Chapter 5: Chapter 4

Ebonpoint’s towering spires stabbed at the midday sky, white clouds fluttering through the ocean of blue above old, gothic architecture. The smoke of Colin’s cig wafted up in thin trails of gray, joining the purer fluffs of nature, dissipating from sight but leaving its poisonous scent behind.

Half an hour he’d stood outside, the stump of his first cig steaming under his shoe, the second still burning but nearly to the filter. Taking a final drag, Colin dropped the second nicotine stick on the ground, lifting his foot from the first to stomp and snuff the second. “Better see how things are going,” he muttered to himself, turning around to enter Ebonpoint’s police headquarters.

He pulled open one of the mahogany doors, sliding on oiled hinges, creating nary a sound. On either side of the double doors stood hooded angels, each holding a sword pointed downward. They were intricately designed, the bump of each feather dutifully chiseled out, stern faces turned towards the street, eyes left hidden beneath their hoods. A common look even now, Colin thought dryly before stepping past the station’s winged gatekeepers.

The hubbub of the station hit gently at first, getting louder as Colin stepped deeper in. Voices from a hundred different conversations mingled together into white noise, overstimulating the senses before slipping into the background, the detective shutting out the world around him as he walked through the station.

Past the reception desk, where Catalina sat, dutifully answering and directing calls. Manicured fingernails tapping keys in rapid succession on her typewriter as she went, her auburn hair reflecting the daylight as it bled in through pane glass windows. Through crowded cubicles, where detectives worked diligently, organizing notes and going over available evidence on whatever case they were each tracking down. Shuffling papers, the tip tapping of hard shoes on ceramic tiles, and the swirling of both masculine and feminine voices all fusing into a cacophony of nonsense.

Past the crowded traffic, Colin made his way up the stairs to the fourth floor. The noise disappeared beneath the steps and thick stone floors, leaving Colin with his own head, which was already pounding.

The second floor hummed with the subtle smacking of soft leather shoes, and the clanking of steel file cabinets, a half-dozen record keepers maintaining order in the chaos of thousands of folders. The third floor was near silent, save for the muffled clicking of guns being racked and ammunition boxes being rotated and counted. The armoury was always under watch by one of three quartermasters, at all times in rotating shifts. If a detective or officer needed firepower above their standard revolver, they needed special permission from the Chief. Colin found that you might even get an extra box or two of bullets if the quartermaster on call liked you.

Reaching the fourth and top floor, Colin pushed open the heavy metal door, the wooden bottoms of his shoes clacking noisily against the floor, echoing his presence. A square chamber opened up, walls on both left and right lined with black iron cells, a large table sat in the middle of the room where a trio of guards played poker to pass the time. In the back was a single door, heavy metal lacking any excess detail.

The room was a temporary holding area, keeping suspects locked up and under constant watch. Only three of the eight cells were occupied: in one, a middle-aged man of middling build slept fitfully on his cot, apparently unconcerned with his predicament. Two cells down, a young woman paced back and forth, eyes flitting to Colin as he entered. The third was a man the same age as the woman, well-muscled and covered in tattoos, sitting on his cot and tapping his foot, eyeing the guards at the table. Whatever they were in for, it wasn’t the detective’s problem.

Walking past the table, the guards – Devin, Trevor, and one Colin didn’t know by name – glanced up at him only briefly before returning to their game. They had expected him, Colin having stepped out less than an hour ago for his smoke break. Ignoring Trevor’s agitated grumblings as Devin threw down three queens and a pair of sixes, Colin stepped through the door in the back of the room, leaving the disquieting cheer of the guards behind.

A pair of heads turned to meet Colin as he entered the interrogation room, the two sitting before a one-way mirror, a speaker similar to a record-player wired into a hidden microphone on the other side of the wall. Kevin, slumped in a chair, bound in bandages, nodded towards his partner. “Enjoy your little break?”

Walking next to the larger man, Colin stared through the mirror. Their Chief had taken point on the interrogation, the rotund man always up to yell at suspects and leverage his authority. Glancing away from his boss and down to Kevin’s wrapped arms, Colin nodded. “I did, actually. You enjoying yours?”

“Oh, these? Yeah, real fun.” Kevin waved his left arm, emphasizing the bandages around them before pointing towards the other person in the room with his thumb, a woman of average height in a white coat crossing her arms. “The doctor here says that I get to do office work for the next six weeks, so no more adventures for me for a little while.”

Looking over the woman, her eyes locking with his, Colin nodded in greeting. The EPD’s on-site doctor, Sarah Farwell, responded with a voice like lavender. “Good afternoon, detective. It’s as he says. Mr. Pugh’s forearms and ribs are all fractured, so he’ll need to take it easy for a while before getting back on the field. I hope you’ll be able to manage without him for now.” Her playful smile illuminated her face, blonde curls framing her heart-shaped face.

“I’m sure I can handle myself for a few weeks,” Colin said. He looked back up through the mirror, “Is there a reason you shut off the speaker to the interrogation room?”

Kevin snorted, “The Chief isn’t really quiet, y’know. And he wasn’t making any progress either, so I decided to forego the headache and let him tire his lungs out before you got back.”

Scratching the stubble on his cheek, Colin made for the side door leading to the other side of the interrogation room. “Well, thanks for that. Enough noise around here as is.”

Opening the door, an explosion of sound escaped, rocking Colin back as his headache came back twofold. “-en here you gutter trash! We know your kind stick together, so just tell me what you know about your little corpse-breath friends, and we can both move on with-”

“Chief,” Colin called out, gaining his boss’s attention. “I’ll take it from here, if you don’t mind. Your voice is starting to get a bit scratchy.”

Eric Kimball, Ebonpoint’s Chief of Police, turned. His brow was slick with sweat, reflecting the industrial lights buzzing overhead. His hair was matted, the buzz cut doing little to hide the buildup of oils giving his hair an unappealing sheen. Chins jiggled as he harrumphed, hiking up his suspenders, pulling his black slacks towards the white-and-blue button up shirt clinging desperately to his rotund physique. “Detective Black. I see you’re back.” Glancing over his shoulder at the ghoul girl, he made a point to scowl at her before walking past Colin. “Take your time and get some answers, it’s not going anywhere. I’ll be in my office when you have something of value to report to me.”

Watching the Chief step from the room, Colin took a second to examine the room. A single table sat front-and-center, the heavy steel bolted to the concrete floor. On Colin’s side, its top was smooth and plain, a wholly unremarkable piece of furniture. Opposite him, however, the table bore a set of heavy rings welded to the table’s top, a set of manacles looped through the ring, clamped over the girl’s wrists. They pressed tight against the regular pair of handcuffs keeping her restrained, the manacles keeping her further limited to the table’s surface. Her chair was similarly chained to the ground, which made moving about awkward when trying to adjust the chair.

The other chair, not bolted to the ground, had been flung to the ground, resting on its side where it had been tossed. Retrieving the chair and righting it, Colin slid into it with the grace of a drunkard, stumbling a bit as his legs fit themselves under the table. “There we go,” he muttered, patting himself down, glacial eyes following all the while. “So, uh, my name’s Colin Black. I’m a detective with the EDP, though you probably figured that much out.”

The girl stared at him, her eyes the shade of blood, yet cold as ice and sharp as a blade. Snow-white hair draped down to her shoulders in matted tangles, due more to the lack of a shower than the Chief’s abundant sweat and oils, blending in with her pallid, albino-pale skin.

“Given that you’re so young, and that this is your first offense – or at least I assume so, given our lack of records on you – there’s a good chance we could send you back to the slums with little more than a slap on the wrist.” Colin leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the table. “But I need you to answer some questions first before we can think about releasing you.”

Still she said nothing, her glare never wavering.

“I’ll ask some basic questions first, see if we can’t find something out about you.” Clearing his throat, Colin went through his short laundry list of identifiers.

“What’s your name?

“Your date of birth?

“Any family or notable contacts?

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“Any former run-ins with law enforcement?”

She stayed silent through it all, hands clenching and unclenching as his questions droned on.

“Giving nothing up, huh?” Leaning back in his chair, Colin pat down his pockets before producing a pack of cigs, the flimsy carton dented from being in his coat. Pulling one of the nicotine sticks out before tossing the packaging onto the table, he pulled out his rose-engraved lighter, flicking it open with a loud clink. The wheel spun without a hitch, a small flame licking at the detective’s stubble. He noticed then how cold the interrogation room was, the miniscule source of heat like an inferno above the steel tabletop. His cig took the flame greedily, quickly on fire before Colin shook it, taking the flame down to a thin wisp of embers and smoke.

The girl’s face scrunched up as the smoke wafted over to her, teeth gritting as she leaned to avoid snorting the fumes. “You really gotta do that in here, ya old bastard?”

“And thus she speaks,” Colin said, throwing his hands up theatrically. “And all it took was blowing some smoke in your face.”

She growled, baring her teeth at him, the yellowed fangs like a wild animal’s.

“Oh, relax girly, I’m just trying to keep the mood light here. I’m sure we both have places we’d rather be, and we’ll get out of here a lot sooner if you just answer my questions.” Colin took another drag of his cig, blowing the smoke to the side this time.

Staring him down for a few more seconds, the half-breed sighed, “My name is Caitlin. Caitlin Graves. You happy now?” Every word carried an edge with it, a natural ferocity that came with her deeper voice and guttural projection.

“I’m never happy,” Colin said dryly.

Caitlin ignored his attempt at humour. “Why am I here?”

“You fled from, and then assaulted, two detectives. I feel like the why of the matter is pretty obvious.” Taking a third drag from his cig, Colin puffed it to the side again before snuffing the embers on the floor, crushing it underfoot.

“No,” Caitlin declared.

“No?” Colin was unable to hide his surprise at her blatant dismissal, jaw slightly agape.

Caitlin rolled her eyes, “If it was just about that, then you would’ve thrown me into a cell or shot me on the spot. No, you want something more. Otherwise, why the interrogation? Even you lot aren’t going to waste resources just to terrorize some half-breed.” Her emphasis was a mocking one, voice rising in a parody of someone else, pompous and disdainful.

Colin took a second to collect himself, sitting up straighter and looking her in the eye. “Caitlin, you were stealing a corpse.”

She almost looked insulted, Colin thought, her jaw hanging similar to how his had. “We all do that though! It’s not like the dead mind being dug back up or anything.”

“Who do you mean by we?” Colin leaned forward again, palms flat against the table’s surface.

“Slummers, you git!” She roared, slamming her fists on the table, “What, you think I’m part of some sick gang? It’s how we get by, surviving on the scraps left behind by people like you. Who cares if a corpse goes missing? Isn’t it better to use the resources at hand, than wasting them by leaving them buried?” Caitlin leaned forward, baring her fangs. “Besides, you didn’t seem to care so much when they were alive. So why now?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Colin took a moment to breathe and relax, “Look, there’s been a murder in the Drowned District. A pure-blood crawled out from the slums, and we’re trying to track it down before it decides to make permanent residence above ground. There were a significant amount of ghoul sightings reported from the crematorium’s cemetery, of a strange humanoid in red stealing corpses. Then we find you, doing a bit of your own pilfering.”

Caitlin grit her teeth, but said nothing, anger boiling behind sanguine eyes.

Colin continued. “Now, the way I see it, you’re not a pure-blood, nor do you even remotely fit the description of our thief. We could easily release you, were it not for the assault charges, but I think there’s a way around this that would help everyone.”

“I don’t know where this ghoul is, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Caitlin snapped.

“I didn’t assume so,” Colin said. “No, you don’t know where the pure-blood is, but you do know what people do with corpses stolen from the cemetery. And right now, that’s the best lead I’ve got.”

Caitlin leaned over the table, clasping her hands together, the simple motion uncomfortable in the steel cuffs. “Well, it sounds like you need my help then.”

Leaning forward in a similar way, Colin stared into the girl’s blood-red eyes. “That I do. And thus, you find yourself with a bit of leverage. I recommend that you use it, unless you want to be stuck in a cell for the next decade.”

Caitlin growled, her throat rumbling. “What do you have in mind, suit?”

“It’s simple, really,” Colin said. “For the time being, and for no particular reason, my partner is out of commission. So, my offer is this, Caitlin: help me track down this pure-blood, and you’ll be released, free to go about your life.”

Even through the one-way mirror and thick stone wall, Colin swore he could hear the Chief’s yelling.

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