Chapter Text
Regional Prosecution's Office
Rachingam, Republic of Cydonia
September 4th, 206
Focus and dexterity - that was the fundament of this case.
A droplet of sweat dripped down Faustino Whist's youthful face. Despite having two years of sitting behind this desk as the assistant prosecutor on his back, he has never faced a challenge like this. His hand trembling, he picked up this extremely important piece of paper and slowly lifted. A glance - yes, this is it. This will be a groundbreaking change in this matter that has been puzzling him for weeks...
Ring, ring!
"Ah!"
Faustino jumped at the sound of his telephone and dropped a jack of spades he's just picked up from the deck. Card hit the foundation of a multi-layered house of cards he's just been building, completely ruining it.
"Oh, no... Oh, no!", he mourned the fall of his creation. Ring, ring! He picked up the receiver. "Hello, Whist speaking."
"Faustino, I've stumbled over a case I'd like you to take care of. I'm sure you've got time, don't you?". Voice on the other hand was low and very well known to the assistant prosecutor; it did, in the end, belong to his mentor.
"Ah, prosecutor Zahnrad, good day!". Faustino smiled. "Sure, I can do it. May I ask for the address?"
"Kaltstein Straße 24, the "Apolonia" Hotel, room 227. Be seeing you."
"On my way, prosecutor!"
Hanging up. Fausting breathed deeply. "So, let's get to work", he thought while finishing his coffee and getting up to pick up the cards. Then he took his briefcase and was just about to leave, but before that he decided to check himself out in the reflective glass of a cabinet, just to make sure all is good with him: dark hair combed, fair-skinned face smooth and and light green suit flawless.
"Like a million marks".
And then he left.
* * *
"Apolonia" Hotel
Rachingam, Republic of Cydonia
September 4th, 206
Green Carlo Chase, Faustino's personal passenger car, stopped in front of the hotel and the young prosecutor eagerly took off and stepped from the busy Kaltstein Straße across the sidewalk to the red carpet leading inside the hotel.
"Apolonia" stood here since the fifties (or longer) and still held together great, because it was one of the first hotels to be seen from CNR station Rachingam Central, from which thousands of travelers arrived daily and in need of a place to sleep at night. Those who made the reservation in time and had money for it could easily have a comfortable hotel room mere hundreds of meters from the place from which they will return homes from the great city.
And now that the police was here, as suggested by the squad cars outside the building and a ton of uniformed people inside, and now a prosecutor and his assistant? Something really interesting must have happened.
"Hello, my name's Faustino Whist, Regional Prosecution", he said to the receptionist, showing his identification badge. "May I ask how to get to the room numbered 227?"
"Of course", she replied, "please take the elevator to the second floor and after leaving turn left. It will be the second door on the right."
"Thank you!"
Squishing through a ton of guests and blue uniforms Faustino unfortunately didn't make it to the elevator, as all of them were occupied, so instead he picked the stairs. Heels of his presdon shoes clicked on the white marble for a minute and he was on the second floor, where locating room 227 was all too easy - it was surrounded by policemen.
"Ah, Faustino! There you are!"
That came from inside the room. The guards let him in and he went to greet his good colleague and mentor, old prosecutor Alastor Zahnrad.
"So, you will take care of it? Good", said the man. His thick moustache moved around funnily with every move of his lips.
"To be fair, I don't even know what will I be taking care of, prosecutor. I can see something has happened, but perhaps you would like to introduce me?"
"Ah, ha, ha! With pleasure."
Zahnrad's laugh was like a thunder. Despite his age allowing him to be Faustino's father, the moustached man was nothing like him. In contrast to the youngster's slim physique, with his build he was more akin to a large wardrobe dressed like a steampunk inventor. His little quirk, that was.
Old prosecutor put his comical goggles on and from the hall with a small kitchen annex and kitchen he went straight to the second room, where the bedroom was located. "Was" is a good word, because for some reason there was not a thing. No furniture, no decorations. Only a bunch of investigators and a dead man on the carpet.
"Ah... A murder...", said Faustino.
"That eagle eye of yours", replied Zahnrad, nodding theatrically. "I know you have a bent for rather mysterious cases, so here's something for you. Lieutenant!"
"Mhm."
Right beside Zahnrad popped up a light-skinned policeman with black hair and bored look on his face. He couldn't be more than thirty-something years of age.
"Lieutenant Richard Hart, 10th precinct, homicide, reporting", he said and saluted, but his tone was so dispassionate, Faustino thought he most likely doesn't want to see him at all.
"Faustino, this is detective Hart. Lieutenant, this is prosecutor Faustino Whist, my assistant. You will be working together", explained Zahnrad.
"Pleasure to meet you, mister!". Faustino reached out his hand.
"Likewise", replied detective, shaking it.
"Well then. Lieutenant, introduce our new friend to the matter at hand, and I'll go have a smoke."
"Mhm". Hart took a big sip of coffee from his flask, and prosecutor Zahnrad left the two alone. "If you wish to smoke too, then no worries, the smoke detector is gone as well."
"Oh?". Faustino found that peculiar, but that was not the point of detective's question. "Oh, no, thank you, I only smoke on special occasions."
"Well then solving this case may be one of them, because being honest, I have no sensible explanation for all this."
"Let's think together, then. May I just ask for details?"
"Yes. Ahem..."
Hart turned to the corpse in the room's center. A white man with dark hair and slight facial hair was laying on the floor with his knees drawn up under his belly, hands under his neck and head turned way too much back. It looked like he was prostrating for a prayer, but the cadaver's agonized face faced the ceiling rather than the floor. He wore a white robe and cracked glasses.
"This man here is one Edward Wexler, 33, a programmer. As you can see, prosecutor, he's dead."
"Indeed."
"His neck was snapped."
"Oh?"
"Mhm. We needed three coroners to establish that."
"Is that so?"
"No. I'm joking." Lieutenant's face was as bored as before. "But jokes aside. He was murdered, no doubt about that, and his body was arranged."
"How do we know?"
"Well, first of all, considering everything disappearing from the room, that confirms third party involvement. But I'll get there. The hard evidence are unidentified fingermarks on his robe. After putting it on the body was moved."
"Are the fingermarks not his own? How do we know he was moved postmortem? Was he living in this room with someone?"
"Too many questions, prosecutor. I'm not done explaining."
"Of course, sorry, Lieutenant."
"Long story short: yesterday here were found regular guests and a regular room, today there's a body and an empty room."
"How long was the victim registered here?"
"Here's the kicker, prosecutor."
"That is?"
"The victim isn't and never was registered as this room's nor the hotel's guest. There's not a trace of link between »Apolonia« Hotel and Edward Wexler".
"Huh...". Faustino, eyebrows raised, glanced at the victim's grimace. "That's a peculiarity, indeed. What is he doing here, then?"
"Great question, prosecutor, very good." Detective nodded. "At the moment he's kneeling here and awaiting being moved to the morgue."
Faustino kneeled next to dead Wexler and started inspecting him.
"He had to get here somehow. It's a hotel robe, right? He's naked underneath... And bruised at that... So someone had to put it on here. Maybe the killer... How long has he been in this hotel?"
"Beats me."
"Then how was the body discovered?"
"Do you prefer the shorter or longer version?"
"Shorter."
"The hotel's manager discovered the body today at 11:47 AM."
"Three hours ago... Now the longer one."
"The victim might've not been the hotel guest, but the room's owner certainly was. One Rachela Rachingam, as she signed herself in the guest book, lived here since yesterday, 5 PM. She got in with her luggage and a man wearing a hat. Then they locked themselves in."
"Was the room reserved?"
"It was not, but coincidentally that day a guest was kicked out, so the room became spontanously vacant. Anyway, thorought the night the staff received multiple noise complaints on this room, but nobody intervened considering an absolute ban on entering room with the »No bothering« sign."
"That does not sound responsible."
Lieutenant shrugged.
"Noises stopped before the morning arrived, but the room was locked nonstop until 11:47 AM, when the hotel manager finally intervened after seeing footage of literally no sign of life from the Rachela and her companion since they signed in. The room was opened before with the universal key and it turned out to be emptied from furniture in the bedroom, as well as initial guests, with only the cadaver kneeling here, as we see him."
"Rachela Rachingam... That does not sound like a real name."
"Because it isn't, prosecutor. She's not found in any database. Besides, nobody but the noble families has a city name for a surname these days. »Rachela Rachingam« is only one of those popular aliases, like John Smith or Jan Kowalski."
"So I understand she has not been located yet?"
"Not at all."
"And do we know who her friend was?"
"We know nothing, prosecutor."
"Hm, hm, hm..."
Faustino kept kneeling by Wexler, scratching his chin. "What are you doing here, friend?", he thought.
"When did the police arrive?"
"Around 12:10 AM. The case was categorized as no. RH10-0409206.1210."
"I see... And what was the crime scene's state?"
"Similar to what it is now. Bedroom empty, body in the middle, door opened by the manager."
"Any statements from him?"
"We're gonna talk, but it seems he nor anyone else haven't touched anything upon arrival."
"Is that so..."
Detective Hart stood there, leaning on the door frame and sipping coffee. Police photographer asked Faustino to move aside and with a blinding flash he took another photo of the body.
"Should I know anything else?", asked Faustino.
"Two more things", said the detective. "You can see one by yourself if you turn back."
Faustino indulged and looked behind him - there were windows there, through which one could see the bright late summer sky hiding behind residential buildings, and on the ground shined hotel's patio. All windows closed and locked... bar one...
"That window is open." Faustino pointed at the window on the right. "I mean it's closed, but unlocked. The handle points east, not north. It can be easily manipulated from both sides."
"Yes, that's one thing. The other one is in the room's corner, when a cabinet should stand."
Detective pointed towards the aforementioned corner, and Faustino came closer. Marked as piece of evidence number 3 stood a white figurine of a small elephant made of porcelain, flowers painted on its head and sides.
"A porcelain elephant?"
"Precisely, prosecutor. It's part of every bedroom's decor on this floor. And that's the only thing bar the carpet that did not disappear from this room."
* * *
"Apolonia" Hotel
Rachingam, Republic of Cydonia
September 4th, 206
Detective Hart also decided to smoke, so along with Whist they left for the hotel front door, where outside already stood prosecutor Zahnrad, smoking a cigar. Surrounded by smoke Faustino couldn't focus, do moved a few meters aside until they were done.
"Edward Wexler...", he mumbled as he was playing with a pair of dice in his hand, a pair he always had on him. "What do we know about this man, lieutenant?"
"Not much, mister Whist. He's been born on September 24th, 172 and comes from Enzheimen. Here he works as a programmer for Maximus Inc."
"Maximus? Funny...". By chance in this huge corporation also worked Faustino's wife. "How was he identified?"
"One of the bellboys attended gym with him, he recognized the body."
"Did he have a family? Were they informed about the death?"
"According to the bellboys's testimony Wexler had a wife, with whom he loved in south Sudfeld, on Helios Straße. We're still waiting for a precise address and wife's identity."
"Has the bellboy had any more useful testimonies?". Faustino's dice clacked.
"None, prosecutor."
"So the matter at hand is clear, isn't it?", said Zahnrad. "You lot need to go to Helios Straße and talk with the wife. Surely you'll receive her details by then."
"Mhm". Lieutenant fixed his police hat. "There's my car, prosecutor."
"I'll handle the paperwork in the meantime. And you, Whist, could use some field experience". Although his teeth were yellow after years of smoking, in contrast to Zahnrad's black skin they seemed to shine when he smiled.
"You got it, boss."
Faustino made sure his beloved Carlo Chase was safe to remain at the hotel's parking lot, after which he got in Lieutenant Hart's car and together they've left for the Sudfeld district.
* * *
Helios Straße
Rachingam, Republic of Cydonia
September 4th, 206
"Have you ever done this before, prosecutor?", suddenly asked detective Hart, as their car was awaiting green light at the crossing of Helios Straße and Mundi Straße.
"Have I done what?"
"Delivered the bad news."
"Overall I did, but...". Faustino's mind wandered. He imagined lonely miss Wexler awaiting her husband at their place. And here they go, carrying the news of him never coming back. "...But not at this scale, I believe."
"Mhm. It's one of the hardest things for a cop. I had the displeasure of doing it every so often back when I was a bobby."
"But now we have to question the wife..."
"That's right."
Silence. The light was still red.
"Do you have a family, Lieutenant?", asked Faustino, playing with his dice. Detective remained silent for a second, then answered.
"I have a friend, who keeps hanging around me like a house dog. Aside from this, I'm alone. I do have parents, if that's what you mean."
"I see, I see..."
"And you?"
"Ah", Faustino smiled, "quite a large one at that. I have a brother, I have a wife, and soon enough I'll become a father."
"Well, well", detective nodded, "A boy or a girl?"
"We asked the doctor not to tell us, but if it's a boy, we'll name him Aaron, and if a girl, she'll be Ariel."
"Pretty". Despite Lieutenant's kind words, his physiognomy remained bored. And yet Faustino hasn't quite detected that feeling in his tone; perhaps that's just Lieutenant's usual face?
The green light shined, the car set off and turned to Helios Straße. The street looked just like any other in northwestern Rachingam, especially Sudfeld and Nordfeld districts - multi-storied tenements from well over a hundred years ago, restored at least three decades ago, if not more, standing on two sides of a cobbled street, divided from it only with few meters wide pavement and cars parked on it.
"Now, where's block 26...", mumbled Hart, looking around. Mela Wexler, the victim's wife, was supposed to live in this block, apartment 9. "Let's stop here."
The car was parked on the pavement and along with Whist they got out of it. Under one of the doors stood two boys, no more than 11 years old each, passing a football between their feet - Richard approached one of them.
"Hello, boy", he said, "my name is Richard Hart."
"Mom told me not to talk with strangers...". The boy grabbed the ball and pressed it against his chest.
"I understand, that's very smart. However, look, I'm a policeman", he flashed his badge, "and I need your help. Can you tell me where's block numbered 26?"
"Hmm...". The boy was thinking. "Mhm!"
And he pointed at the block on the other side of the street. Indeed, although the sign above the door was very worn off, it showed number 26.
"Thank you, young citizen."
Richard nodded and along with Faustino they went towards its door. Someone was just leaving, so they entered a dark staircase and started climbing it, boards screeching under their feet, as they were looking for apartment 9. Finally, at the fourth floor, left to the attic entrance, they found it. Richard knocked on the door.
"I hope she's home...", said Faustino, clenching his fist around dice in his pocket.
"Mhm..."
Footsteps were heard, as well as the sound of someone looking throught the peephole. Someone looked at them, then opened the door - a fairly well built older woman of mousy hair and red cheeks, as if roses blooming from her bright cheeks.
"Miss Mela Wexler?", asked Richard, taking his hat off.
"No...", replied the woman.
"Then whom do we have the pleasure with?". Faustino furrowed his eyebrows.
"And you are...?"
"Lieutenant Richard Hart, Rachingam City Police Department", he flashed his badge, "and with me is prosecutor Faustino Whist. We're searching for Mela Wexler, is this her apartment?"
"Yes, but... Mela is absent. She passed away a month ago."
To be continued...