“Perhaps he’s slowly sliding into the river?” Webster offered.
“No,” I said. “See how the cleared area extends to both sides of him, toward the river and then the opposite direction.”
“Someone moved him,” said Fairfax and scowled.
“Heavy that,” Webster said.
“Too much for whomever tried to push him,” I said. Oswall was a husky fellow, almost portly. Before he was heavy, now he was almost immovable.
I looked around the area in front of Oswall, in the direction he was looking. The mud and rock debris here made it impossible to see footprints.
“We did a sweep,” Fairfax said as he watched me inspecting the muddy ground. “The boys did a thorough job.”
“That couple sullied the crime scene when they found him. Walking about and all,” Webster said.
“I am aware,” I said. I still looked. Once I reached the far side of the bridge the ground became too rocky.
There had to be something. I sensed it. I took a moment to glance inside my satchel. The knitting bag’s clasp remained wooden. No help there.
The river chuckled at me while it coursed along.
Webster asked Fairfax, “How are we going to move him, anyway? Just from looking at him I’d guess he must be as heavy as a plow horse.”
“We’ll get the truck so to keep him covered,” Fairfax said, frustration growing in his voice.
I looked toward the underside of the bridge; a thick, stone laced wall. I thought I caught the glint of something.
“Yes, but then what? Push him onto it somehow? Would take all the constables in the force to do that. Maybe more,” Webster said.
I approached the wall. Something was there, drawn on its surface.
“That is a matter of concern for later,” Fairfax said. “Right now is the investigation.”
Webster wouldn’t let it go. “We could tie ropes to him, then drag him behind the truck. That might work.”
Fairfax ground his teeth in frustration, but I would not be distracted. I came up on the drawing. No, not a drawing. An engraving.
It looked at first glance to be just a set of long squiggly lines running up and down on the surface of a flat stone. By squinting at it I made out a figure. A long bulbous head, with a half dozen tentacles dangling below it.
A squid.
“There will be no dragging of constables while I’m in charge, understand?” Fairfax said.
“Maybe we can push him with the truck,” Webster said, still thinking over the dilemma.
“Gentlemen,” I said with mild exasperation. “Did you notice this?”
The two constables walked closer.
“Yes,” Webster said. “Noted and disregarded.”
“How so?” I asked with genuine surprise. “This might be important.”
“Well, it’s just a bit of graffiti,” Webster said. “That sort of thing is everywhere now.”
“Everywhere? Graffiti or this specific image?” I asked.
Webster shrugged. “Both, really.” He sensed my annoyance. “I’ll add it to my report, though.” He walked away, making a show of writing in his own case book, trying to get a safe distance from me.
I sighed then held my hand over the etching without touching it and felt a faint tingling sensation against my palm.
“Magic?” Fairfax asked.
“Yes. Someone spelled this into place,” I said withdrawing my hand and fished through my satchel. “Also, see how clean the area is around it? This was created recently. Maybe at the time of the attack.”
“Those have been appearing all around town,” Fairfax said, peering at the squid image. “No idea what it could mean. Do you?”
I found what I was looking for and pulled out a long piece of paper and a charcoal pencil. On occasion, an old bird like me took to drawing the locals strolling through the park. I was terrible at it.
“No, I don’t. Here, hold this up, will you?” I said. Fairfax pressed the paper against the stone and I ran the pencil across it, capturing the squid image.
Finished, I rolled the paper up and put it back in my satchel.
“Did anyone find his buggy?” I asked Fairfax.
“No, we haven’t. I have constables searching further down the road, past the bridge, and another down the river. There’s an old dirt lane running along it from here.”
“Well, he had to arrive at this spot somehow. Either someone dropped him off, which I seriously doubt, or someone took his buggy after he was… stoned.”
“It was a police vehicle so I don’t think they would drive it about on a lark,” Fairfax said.
I nodded, hands on my hips. “Okay, this should do for the moment. Now, let’s go talk to our prime suspects.”
Fairfax raised his eyebrows. “Prime suspects? Those two mud people?”
As we walked past Oswall a pang of sadness struck me. He had been a good man, overall.
“Until you can delve into Oswall’s case files, those mud people are the only suspects you have.”
CHAPTER THREE
We climbed back up the embankment and walked to the buggies. Overhead the morning sun crawled up the blue sky and I realized Oswall would never witness another sunrise ever again.
The couple were still in their shady spot only now they appeared to be more annoyed than nervous. As he smoked a cigarette, the man tried to blow rings at his companion. When we approached they jumped to attention as if at a military inspection.
“Good morning,” I said.
They both mumbled a good morning in return, and I got a better assessment of them. The woman was short and stout, hard looking. A tough life no doubt made her appear far older than she was. Dirt and filth etched every wrinkle on her face and hands. She wore a coat, which was too small for her plump figure, and clutched a tiny old purse in front of her.
The man wore a baggy patchwork overcoat, pea green trousers which did nothing to conceal his mismatched socks, and a beaten up cap. He was just as grimy as she was.
Fairfax was quiet so I simply jumped into questioning. “May I ask your names, please?” I said.
The man spoke. “I’m Malwin Amata and this here is my sister, Gescha.”
“And you found this man this morning, correct?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“And what was your business down here at the river at such an early hour?”
Malwin looked a little flustered at the question. “Well, our business here is our own, ain’t it? What business is that of yours?”
“Malwin, be polite with the lady,” Gescha said.
Her brother crossed his arms and curled a lip. “I already spoke to that other constable over there. Why don’t you go get what I said from him, eh?”
I kept my expression neutral but inwardly I sighed.
Fairfax leaned in and said, “Just answer the questions, now. You don’t want any troubles.”
Gescha punched her brother in the shoulder. “We want to talk, right?” she said to him and he scowled.
I tried a different tactic. “We want to clear you as a suspect so you folks can be on your way.”
This had the desired effect. Malwin uncrossed his arms and his scowl vanished.
“Suspect?” he said with alarm. “We ain’t no suspects, just found him is all. We had no hand in whatever it was that happened to him.”
I gave him a slight smile. “And what were you two doing here?”
Malwin scratched his stubbly chin. “Looking for things that wash up along the riverside. Bits and pieces of things. Something to sell. You never know what the river gives up on occasion. Especially for someone who’s hard on his luck.”
From the state of these two I knew his reason was most likely plausible. Hard times abound. But it had always been that way. People were forced to do anything to make a few copper bits. Scavenging was the most common.