Chapter 11
981 Words
11
The two adjourned to the kitchen, just in time to catch the kettle whistling on the stove, next to a tray with porcelain mugs and a dainty teapot.
“Please, sit,” Fickle said as he poured the boiling water and brought the steaming mugs to the table. “Sit and tell me what I can help you with, Miss Rain.”
“Right.” She dug a small notebook from her pocket and flicked it open to the set of questions she’d jotted down earlier that day. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Certainly.”
“You’re a Pixie, correct?”
Fickle plucked a pocket watch from his breast pocket and hummed. “According to my registration with the CRoWs.”
“Hmm. And you can create glitter?”
“Glitter?”
She held out a small bag with some of the collected dust from the corpse. “Glitter.”
His eyes narrowed into slits. “Why are you asking me these things, Miss Rain?”
“Where were you last night?” Sam continued, ignoring his question.
“Here and there.”
“Here and there… What does that mean?”
“I had some business to conduct.” He pocketed his watch and leaned back, his composure never once faltering. “I’m sure I can find someone to confirm my whereabouts.”
“That’s an interesting way to say that. What were you doing last night then?”
“I told you, business.” He poured the tea and handed Sam a mug, his smile infuriatingly steady. “I’m sure it wouldn’t interest you.”
She narrowed her eyes, trying to determine what he meant. Was he toying with her or was she just imagining things?
Fickle sighed as he sipped from the hot tea. “Mmm. Orange and camomile. My favourite blend. Please, Miss Rain. Have a taste.”
Sam demonstratively put the steaming mug down. It was bad practice to drink or eat anything from a suspect’s house. Instead, she continued her line of inquiry. “We’re digressing, Mr. Fickle. Have you ever been to the field north of the bridge?”
“The wheat fields?” He shrugged. “I walk there sometimes.”
“When’s the last time you were there?”
Fickle scratched his beard and sipped from his tea again. “I don’t remember. What is this about?”
“Yesterday, we discovered a body there. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Oh, why didn’t you say this was about Oliver,” the Pixie remarked as he took another sip. “I hope you disposed of him properly.”
“Oliver?” Samantha asked, ignoring his last remark. “Who is that?”
“Strange fellow. Came into the city searching for riches and glory. Loved poker, cigars, and funnily enough, post stamps.”
“And why would you think the body we found is Oliver?”
The Pixie grinned from behind his cup of tea. “That’s where I left him.”
“And was he alive when you left him?”
“No, most certainly not.
“That’s it?” Samantha asked, staring at the old man across the table. “You’re admitting you’re responsible for the body in the fields? Just like that?”
Fickle shrugged. “Why not? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Didn’t do anything wrong? You killed a man!”
“No, Oliver failed to deliver on his promise and he pledged to pay with his life. I just took what was legally mine.” The man downed his tea and smacked his lips. “You should really try the tea, Miss Rain. It’s my personal blend.”
Gobsmacked, she stared at the man sitting across the table. Was she really hearing this right?
“Let me get this straight, you’re confessing to murder?” Sam stated.
“No, that implies I took part in an illegal practice. I had the necessary, legal documents and plenty of good reasons.”
“Killing is never legal,” she argued.
“I think you’ll find that’s not true, Miss Rain. When an officer shoots a vigilante to protect the people, it’s not murder. When soldiers go to war, it’s not murder.” He rose from his seat, his eyes flickering menacingly. “And when a Pixie takes what is owed to him, it’s not murder. Now if you’re going to be so rude to let your tea go cold, it would be better if you left. Have a nice day.”
Sam balled her hand under the table, trying to steady her anger. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. During her time on duty, she dealt with some outrageous criminals that committed all sorts of sins, but the ones with warped morals like Fickle were the worst.
“I ought to arrest you,” she hissed.
“On what grounds?” He asked, his tone light and unconcerned. “You’re forgetting one important thing, Miss Rain. You’re not in the human world anymore.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
“There’s nothing to get away with. I can tell you’re new to this, Miss Rain. You ought to inform yourself better.”
Samantha balled her hands and drew a couple of breaths to steady her anger before she returned to the conversation. “I want to see all the contracts and information you have on Oliver.”
“You’re welcome to go through my records anytime.”
“Good. So tell me about the second body.”
Fickle froze. “Second body?”
“Yes, the other victim. A woman. Who is she?”
He poured some more tea and tapped his chin. “Fascinating.”
“What is fascinating, Mister Fickle?”
“Where did you find this… second body?”
“Right next to Oliver.”
“Curiouser and curiouser.” He pondered for a second.
Sam held out her notepad, her pen hovering expectantly over the paper. “So who is she?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for that one.”
“Really? You’re trying to tell me there’s no relation between two bodies found next to each other, both covered in glitter and one with missing teeth? That’s a very strong claim.”
“Why would I claim one of the victims but not the other?”
“Perhaps one of them didn’t meet their end over a contract.”
The man across gasped. “You insult me. I think it would be better if you took your leave, Miss Rain.”
“I’m not done yet.”
“Oh yes, you are.”
She glared at him but he didn’t notice. When it became clear he wasn’t in the slightest intimidated, Sam had no choice but to leave. She stood up, her hands firmly on the table. “I’ll be back, Mr. Fickle.”
“I have no doubt you will.” He dismissed her with a little wave. “You can let yourself out.”
- Writer
