Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The alley beside Kellerman’s general store is being defended by one sleepy-looking guardsman. He sees the badge pinned to my lapel and nods at us as we pass. Walter stops to chat with the man. I am under no delusion that he will have anything useful to say.

The alley is formed by Kellerman's to my left, a flower shop to my right, and an unidentified building closing off the back-end. The ground is composed of hardened and cracked mud, pocked here and there with patches of grass and wildflowers. One would be forgiven for not knowing this unassuming space was the scene of a murder. But the signs are there for those with the eye to find them.

Sidhion calls me over to where he is standing. He draws my attention to a spatter of blood on the left-side wall. "It happened right here."

"Yes.. And by the height of the spray, he was standing when he was first attacked."

"There's a little down here at the bottom, too." Sidhion is crouched near the wall.

"I'm troubled by how minimal this spatter is, though. When a wound is opened, blood goes everywhere it isn't supposed to."

"That doesn't make sense, then. If the killer wanted to make it look like an animal attack, why did they clean up some things and mess around with others?"

"I don't know." I look down and, in shock, hop back several paces. "Sidhion, don't move!"

He freezes in place, looking at the ground instinctively. The embarrassment of possibly messing up the crime scene hits us both at the same time.

At our feet, carved into the hardened dirt is an imprint of Panril's body, now crumbled at the edges. And right beneath where his arm once laid is a footprint, dug deeply into the dirt.

"... Go into Kellerman's and see if they sell plaster. If not, ask that guardsman. We need a moulage of this."

Sidhion nods and takes off, more carefully this time.

While I wait, I examine the print more closely. It's certainly not from a human or animal I've ever seen. The foot of this creature is perfectly symmetrical. Its five slender toes are all longer than the mass of the foot itself. Each toe is tipped with a vicious, curved claw. I take out my notebook and sketch an approximation of the print.

Sidhion swiftly returns, lugging a couple of buckets and huffing heavily. "No luck.. At Kellerman's.. Had to run.. To the precinct."

"Good, now mix up the plaster and pour the moulage."

Sidhion nods and sees to the work. I press onward and sweep the area. A glint on the flower shop wall catches my eye. I crouch down to get a better look.

Lodged into a little hole in the stonework is a tiny piece of copper-colored metal. I try to free it with my finger but it's too deep. I dig into my work satchel and find an appropriately long pair of tweezers. Carefully, I wedge one of the tines between the metal and stone. I push and it pops out into my hand. It's a spent bullet.

"Hey, I found something."

Sidhion has poured the moulage and is letting it dry. He glances up at me.

"A bullet was lodged in the wall opposite. Someone in this altercation had a gun."

We both take in this bullet. It is tiny. Before colliding with the wall it was conical. Now its once symmetrical point is collapsed on one side. The bottom, however, is still flat and pristine. I can even still make out the grooves running around the base.

Sidhion looks away now. He's staring at the moulage. "I've also been thinking.. This print doesn't make much sense either. There's just the one. But why only one? If the ground was wet enough that it left such a deep print, why is there only one? And if the ground was dry enough to not leave prints, why is there one at all?"

"I think I can add a little piece to that puzzle, there." Walter, finally done with his break, joins us. "Accordin' to Clark it rained pretty hard the day of the murder. And that mighta left the dirt here awful soft."

"So the killer materialized, stepped on the ground with one leg then turned into smoke."

Walter picks up on my sarcasm, "Now all we gotta do is round up every one-legged man in town."

Sidhion scoffs, "Let's focus, shall we? Why don't we stop in and talk to Kellerman while we wait for the moulage to dry?"

---

 

The soft chime of a door bell rings as the three of us enter Kellerman's general store. The shop is very tidy. Several rows of chest-high shelves are laid out across the room. The smell of fresh wood is faint behind the smell of the herb and spice barrels standing beneath the shop window.

Behind the counter, a jovial man is wiping down the pristine countertop. He's beaming, "Welcome in, gents! Is there anything I can help ya find?"

Walter smiles at the man, "Good morning. We're trying to get in touch with the owner."

"Oh, are you sure I can't help you? I'm the manager; I can help with plenty."

"We're with the State Militia. Get Kellerman down here,” I demand.

Sidhion kicks my ankle, "Please."

"Please," I add reproachfully.

The manager looks a little taken aback, "Oh! Militiamen! I do hope Mr. Kellerman isn't in too much trouble."

"That remains to be seen. Are you Patt Blue, by chance?"

"Oh, uh, yes." Announcing his name to him sets him on the backfoot.

"Good, we want to speak with you too."

"Ah. You're here about Panril, then." Patt's jovial manner melts away.

"That we are." I flip open my notebook, "Where were you the night the murder took place?"

"Home."

The counter creaks slightly when Walter leans on it, "Do you have anyone we can talk to who can provide us with an alibi?"

"My wife. We were home all night."

"Please, Mr. Blue, there's no need to get all flustered. We're just trying to establish all the facts." Walter smiles.

Sidhion cuts in, "It's in your best interest to be cooperative. We want to catch a killer, not pin it on the first person we speak to."

Patt's eyes shift from me, to Sidhion, to Walter. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I already gave my statement to the guard. I don't know anything because I don’t work nights."

"Just tell us what you do know." Walter's voice is dripping with honey, now.

Patt frowns deeply. "There really isn't anything to tell. I came to work in the morning and found Panril. I ran to find the guard and they did whatever they had to."

"So you were the first to know he was dead." I don't look up from my notes.

"Second," Walter adds helpfully. "Do you mind sharing what schedule you were working the day before the murder?"

"I worked early morning and left at about 3pm."

"And what was Panril's shift?"

"I don't know."

I look up from my note-taking. My eyes meet Patt's and I cast a glare which he swiftly avoids. "Aren't you the manager? You don't know when he was scheduled to work?"

Patt shrivels at my comment, "Well I uh, wasn't the manager at the time."

"Your promotion was in the last few days?"

"The timing was unfortunate but I worked very hard for it." Patt takes a sudden, and very deep, interest in the rag he is still holding.

"Interesting.." I note this in particular. "How closely did you work with Panril?"

"Well, not very. We worked opposite shifts most of the time." Patt's eyes lift only slightly when I change the subject.

"When was the last time you saw him alive?"

"It was the afternoon before he was killed. He took run of the shop when I left."

"I thought you didn't know when he worked," Sidhion breaks his pensive silence.

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"I said I don't know what he was scheduled for. He came in and I left." Patt's response is clipped.

"Was there anything more? You didn't discuss anything outside of work?"

"Well he was acting weird. Made me stay an extra ten minutes while he inspected the whole store three times."

"That wasn't normal?" Walter elects to ease the tension with his compassionate tone.

The gentle touch seems to help as Patt's energy comes to mirror Walter's, "No. Used to be he'd come in, I'd tell him what still needs doing, and I leave."

"Did he tell you why he was inspecting the store so thoroughly?" Walter tries to move his head to meet eyes with Patt. He is unsuccessful.

"Said he had to be sure. No clue what he meant. He was very erratic though. Looked like he hadn't slept. Clearly worried about something."

"And you didn't ask what was bothering him?" Walter squints at Patt.

"No."

"Weren't you worried about him?"

"We're just co-workers."

I catch Patt’s eye, “And when did you notice the gun?”

Patt chokes a little, “Gun?”

I just look at him insistently.

“I.. I don’t know anything about a gun. He didn’t look shot to me.” Where before Patt was avoiding eye contact, now he engages me fully. I detect a quaver of panic in his voice.

“You didn’t see him carry it?”

“No! I didn’t even know he had one!” Patt's voice cracks in desperation.

“Hm, interesting. Just one more question for the moment. Did Panril have any enemies? People who just don’t like him?”

Patt pauses before he speaks. Some aberrant thought appears to cross his mind before he speaks, “No I can’t think of anyone. Like I said, I never knew him personally. Just in passing during shift changes.”

Sidhion, Walter and I exchange affirmative looks. Walter pipes up and claps Patt on the shoulder, “Right-o. I think we have all we need. No need to keep that worried expression,” he laughs.

Patt lets out a sigh of relief.

“Why don’t you take us to see Kellerman and have yourself a little break?”

---

 

Phineas Kellerman is a short, rotund man. His body shape betrays his lifestyle of deskwork and steady profits. His gray hair and crow’s feet betray the work necessary to maintain such a lifestyle. His suit is light gray and finely tailored. When we enter, Kellerman is standing at the window opposite the door, hands resting behind his back. The window overlooks the alley. “Welcome, officers. Patt has told me why you’re here.”

Kellerman's office is decorated rather more finely than even the mayor's. Every furniture piece is thick and heavy, both physically and visually. The room is separated into two distinct areas. At the back of the room is your standard office fare, a heavy walnut desk, matching filing cabinets, a shelving unit lined with logbooks. The door, however, is in front of a seating area. Two couches sit facing each other on an intricately patterned rug. The upholstery is a dark, heavy, olive color which contrasts richly with the intricately floral carved wooden frame surrounding the cushions. The same floral design is carried through to the coffee table resting between the couches. All of the wood is polished to a brilliant sheen.

"Why don't we all have a seat and talk?" Walter doesn't wait for an invitation to sit. Even these sturdy sofas creek beneath Walter's muscly bulk.

"Certainly. Can I offer you a drink?" Kellerman walks to a console table beside the window. He begins pulling out glasses.

Sidhion sees the alcoholic gleam in mine and Walter's eyes. He cuts in before either of us can respond. "Please, just water for all of us."

Kellerman nods grimly. When he brings the glasses, his is the only one which contains a colored liquid.

"Now, there's no need to panic. We're just getting statements and establishing facts right now." Sidhion lifts his glass and stares at the liquid intensely. "Let's start with the basics. Where were you on the night of the murder and can anyone vouch for that fact?"

"I was at home most of the night. Left work at about supper-time, stopped for a bite and a drink at The Last Rail. Old Emmet can attest to that. Then I went straight home. You can talk to any of the servants at Rynor manor about that."

"Rynor manor?"

"Yes, that is where I live. I'm an esteemed member of house Rynor by marriage."

"Oh! I noticed the street we're on is called Rynor. I take it they're pretty important around here." Walter leans on the arm of the couch, content to derail the investigation with inane small talk.

"Everyone in Two Rocks knows the name, 'Rynor' and not for no reason. The family is the wealthiest in town, yes, but we invest the vast majority of our wealth back into the town." Despite his generally morose demeanor, Kellerman's chest swells with pride.

"And a good job, too. This side of town is just lovely." Walter raises his glass in a mockery of a cheer before downing his water like a shot.

I roll my eyes. He'll go on like this forever if I don't cut it off now, "If you two are done with the pleasantries, I'd like to get back to the task at hand."

"Right," Kellerman's manner was never jovial by any means but now he is even more serious.

"Tell me about your relationship with Panril." I begin the line of questioning anew.

"He was my best employee. Little dim, at times, but he'll be sorely missed." Despite the room being perfectly temperate, Kellerman is sweating profusely.

“Were you close,” Walter asks.

“Not personally. Different circles and all. But I look out for my employees. Always have. My business is nothing without my boys.” Kellerman withdraws a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Even this disposable thing is of fine origin, with a delicate lace running its edge and the letter R monogrammed on one corner.

"When was the last time you saw him alive?" Walter is trying his honeyed words again.

"The evening before he was killed. I left him to man the store until closing time." Now Kellerman dabs his forehead. Miraculously, this does not appear to have cleared his brow in any meaningful way.

I think back to our conversation with Patt. "Was he behaving any different from normal?"

Kellerman closes his eyes. His lips tighten with the effort of recollection. He shakes his head. "No. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."

"I see.." My note-taking redoubles at this. "Did you ever know Panril to have any enemies?"

Kellerman cracks an inscrutable, little smile. "If Panril ever had an enemy in this world, it was Patt. He was a nice lad through and through but the two of them were always butting heads."

"Patt didn't mention that."

"Well I'm sure he's embarrassed, poor lad. Got passed up for the managerial position then got it by default. Has to hurt a man's pride." Kellerman swirls the glass in his hand and watches the liquid dance.

Sidhion cuts in, "So Panril was the manager before Patt? How long was that for?"

"Yes, I needed a man to handle some finer details of the shop so I promoted him. Was only in the position for two weeks before.. Well." Kellerman casts a wary glance out the window.

"Does this mean you suspect Patt?"

Kellerman looks at me in shock, "Heavens, no! Patt can be a pill but he's no killer. After all, I gave him the promotion in the end." He looks wistfully out the window again, "No.. I could never imagine Patt as a cold-blooded murderer."

I raise an eyebrow, "Have you ever known either of them to own a gun?"

"No! Neither of them! I hardly see how even a manager could afford such a luxury."

"Seeing that you know how pricey they are, I take it you own a gun," Sidhion adds.

Kellerman looks reluctant to answer. "I.. do. It is safely hanging over my mantle."

I meet Kellerman's gaze. "We'll need to look it over as soon as possible. Bring it by the old precinct on Canary St. later today."

Kellerman's face is tight and morose. His flat manner is cut only by the words, "Of course."

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