Chapter 2: SĂ©pulture en mer
DAY 3 - 11:30 A.M.
Kim requisitioned his "travel journal" (so far used only for budget sums) for crime scene reporting. The dog was still barking—"Hey!" he said sharply. He pulled off a glove and whistled sharply. The dog sat immediately. Then it let out one more "woof!" of excitement. Duty never superseded emotion for this one.
One thing he and the dog did not have in common.
Vacation Kim was banished from the scene—the feeling left by his absence was something like relief.
DATE, wrote Lieutenant Kitsuragi, leaving a blank space at the top of the page.
DATE: 8 Apr, '51.
LOCATION: Ossette Gorge
NAME: Armin ______________.
He left a blank for the last name.
Body discovered by KK at approx 11:29 a.m., low tide.
Based on his memory of the tide chart that morning, and his observations from the bridge, he had about 30 minutes before the water crept back into the gorge and washed away the evidence around the body.
The body.
The body.
He had to move the body.
But he couldn't.
To the south, the way he'd come: steep, slippery stone staircase.
To the north: Cliffs, a tidal island, leading nowhere.
To the west: Oyster Bay.
To the east: Ocean. Porch collapse. Pale.
And to the southeast: A long, rocky beach to Cormorant Point.
PAIN THRESHOLD: You could carry the body back to the road, if your shoulder wasn't still injured.
ENDURANCE: You can't.
Kim looked around anxiously—what could he do? Could he move the body someplace dry and then fetch help? But there was nowhere—they were in a pit of sharp black rocks, he and Armin, a pit that would be ocean again in... 29 minutes.
He made eye contact with the dog. Its tail wagged. It couldn't help. But god, did it want to.
Kim pressed his fingertips into the bridge of his nose, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
He was alone.
He let out a long breath.
"Okay, Kim," he muttered to himself. "At least you are alive."
Unlike Armin.
SPEED DEMON N° 1111: Serves him right for cheating at cards.
His mind was already turning over—pistons engaging, information hitting oxygen and compressing, sparking, igniting.
LOGIC: Guess what? The problem you're facing now is the exact problem the killer was facing within the last hour. A transport problem. That means the scene of the crime is either here, or very close.
Kim put his glasses back on, and looked for something. A rung that was missing from the logical ladder he was trying to set up and start climbing.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): (trivial: success) No footprints in the sand.
Only the dog's, hopping excitedly around the body, and his own bare footprints, approaching.
LOGIC: (trivial—success) The waves washed them away.
LOGIC: (easy—success) But only a few waves. The body isn't soaked. It's hardly damp.
LOGIC: (medium—success) That means the body was left here just before the tide turned. The last few waves washed away the footprints and the drag marks.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): (trivial—failure) You were sitting up there on the bridge, reading, in full view of the scene. You didn't see.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): (trivial—utter failure) Binoclard.
(MORALE -1)
Jaw clenched tightly, Kim opened his backpack. First aid kit. Disposable gloves. He crouched over the body again.
INITIAL EXAMINATION NOTES
TSD (time since death): Right cornea clouded; left eye destroyed (see below). Rigor in muscles of the face and hands, but not legs and torso. Gastric contents voided.
CONCLUSION: TSD 2-6 hours (3:30-9:30 a.m.)
MAJOR WOUNDS: Gash, face. Extending from middle of left cheek to center of left eye. Coagulation in wound indicates it was made while victim was still alive. Minimal blood on clothes and face, suggesting victim was face-down when the wound was made (fell on something? Pushed?)
Any exit wound?
The thought was somewhat sickening. He couldn't tell what had made this gash. It was something much thicker than a knife—like a spike, or a saw. What was long enough to make a hole like that, and could be wielded with enough force to pierce a skull?
Firmly, he pressed his plastex-gloved hand into the flesh around the gash in the face. It was hard in some places, and soft in others—as though rigor mortis was setting in selectively.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: (hard—success) Maybe... the time since death isn't as clear as you thought?
Irregular desiccation around face wound. Patches of rigor, supple patches.
TSD indeterminate.
Before Kim shuffled around to look at the back of the head, he took out his Trigat. Reluctantly, he loaded in an ampoule, and stepped back to get an all-encompassing view of the body.
FLASH. CLICK.
The ink bloomed to life on the photoreactive paper. Kim carefully placed it on the sand, wedging a pebbles on each corner so the ink could set, undisturbed.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Not the kind of photo we expected to be taking on this trip.
VACATION KIM: Or this morning.
BRAIN BOUNCER: Go away, Vacation Kim.
He paced slowly around the body, taking in the clothes—dirty, disturbed, almost unrecognizable as the clothing he'd worn in the hostel bar only 14 hours before—and the shoes. ...And what was that, on the soles?
VICTIM'S CLOTHES: Brown tweed suit, brown sweater, brown belt, brown brogues. Victim seen night before wearing same clothes by KK.
There was a smudge of something on the soles, something Kim couldn't quite make out—but it was not the same color as the sand below them.
He knelt in the sand and leaned in close, until the outsoles of the victim's shoes came into focus. Water soaked through to Kim's knees. He glanced down. A puddle, waiting under the sand to form. The ocean was creeping back in.
11:40 a.m.
Outsoles: Brown mud, beach sand. Left shoe only: Whitish substance, on waist and inner lip of heel. Traces of same substance in treads, mostly worn away.
Kim had nothing with which to swab, and nowhere to store a materials sample. He took off his glove and ran a bare finger through the substance inside the heel of Armin's shoe. He felt it between the pads of his fingers, trying to memorize its grit. Chalky, but slightly more substantial than powder—more like a fine dust. Oddly sticky. It began to clump together between his fingers.
Substance is fine and chalk-like; small amount clumps together when exposed to skin oils. Dry clay?
He stood again and completed his slow circuit of the body, taking in the way the limbs splayed, the way the fabrics creased.
Water stains up to 3-5 cm. Clothing creases consistent w/ dragging by jacket?—not carried.
Kim would have to flip him over to verify that. A quiet sigh of water broke his concentration. The foamy edge of a wave brushed Armin's heel, nipping away half of the white dust.
No more delaying. He took out a handkerchief and covered his nose and mouth—more out of anxiety than fear of a smell—and kelt down to look at the back of his head.
There was an exit wound. Neat as a keyhole. It was next to the crown of Armin's hair. At the center of his head, one white star of scalp, and, beside it, a wound orbited like a misshapen moon. It was an eclipse of congealed blood over white scalp, with a halo of matted hair. Kim's heart thumped sadly—not faster, but harder—in sympathy. There was not much blood. Leaning at the right angle, he could see light coming in from the other side. A clean shot. The dim daylight illuminated the muddy texture of Armin's brain.
MAJOR WOUNDS (cont'd): face wound has exit wound in the back of skull, indicating a slightly elevated angle of entry, OR POSSIBLY, depressed angle of entry from behind. Unclear entry point.
No blood evidence on back of head or back of clothing.
Weapon unknown.
Kim stared into the sickening hole trying to think of any other notes to make, but looking at it made his mind go strangely blank. Finally, with regret, he took his Trigat again and loaded in another ampoule. Material evidence could be matched by sight and touch. A wound like this could not be. A wound like this could maybe not even be believed.
He clicked the little macro lens onto the camera. A flimsy accessory, good for barely more than a hand's distance, but better than nothing.
FLASH! CLICK.
A cold wave slid politely up under his knee, soaking one leg of his pants and the lower part of the body where it had barely begun to dry. Kim cursed (the dog barked) and stood up. Not enough time...
The waves were coming in now. The initial scene examination was coming to an end, whether he liked it or not.
Kim squatted, looking over the body at the expanse of the still-dry sand. He looked in the direction of the beach, southeast, and then north, in the direction of L'île des Soleils. The body could only have been dragged from two directions. With a quick glance at Armin he stood and began walking, slowly and as lightly as he could, up the beach, towards the tidal island of the Six Soleils. His footsteps barely disturbed the sand.
They were close to the bottom of the staircase. The dog followed eagerly, sniffing, and Kim knew it was collecting useful data, but he could never get that data out of its nose, so he snapped his fingers. "Sit," he said. He snapped again. "You. Sit." Reluctantly, the dog stopped sniffing. He snapped a third time, and it lay down on its stomach—ready to jump up again at the slightest provocation.
"You're disturbing the scene of the crime," he told it. As usual.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: She doesn't know any better. Some animals can't be trained, even in the purpose they were bred for. Every living creature has its limit.
An arm of water approached, but the ground sloped up here at the bottom of the stairs, and the water drew back, deterred. Kim knelt and examined the sand.
Sand: (staircase) dry and loose. Does not hold pattern well. Bird prints, one dog footprint, one human shoeprint, appx 25cm (size 40?), pointed north (towards stairs). Pressure in heel, coming down hard from last step? (Walking backwards? Carrying heavy object?) Type of shoe, exact size, cannot be determined by this officer.
ESPRIT (MALIN) DE CORPS: It could be determined by an officer who wasn't half-blind.
BRAIN BOUNCER: No feeling sorry for ourselves. We're focusing on the present.
Kim reattached the macro lens and took a photo of the imprints.
He circled to the other side of the body, looking for more shoeprints going the opposite direction, south down the beach. He found none.
By now, the waves were lapping away around Armin's body, and Kim severely regretted wasting the time to look for nonexistent footprints. He rolled up the cuffs of his pants higher—the water was frigid, he felt the cold in every tiny bone in his feet—and waded back to Armin. Nature had disturbed the body, and he was running out of time.
Firmly, but as gently as he could, he pulled Armin by the shoulder, making him roll flat on his back. The water lapped up around his ears. Kim knelt in the cold water and placed his hand on Armin's chest for a few seconds.
SHIVERS: 500 km to the west, Patrol Officer Alfred Hirv of the 57th Precinct is doing the same to the corpse of an elderly man.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: The last time you performed the stations of the breath was...
BRAIN BOUNCER: No.
Kim stood again, abruptly, legs trembling from the cold. A theory was forming in his head—a scenario. But the cold water was so painful he couldn't focus.
Creases in clothing may show that the body was dragged by
"Shit," Kim said out loud, pulling one foot out of the water. A bigger wave soaked up to the back of his calf and all the way up Armin's back, lifting the hems of his suit jacket.
"All right, let's go," he said, pocketing his notebook. He grabbed Armin by the lapels, and, bracing himself by bending his knees, began to drag him up the sand. The higher ground in the gorge would give him at least a couple of extra minutes.
They made it about 0.5 meters before Kim had to let go with his injured arm—panting, he tried to pull one-handed. Immediately, he heard a tearing sound, and stopped dead.
Creases in clothing may show that the body was dragged by assailant. Mud stains mid-thigh. Mud stains on stomach and upper chest.
Tears in armpit of jacket. Already present during exam, worsened by officer's attempt to move body. One button missing. Buttons are dark blue, 4 holes.
Conclusion: Body was dragged by suit jacket to this location, face-down.
Why?
From where?
Huffing and puffing, Kim stopped there. He didn't want to tear the jacket any further, and he didn't think he could get much farther himself, not with his shoulder.
Water lapping at the soles of his feet and the back of his victim, he completed his examination.
Postmortem bruises and scrapes on chest and chin.
Trousers: left knee ripped.
Nose broken. No blood. Postmortem.
Hands: dirt under fingernails. Was not present previous night. Bruising on right knuckles and heel of hand.
Back: No evidence noted, may have been washed away.
Conclusion: Cause of death is most likely head/face wound. No other major injury discovered. No evidence of other head trauma or suffocation. Poisoning remains a possibility—cannot be proven or disproven by field exam.
Pockets: contents emptied by KK, bagged as evidence.
In his final act of communion with the dead, Kim took his lunch out of its brown paper bag, and used it to hold the contents of Armin's pockets, picked by Kim before the ocean could do it.
- Dacha Hostel matchbook - Notebook (empty, most pages torn out) - Stubby pencil - Standard deck of playing cards
Missing: - Hostel room key - Other keys - Wallet / ID - Money
By now, the waves had reached Armin's shoulders again. Kim's feet were numb but his knees were trembling from the cold. Gulls were shrieking overhead. The dog was jingling in the distance, investigating tidal pools.
Still standing in the icy water, Kim wrote,
Plausible scenario: Murder committed nearby, killer dragged body (TO or FROM?) stairs before noticing KK sitting up above. Abandoned body and fled scene. Expected ocean to do the rest.
And it would.
Kim stood, watching the first big waves submerge Armin's legs. A deep regret pulled on him, a regret that he could do more for this man. He couldn't even ensure a proper funeral.
VRAIMENT VACHOLIERE: Revacholian funeral rites are unique to the Insulindian Isola. They are a close cousin of the Semenese SĂ©pulture Ulunbuir, burial at sea. The body is cremated, and the ashes are placed in an unfired clay vessel. The clay vessel is cast out to sea in a funeral ceremony, where it will sink and dissolve over time, releasing the ashes of the deceased into the ocean.
In the Revacholian sépulture en mer, the body is cremated, and then the ashes are released into a moving body of water—ocean, river, waterfall, creek—while accompanied by a traditional song, sung by the family, friends, associates of the deceased. The tune and lyrics are learned early in life by most of the children of Revachol.
The melody of the sépulture began to play in Kim's mind, as if carried over the ocean from the Bay of Revachol. Armin was not from Revachol. He was from Graad. The funerary rites of Graad were unknown to Kim.
He stared out into the sea, past the sea stacks and the birds, to the gray horizon. He couldn't make it out, the darkness behind the swirling clouds, but he knew it was there; waiting for Armin, if the currents were right.
"Après la vie, la mort," he murmured. "Après la mort, la vie encore. Après le monde, le gris. Après le gris..."
Once the waves reached the hem of his pants, Kim retreated to higher ground—the stone staircase to the Sentier des Soleils. The waves had washed away the footprints he'd photographed. He dried his feet off with his fleece sweater and put on his wool socks, trying to rub some feeling back into his numb toes. There was still a spit of dry sand in the middle of the gorge, and if he hurried, he could cross it without getting his boots wet. He stowed the brown paper evidence bag and the three (ouch, three, half of his ampoules, gone in less than an hour—) photos in the waterproof inner pocket of his backpack, took off his poncho, put the backpack on under the poncho, and then put his boots back on.
12:05 p.m. The water had half-covered Armin. He looked like an ocean rock again.
Sitting on the slick stone, icy moisture soaking through the seat of his pants, Kim felt his attention swing, suddenly, like a lodestone urging him north. Some instinct, the one that he would never admit to consciously but which guided him as a detective and kept him alive as a cop, made him turn away from the gorge, and look up the staircase.
SHIVERS: Something's up there.
DATA COLLECTOR: The murderer?
Kim's hand drifted instinctively towards his holster. But he, of course, did not have it. His station-issued Armistice was in the Weapons Storage Room in Precinct 57, 500 km away.
Instead he touched the pocket of his pants, where his camping knife rested, heavy and reassuring, against his thigh.
A large wave hit the rocks and a cloud of sea spray misted down over his face, fogging his glasses. Still Kim stared up the slick darkness of the staircase.
LOGIC: (easy—success) If the perpetrator is up there, you have no backup. Don't go looking for someone dangerous when you have no backup, no weapon, no knowledge, and no authority. All you know about this person is they're a killer, and they have access to a weapon you've never seen before.
Quick as a flash, Kim stood and pulled out his knife. He didn't open it, but he didn't waste another second, not even on wiping his glasses. He leapt down the bottom steps on his half-numb feet, splashing into the low puddle of seawater, and whistled.
Immediately, the dog appeared from among the rocks, soaking wet.
"Let's go," he said, not loudly. It galloped over, as if to say, I've been waiting for you to say that!
The ocean water had entered the gorge from both sides by this point, and east and west were moments from meeting in the middle. Kim mapped out a path he could take over the rocks without getting his boots wet. One last look at Armin—only his head and shoulder were still visible above the waves—and he took off. Rock under boot treads, arms out for balance, backpack bouncing off his spine, he leapt from stone to stone. The white waves flooded in below.
By the time he'd crossed the gorge and reached the eastern beach, the body was gone.