shanky." He points at him. "You're still on the bench -- and you keep taking it easy too, Angus." He turns back to you.

That's okay with the fat man, still wheezing there. He couldn't speak if he wanted to.

"What happened then?"

"We went upstairs. Sure as day the merc was dead. And there was a bullet hole through the window. Fucking..." He scratches his chin. "Dirty sheets and bottles everywhere."

He means they'd been fucking?

"Tibbs patched the window. And the corpse -- we hanged."

"Did she kill him?"

"You hanged the corpse to cover up the real cause of death -- what was it?"

"We're not sure. Probably a bullet. The wound was difficult to see."

The coroner and his assistant are wrapped in blue: hands covered in blue gloves, mouths covered by blue masks, bodies by blue aprons. The coroner wipes his brow, scalpel still in his hand. "Get the light. Shine it in his mouth," he tells his assistant. The coroner squats, to better see as the light illumines the darkness inside. "Well, shit. Can't blame them for missing that. Get the saw, Alan. This just got fun."

So there was a wound -- you should try looking for it one more time, before you send the body away.

At least you'll know what to look for now -- when you get around to doing the autopsy.

"You hanged a corpse to cover up the real cause of death -- the bullet in his head."

"You hanged a corpse to cover up the real cause of death -- what was it?"

"If Klaasje didn't kill him -- why the cover up?"

"You may have noticed our girl's in some shit of her own."

"Yeah, I told you she's not what she seems. She's had special training -- for something shady."

"Oh, you meant that kind of training -- like a spy?" He scratches his chin. "Maybe. The kind of people who are after her... I guess she'd have to be."

"These people -- who are they?"

"They're powerful." He looks out the window. "Connected to the Moralintern. She's clearly afraid for her life -- says if she showed up in your systems, she'd be ghosted away."

That's all he knows -- that's all she's told him.

"And why would you help someone like that? By taking on a murder?"

"Why would I?" He shrugs. "I guess we abide all sorts of runaways and losers here. It's a Martinaise thing."

"Why would help someone like that out?"

"Why would I?" He looks you in the eye: "I guess we abide all sorts of runaways and losers here. It's a Martinaise thing."

"She told me some people were after her -- from Oranje. She wouldn't say more."

"Yeah -- she wouldn't. She's fucked if she shows up on police radar."

"I didn't notice anything -- what kind of shit are we talking about?"

"The can't show up on police radar kind. There are people after her. From the Old Old World -- where she came from."

"So, who killed the merc then? Any leads?"

"Not yet. Just some ideas. She says the shot came from outside, behind the window somewhere. So that's a clue."

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking -- someone's past caught up with them. Either hers or his."

"Hers -- you mean..."

"I mean the people after Klaasje. Maybe the shot missed. Maybe it was meant for her?"

"I like that." The young guy nods. "Been thinkin' the same thing myself."

"And you had ideas about his past too?"

"I do -- one of those mercenary buddies of his could've done it. They got guns. Training. Years of bad blood, probably. Or it could've been someone else from Krenel..." He pauses to think.

"Tell you what I'd do -- check out the coast for vantage points. Maybe consult with a ballistics buddy of mine -- that's what I'd do. If I wasn't too busy doing this clown dance with you."

He's calm now. Threw all that turmoil away and became himself again.

These theories -- not bad. Don't buy either one, but still. This guy's not as dumb as he looks.

"She's got one of those chequered pasts. The shot could have missed. Could've been meant for her?"

"Hers?"

"Got it. Tell me something else."

"Yeah, sure. You don't need my clues. You're doing a great job on your own." He shakes his head.

"Who's Tibbs?"

"My brother. He's in the window replacement business."

Tibbs -- that's short for...

"Short for Tiberius?"

"Yeah." He nods. "Good man."

Bet their father's named Atticus Hardie -- Lucretia Hardie would be their sister. Anyway.

Back to cop questions.

Yes. No more small talk.

Right now he's grateful he hasn't gotten his brother into this mess.

Convince Titus he is being manipulated.

Convince Titus? he's being manipulated? You should know by now -- Titus Hardie will never falter.

But you know someone who might.