Book 3: Chapter 8 - Begging for Scraps

Our city wouldn’t function if citizens could never enter lower-category districts.
It also wouldn’t function if anyone was allowed to do so regularly.

This is what these tools are for.
We don’t enchant tools to dampen perception exclusively as a way to contain criminals.
It’s simply the only way officials can enter these districts without violating the privacy of everyone who lives there.

Don’t worry. You can just turn it off after you leave the train;
no one ever checks.
—Ray Castro, Police Academy Training

“I’ll hear you out, Mr. Lupin. Because I’m told you aren't associated with Chromatic Academy. But if that is a mistake... if you are here to bring my daughter back to school, I need you to understand that this meeting will not end amicably,” Mrs. Garnet said.

Lyle sat across from him in a surprisingly modest living room. There was a glass of tea on the coffee table in front of him, and Mrs. Garnet had served it herself. He understood they were hardly the Ashers, but he still expected some display of wealth. Almost any cyan was rich to one degree or another, and he understood the Garnet family was better off than most. He wasn’t particularly wealthy himself, but he’d only recently reached the category. And since his work required him to enter lower category districts on special permissions, he wasn’t allowed any conflicts of interest. This family, however, had no such restrictions.

Yet they had such a quaint home. Smaller than any other he’d seen in the district, in fact. Considering how much space the category had compared to how sparse its population was, that was no surprise. But this was no more extravagant than any middle-class orange home. 

Lyle wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign.

He was looking into rich families with recent losses. Specifically, if the loss was a younger member with a lower category, and there was anything suspicious about it. Anything at all, really. It was perhaps a bit callous, but if he was right, it could make a difference. He needed to get onto that campus. It was the obvious way forward. His talents could only do so much for him when red tape was protecting the killer. Knowledge and deductions could only get him so far, and they certainly wouldn’t tear through all the bureaucracy on their own. No. Lyle knew exactly how to push past obstacles like this. Or rather, he knew who could step around them.

As with all things, money was the ultimate solution. His job was to find the truth. It would need to be the job of the rich to make that possible. 

But, as sure as it was that the wealthy could help catch the killer, it was equally universal that they wouldn’t. Not without a reason. Lyle couldn’t offer them profit, so he was hoping to find a family who wanted answers. Or justice, even.

The fact that the Garnet family was happy in such a small home indicated they may have been less arrogant than most with such money, and they might have been able to help him. Even if the recent death of their daughter didn’t end up related to the Cruel Ivy Killer. On the other hand, it could also mean they had fewer resources than he expected and couldn’t help.

There was only one way to find out which it was.

“Mr. Lupin, please. I didn’t invite you in because I was eager to show you my collection of teas. If you have something to say, I’d appreciate it if you said it,” Mrs. Garnet pushed.

Lyle shook his head. He’d allowed himself to get lost in thought again, which was a poor way to get this woman on his side. He cleared his throat and slightly bowed his head. “My apologies, I’ve been... pre-occupied as of late,” he responded, genuine remorse in his voice. “I can promise you that I have no intention of asking your daughter to return to her studies. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Garnet asked, folding her arms and leaning back in her seat. “Then you are here to... help me cancel her enrollment? I’m afraid I find that difficult to believe.”

Lyle winced. “Not... precisely, but the concept isn’t unrelated,” he answered. 

“Oh? Well, then, by all means. Enlighten me,” she insisted.

Lyle took a deep breath. This part was always a hard sell. Especially in the cyan district, where most people didn’t even know who the Cruel Ivy killer was. Unless they had family or business in the lower districts, many cyans simply didn’t care what was happening there. They were above it all. This woman did have one daughter remaining who would usually live or work in the orange district, but she hadn’t allowed the girl to leave cyan for months. At least, as far as Lyle could tell. It seemed more related to draft-dodging and mourning than the killer who was active in the area.

“I’m a private investigator, and I’ve been hired to find the Cruel Ivy Killer,” Lyle explained. Mrs. Garnet examined him with steely eyes, and he couldn’t tell if she recognized the name or not. It could’ve gone either way. But since she didn’t respond, he simply continued. “As the bulletin has been reporting, all evidence indicates that the killer is likely connected to Chromatic Academy in some way. The headmaster, however, is applying political pressure to prevent any police investigation on campus. This is strange, since the police have always been welcome on school grounds before. In fact, the first restriction they’ve ever encountered regarding the school was implemented after the investigation into the killer began.”

“I’m familiar,” Mrs. Garnet intoned. “I’m keenly aware of the failings of Chromatic Academy, if nothing else. But I’m afraid I cannot help you. I am already at odds with the school, and I cannot afford to give ground in one battle to win another. I have to look out for what family I have left, first and foremost.” The grief in her voice was as obvious as it was frozen. She was weeping like a pillar of ice, and it made Lyle shiver to hear it.

It was unkind to make the suggestion he’d come for. He didn’t have any proof. No evidence at all, really. At least based on the brief investigation the police had done, there was no reason to believe Gemma Garnet hadn’t taken her own life. Still. It didn’t sit right with Lyle, and his instincts rarely led him astray. 

“I believe... or at least it’s possible they are the same fight,” Lyle finally said.

Mrs. Garnet paused with a cup of tea hovering in front of her lips. Eyes that had been focused on the drink snapped up and met Lyle’s in an instant.

“Explain,” she demanded.

Lyle took a deep breath. “I apologize for the blunt details I am going to share with you, but I feel it’s necessary to be upfront. The Cruel Ivy Killer is named for the evidence left on his victims. Marks like they were wrapped in ivy before they died. Thus far, only bodies with these markings have been directly tied to the killer. But... I don’t think they are the only victims. I think this is evidence of a newly acquired talent, but that’s it. I also think the killer was active before these marks showed up.”

Mrs. Garnet was calm as she put her cup back on its coaster, but her demeanor only dropped in temperature. “If you are suggesting my daughter was a victim of this ‘Cruel Ivy Killer’ and you lack evidence, I am going to be... very put out. I don’t like to be manipulated, Mr. Lupin. And I would be less than pleased if the death of my daughter was used in service of your personal interests.”

The threat was more than clear. And Lyle took it seriously. He wasn’t certain what this woman’s calling was, but he knew she had at least six degrees on him. Even without a combat-friendly calling, she could probably wound him severely. Violence wasn’t the real threat, though. She was offering to use the exact thing he’d come for against him. She could ruin his life without laying a finger on him, even at his category. That was fine. It meant she actually had the weight to throw around. That was a good sign. So long as he could avoid pissing her off.

He nodded in understanding. “I wouldn’t ask you to help me if I couldn’t determine with certainty that your daughter’s passing was connected to this,” he promised. Then he paused and shook his head. “I’m sorry. That’s a lie. I would absolutely ask you that. Because people are dying, and I am desperate to stop that. But I understand your position, and fortunately, that isn’t the case.”

“Oh?” the woman asked. “So you have evidence that my daughter was murdered, then? Why have you not brought this to the police?”

Lyle paused for a long moment and calculated his next words carefully. He needed to make his pitch, but he couldn’t let this woman believe he was attempting to deceive her. He genuinely wasn’t, even if his request was somewhat shameless. But if he said the wrong thing, he could leave that impression on her regardless. “I have a talent for finding connections,” he finally answered. “It’s one way I’ve been positively identifying victims in this case. If their connection is strong enough to each other, it is all but certain they share a killer. Unless they knew each other directly, or had a remarkably strong connection aside from their death. There are enough variables that it’s not a foolproof method. But if one body shares a strong connection with every other victim? It’s nearly impossible to deny that they are related to the case.”

“And this talent. It indicated my daughter was killed by the same person?” Mrs. Garnet questioned.

Lyle shook his head. “I don’t know, I’m afraid. I need the... remains in the same room, or the talent won’t work,” he admitted. He could see her face hardening, so he pushed forward immediately. “But that is all I am asking right now. I just want to know. I want to know who this monster killed, and I want to know why. And I think your daughter’s death was close enough to his appearance that it is, at least, suspect. I don’t know if it was related for certain. I didn’t know your daughter. I know nothing about her life. But I think it’s possible. So I want to investigate. To know for sure. I want to use my talent and determine if she was murdered. And if so, why? That information alone will help me, and I am hoping it will help you. And yes. My hope is that, if this is related at all, you will help me get to the bottom of it. But if it isn’t... well. Then we go our separate ways, and I never ask you for anything again.”

Lyle couldn’t gauge the woman’s response at first. It was like he’d spoken to a stone wall. She was as still and dark as concrete in the dead of night. But he couldn’t back down. He’d already failed with two other families. Either because they’d refused to help him, or because it had ended up unrelated. This was his last lead in this particular direction. His final chance to get support against Bouvier and finally follow every other lead he had. So he waited. He didn’t press the issue. He didn’t further explain himself. He met the woman’s eyes, and he let his suggestion linger.

Until finally, the earth that was her emotional facade began to shake, and the stone showed signs of cracking.

“To be clear,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it was hard for even Lyle to hear, “you are asking to exhume my daughter’s body and bring it to the police morgue. Is that correct?”

There was danger in the question, but Lyle wasn’t going to back down. “I am,” he agreed.

“You know how Gemma died, do you not?” she pushed.

Again, her tone was violent, like the ocean before a storm. “I do,” he confirmed again. 

“Then you know there was little left of her. The funeral was a closed casket. Her body was mostly constructed, with only the surviving flesh grafted onto a fucking mannequin to bury. We were lucky her face survived in some salvageable manner, or we’d have simply cremated her. She was desecrated, and destroyed, and left on the tracks like so much filth. She was left as nothing more than scraps. And you are asking me to dig her up, and ship her to you. 

“And make no mistake. That is what I would need to do. I have no artifacts to dull my senses. No special exception to enter the green district. I cannot go there myself. So I would need to package the shreds of my child, and send her to you like I was delivering frozen meat from my favorite butcher. Not because there is any evidence that she was murdered. Not because you have any tangible reason to believe this ‘Cruel Ivy Killer’ has anything to do with her death. But because it’s not impossible. And because you are hoping that’s the case, so you can guilt me into helping you. Is that correct?”

Lyle set his jaw and looked her in the eyes. It was a more gruesome description than he would have chosen, and it made him sound far fouler than he’d prefer. But it was true enough. He wasn’t actually hoping a child had been murdered, of course. Even if it would help him. But he was hoping this would convince the Garnets to help him, and that was close enough. 

“It is,” he said.

The look she gave him was equal parts frozen and disgusted. She was clenching and unclenching her fists, and he could feel the danger in each breath she took. But her next words were worth the risk.

“Very well. Show me this talent of yours.”