"I have nothing to say to you. Get out of my sight."

"Kipts. You know."

"Officer, please! The Moralintern is dedicated to fostering a more tolerant and pluralistic society. There's no room for racial slurs there."

There seems to be plenty of room for proxy wars waged by multinational corporations, though.

"Nothing, sorry."

"Yes, well. As I was saying: Colonialism has left a dark legacy in many places, one we must move past, but also never forget."

(Shake your head too.) "History is very complicated and rarely simple."

"...which is why the work of the Moralintern is so critical. It is our great bulwark against another century of bloodshed."

"Who's talking about the past? It's still going on!"

"His name was Ellis Kortenaer."

"Ellis Kortenaer? That's an interesting name."

"His name's not really important. What matters is that he was a mercenary."

"Aha, a condottiere," the man says, as though describing a character from a fantasy novel. "Yes, it's hard to believe they still exist."

"He was a poor kid before the Oranjese government put him in a military academy."

The man nods. "It's the responsibility of any good welfare state to take care of its most unfortunate citizens."

"Yeah, he should have been grateful for the help."

"Every one of us has our role to play."

"They turned him into a psychopathic killing machine!"

"They gave him a successful career." The man holds up a finger as though he's made a brilliant point.

YES. Killing was his business and business was good.

Did he love it before they made him do it again and again and again?

"What else has your investigation uncovered?"

"He was a mercenary."

"After he was discharged from the military he joined a group of mercenaries."

"That is extremely unfortunate. Yes, it's regrettable that this practice has a history in certain Occidental nations, even highly advanced members of EPIS..."

"But rest assured: The Oranjese government has committed to producing a timetable that would lay out a path to transition to a professional army. Soon there'll be no need for mercenaries like this poor man."

"What kind of a timetable are we talking about here?"

"Oh, it's hard to put an exact date on it. I believe the proposal for the timetable is due to be completed around '60 or '61."

"I guess that's better than nothing."

The man nods. "See? That's the kind of progress that the Moralintern makes possible."

"What? That's like a decade from now!"

"Oh, well that solves that, then."

"His name was Lely."

"Lely? That's an interesting name."

"Lely wasn't his real name. It was a nom de guerre."

"Ah, he was a soldier?"

"A mercenary."

"Thanks, I've got all I need." [Leave.]

"Of course, I'm sorry I couldn't be the 'break' you were looking for. Good luck with the investigation."

"Of course, I'm glad I could help."

"A moment, officer."

"Do you have everything you need from me? I'm afraid we won't have the chance to speak again once you leave."

"I'm not going anywhere, I just want to take a look around in this apartment." [Leave.]

"Sure, go ahead, it's a beautiful space." He glances at his watch. "Let me know if you have any further questions."

"Thanks for the heads up, but my work here is done." [Leave.]

"Already?" He glances at his watch. "Well, I'm glad I could help."

"Hold on, why can't we talk later?"

"It's against diplomatic best practices for an official in my position to be discussing murders with local militiamen." He pauses. "And I'm pressed for time. After you leave, I should be leaving as well."

That's not the real reason he's so apprehensive -- men in his position shouldn't be seen loitering around in underprivileged young men's apartments in the middle of the night.

"You actually witnessed the lynching?"

"I'm sorry to say I did, officer." The man gives a solemn nod.

He didn't see the hanging, he saw the little show staged by the Hardies. Let him talk. He may know more than even he knows.

(Turn to the lieutenant.) "This is just the break we've been looking for!"

"Easy, detective. No need to jump to conclusions." He eyes the spectacled man near the window, who smiles and spreads his hands.

"Is it because you did it, Mr. Villedrouin?"

"Because I did it?" the man scoffs.

He's clearly not a man accustomed to being spoken to in that manner, let alone to being accused of murder.

"Don't jerk my chain, paper-jockey. You did it, didn't you?"

"What's the meaning of this?" He looks first at you, then at the lieutenant. "Is your colleague here trying to arrest me?"

He sounds almost mocking, saying those words -- arrest me.

"There is no meaning, sir. Please excuse my colleague. This case has... been a great strain on his nerves."