"You look pretty bad, son, you know that?" Twice in the same week in the office for Detective Constable Kurt Lentham? Usually things would have to be quite dire indeed to inspire such a thing. Here he was, however, in his usual loose fitting uniform, blackjack quite visible at his side and lazy smile upon his face. He was heading right towards the High Constable's office.
On his right was Constable Charles McCoy, looking more than a little hung over. "You kept offering me that damn flask last night, Kurt! It's your fault."
"Hnn, No. You're old enough to take some responsibility. And hey, after yesterday, I think we both needed it. Not my fault if you can't hold your drink."
"Damn right you can handle it better! *I* didn't spend a year of my life slumped against the side of buildings and begging for wine mon... aw hell, Kurt. You know I don't mean that." McCoy looked even more sick when he realized what he had just said.
There was just a look and a shrug from the older man. "Least I had my reasons, right? Least you had yours yesterday. Hard to fault a man for that. Won't fault you for what you said, even though you're a blistering idiot. Come on. Calomel's almost certainly read your report by now." There was a toast for Cinnabar, with a drink out of his flask to go along with it.
The two of them had been down to the Baker farm the day before, questioning women (a widow and a few others) at Agnieszka Kaczmarek's say-so, and yes, they made sure to let everyone know just who brought them there. Even so, they did it kindly, so kindly that they hadn't even gotten anything out of it. They weren't about to make mourning women suffer unduly just to spite one uppity peasant girl who just happened to be a potential murderess. It still made for an upleasant day.
All of this was in the report that had been submitted to Calomel the day before, as was the summary of the entire interrogation of Miss Kaczmarek right up until the Brotherhood pulled her away. Now it was time to talk to the man about all of this, time again to see what he wanted done.
"Stop trying to straighten your uniform, McCoy. You look like you look. And it doesn't take a detective to tell why. There's no helping it. Just stop squirming and face it with dignity, huh. Got a feeling our High Muckety-Muck will understand just this once." So it was a knock on the High Constable's door. You know, this likely wouldn't be much fun either.