Captain Morlar Waesmaer meets the detectives outside the interrogation room where they’ve deposited their accused murderer. He’s a younger wood elf from the mainland with close cropped hair and dark walnut brown skin. His black dress uniform is trimmed with silver like the detectives’, but has additional bright skull pins at his collar. He carries his hat under one arm.

The detectives brush beads of rain from their raincoats. Cook hangs his on a chair, and Alton leaves hers draped over her shoulders. She shows impatience.

“I know we’d really like to clear this one up quickly, detectives, but it’s a delicate case.” Waesmaer places a gentle hand on Alton’s shoulder. She sighs and shakes her head sadly. “While we can’t give the paladin any kind of special treatment that we wouldn’t give a citizen here, we do need to keep in mind the fact that his Empire is going to breathing down our necks the second they catch wind of this.

One of their own has been murdered, and a member of their nobility is our only current suspect. We might have abolished rulership by birthright in favor of direct democracy, but it hasn’t really caught on elsewhere.” The captain looks sincere, but the detectives chuckle at the thought.

“We know, captain.” Cook admits. “If he is guilty, we need to have evidence that would satisfy a Strab judge. If the Strabs even have judges. I don’t really know how their legal system works.”

“I don’t either,” says Alton quietly, “but I do know that it shouldn’t be terribly hard. We have his sword, and I’m willing to bet that he didn’t bring a spare. This looks expensive.” She hands the sword, still in its scabbard, to Waesmaer. He takes it with a nod.

“I’ll bring this up to the lab.” Waesmaer avoids touching the hilt. “They’ll check for spells and see if it’s our murder weapon. If this thing’s a blessed or vorpal blade it could explain how cleanly our victim was decapitated.” He turns to head upstairs. “And Cook,”

“Yes captain?”

“Be kind to the man. He just lost his daughter.” The captain leaves with the potential evidence. Cook watches him go.

“Or he just killed his daughter.” Alton is the only one to see Cook’s eyes rolling. “He’s clearly afraid of me. Let’s try switching places.” Alton agrees with the plan with a curt nod. They enter the interrogation room together.

Sir Durandal sits at a sturdy metal table. His hands remain free, but there is little chance that he can escape with a whole department’s worth of police between him and the exits. There would also be concern that an innocent man does not flee.

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Alton pulls up a wooden folding chair across from their detainee. She sits and places her hands on the table in front of her, obviously empty. Cook leans against the door and scowls. He pulls his little notebook from a pocket and begins to wait, pencil hovering over the page. Durandal scowls across the room at the undead detective.

“Sir Roland Durandal of Bandon, knight of the Second Strabthine Empire and paladin in service to Serabeth,” Alton says, giving the suspect’s full titles. “You have been accused of murdering your daughter, Marion Durandal of Bandon. What say you in your defense?” She sticks to formalities not observed in a while. The detective treats the paladin as if he were a relic from the distant past.

“What do you want me to say?” Durandal demands. “You’ve already decided I did it, and you won’t even let me see her body.”

“I can’t clear the accusation if you don’t give me any proof that would go against what your daughter’s already told me. Where were you last night?” Alton leans forward in her chair.

“I worked in the soup kitchen at the shrine to St. Errigal until late in the evening.” Durandal rubs his bloodshot eyes. “I thought that Marion might be here in Two Rivers, and the cleric there promised to help me look for her if I worked in the shrine first.”

“Why did you and Marion come to Two Rivers?”

“Marion quit her cleric training in Bandon early. She’s run away before, always to places forbidden by her parents, and one of her older friends just started at Sacred Dark University last fall. Of course she’d come here.”

“You’ve explained why your daughter would be in Two Rivers, but not why you followed her.”

“My wife and I had an argument.” Durandal’s hands fall into his lap with defeat. “She said that if I couldn’t bring our firstborn daughter home safely she’d take the other two and move back with her parents in the capital. I’d just gotten home from military exercises, I didn’t want to lose them all over again.” Alton and Cook exchange nervous glances. Military exercises are exactly the opposite outcome of what they hope for this line of questioning.

“When did you find your daughter?”

“That’s just it,” Durandal protests, “I still haven’t seen her since she left Bandon three months ago. I wasn’t even entirely certain that she was here.”

“How long have you been in Two Rivers?”

“Just three days. I was stopped at the border in North Watch and had to turn around to come from the West Road through the Primarchy. She’s been missing since mid winter, but I’ve only just caught up.” The steadfast paladin’s voice cracks. He’s breaking down and both detectives can see it.

“You said you’ve been working at St. Errigal’s Shrine. We’ll go verify that right now. Stay put and an officer will see you to a holding cell.” Alton stands up from her chair. Cook tucks away his tiny notebook and pencil. They leave the interrogation room together.

“I haven’t known a paladin to tell a blatant lie,” Cook confesses out of hearing range. “But I haven’t known paladins to murder their children in cold blood either.”

“Let’s get that checked right away,” Alton says, handing Cook his raincoat. “Llyrr’s in town, and I have plans tonight.”