Chapter nine: Snips by the ships

Trigger warnings for those who need them

Graphic mentions of suicide.

Hamala sits down across from me, in the seat where George used to be.
“So, what’s this about?” I ask.
“When I was helping George find the bathroom he said some things to me that may be important to your investigation.”
“Oh. I mean good, what did he say?”
“He told me there’s a chance the brains behind the murder isn’t anyone in the theater but instead it could be his and Donna’s father.”
That would certainly be a twist. “How so?”
“According to George the man was a violent drunkard who terrorized the household. His mom kicked him out when George was ten but he took Donna with him. She managed to get out but the theater is their refuge. And now George doesn’t even know if staying in the theater is safe.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Indeed, so how plausible is that theory?”
“Well, I mean I doubt their dad is a ballet dancer…”
“He’s a foreman at a clothes factory but they deliver to the theater as well. George is afraid he found out through there and planned the murder from there with his contacts in the theater.”
“That’s…worth following up on. Did he leave an address?”
“No but he left the name and the address should be in the phone register.”
“And who am I looking for?”
“Sebastian Gerris.”
Gerris huh? I understand not wanting to share your last name when you’re on the run. But I wonder what part of out conversation convinced him to share it anyway. “Right, time for some digging.” I get up to retrieve the big yellow book.
“You mean digging in.” Dana says as she enters with a pot in her hands. “Xuiyo finished breakfast.”
“But I found a lead! Well, Hamala did actually.”
Hamala smiles widely “Happy to help.”
“It can wait till after, can’t detective on an empty stomach.”
I frown, then sigh, then relent because Dana’s always right somehow. “Fine.”

Three hours later, I’m at the docks, opposite from where Xuiyo and I usually go for shooting practice.
Out here, instead of funnily coloured buoys and tents with striped roofs there are redbrick buildings with large windows and a small army of chimneys smeared out over roofs.
On a sign covered in soot and grime I find ‘Snips by the ships’ painted in once-bright-red lettering.
This business must be very wealthy to be able to afford this much floor space in a city notoriously overcrowded.
On closer inspection it looks a bit run down. There are cracks in the walls and several of the windows are boarded over to protect against the passing winter.
It’s frankly a safety hazard.
But then considering three other buildings got built on top of it it wouldn’t be easy to do renovations without affecting the neighbours.
But I didn’t come here to give these people building tips.
I came here to solve a murder.
And I have a perfect ploy.

I enter the building and am immediately accosted by a lady in a suit “Do you have an appointment?”
“I’m representing Barnaby Craig, I’m here to check on the progress for the new costumes.”
“Really? First time he sent someone else to do it for him.” The woman opens up a soft cover ledger and grimaces at the text “I don’t see an appointment either.”
“I’m sorry I forgot to make one.” That’s interesting, only Barnaby comes here, so if George’s father did any colluding then-
She huffs “Interns, I’ll have to verify with the theater.” She walks to a massive mahogany desk and sits down on a plush chair before looking at me with a raised eyebrow and adding “I take it that’s not a problem?”
I swallow, “Not at all, just tell them Alice Castella is on the case.”
“Very well.” The woman picks up a black shiny telephone horn and starts dialling in the numbers “Yes, hi, Polly from Snips. I have a woman here, Alice Castella, claims she’s here on Mister Craig’s behalf? Yes I’ll wait.” The woman points to a sad row plain wooden stools in the corner of the entrance hall “Please take a seat.”
“Oh…okay.” I wobble to the chair and crash down. Wiping sweaty hands on the sides of my trousers. What would Antoinette Delarouge do in this situation?
Well in her case the clerk would have been a man and she’d have seduced him to keep him from calling in the first place…something along the lines of ‘don’t you know who I am?’, fluttering eyelashing and a whole lot of bluffing.
I look at the lady as she taps her finger on the desk. She can’t be much older than Dana…and she’s not bad looking but-
Nope, definitely not trying that.
That feels all sorts of wrong.
I could maybe rush past her?
But then security will kick me out before I so much as have figured out who George’s father is supposed to be.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone through the front door after all.
“Miss?”
“Yes!” I turn my attention back to the lady. “Mister Craig has cleared the situation up for you, although I urge you to make an appointment next time.”
“Yes, thank you. Uhm, which way to the foreman?”

The sewing room is loud. The treadle machines rumble away precariously as leather belts spin around with rapid precision.
The place smells like fabric dye and dust. I wonder how people can stay in here for hours on end without choking.
The people are chatting loudly with one another, shouting to make one another heard against the constant droning of machinery.
All the sewists are women, the only man in the entire long, tall factory hall is a man with a graying beard, a dusty cap and a strict look on his face.
I take it that’s our guy.
“Uhm, Hello?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been sent to look at the new costumes for the Magnolia Theater. How are they coming along?”
“What costumes? We haven’t had new orders in since October.” He crosses his arms and I put on my biggest smile “I wouldn’t be here if that were true, now would I?” That’s what Antoinette Delarouge would say right? Please work, please work, please work.
I notice his eyes narrowing at my retort. A sliver of doubt.
“How about we discuss further in my office?” The man says, arms sagging to the sides of his body.
I look around and notice a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly flitting back to their work.
“Oh, certainly.” I follow him to a small room separated from the main sewing hall. It’s a mostly glass room, with only the far side closed off from the outside world and covered in record cabinets.
He heads straight for them, opening drawers seemingly haphazardly “When was this order placed exactly?”
“I’d uh, I’d have to check with my superior. I’m sorry but are you Sebastian Gerris?”
“What? No, no he was the previous foreman, I took over from him last year.”
I bite my lip. Darn, so I’m here for nothing? “I-I think the order was sent to him instead. That explains the miscommunication.” I try to laugh sheepishly, it comes out more like a strangled cough.
Maybe instead of shooting lessons, a course in acting would have been better to prepare myself for the detective life.
It always seems so effortless when Antoinette does it.
“When do the costumes need to be finished?”
“Oh uh…well…”
“The women are fast, they will work overtime to get it done. Just tell me what the job is and deadline you gave mister Gerris.”
“I, uh.” I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my head racing to find a good bluff but all that comes up is guilt for the mess I’m making. And mister Gerris isn’t even here! “I’m sorry, there is no job.” I tell him expecting questions or anger but instead the man doubles down.
“No please, we can’t lose Magnolia Theater as a customer. I can offer you a discount as an apology for the inconvenience.”
But if I sent the message to the wrong person that’s my mistake right? I sigh. “No, I mean I’m not a representative of the theater, I’m a detective.”
“What?” He shakes his head as if trying to slot the new information in place “Why? Did we do something wrong?”
“I’m investigating Sebastian Gerris and I hoped to run into him here.”
“Oh…” The man hisses painfully “You’re not gonna find him here or anywhere for that matter.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, pulling out my notebook now the jig is up.
“Look if you don’t tell anyone It was me who told you what I’m about to tell you, then I won’t let Polly know she let through a spy.”
“Detective.” I correct him.
“Non-customer.”
“Works for me. All right, what happened to mister Gerris?”“He got… killed in a workplace accident.”
I make a new header and write down the information underneath.“What kind of workplace accident?”
“The kind that’s not pretty to look at.”
“And when did this happen?”
“About ten months ago.”
That’s too long ago to have any connection with the case, but I’m still curious to know more.“Where?”
“In the cutting room.”
“Which is…?”
He sighs “follow me.” He waves to the door and then briskly salutes the seamstresses as he walks out. He then leads me to a warehouse that’s stacked with bolts of fabric and spools of thread.
“The man used to come to work drunk at times, something about his daughter running away from home. He wasn’t a kind man. He was harsh and cold, he’d yell at the ladies when they were slow or hit them when they made a mistake. But I still felt sorry for him sometimes, he already drove his wife away. So being abandoned by his child must have been anguish.”
“He only had a daughter?”
“As far as I know. Mind, I was one department over in packaging before the accident, we only saw each other during breaks and he didn’t discuss the home-front much.”
“Thank you, now about the accident?”
“Right, you’re looking at it.” He picks up a small machine with a round blade and flicks a switch. The machine behind him whirls to life sending steam through a little mill of scoops at the back. “It’s used to cut the pattern pieces, pretty straightforward. But not recommended when your hand-eye coordination is impaired.”
“How did he die?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he accidentally cut off a limb and die of infection? Did he trip over the steampack?”
He scoffs “Not exactly… he tied his mouth shut to keep himself from screaming. Set the thing to his throat and turned it on.”
Why does he sound so casual when saying that?
“This is normally a one-man-job, so it took a while to find him. Then it took an even longer while to clean the place back up.”
My hands are trembling, I shake them to release the nerves and straighten my cap to give myself a moment to compose myself “So it wasn’t an accident at all.”
The man shrugs “He died on the work floor, the details quickly become irrelevant.”
“Did you report it?”
“To who? He didn’t leave any address or line to family members who’d stand to gain from knowing.”
“How about the police?”
He scoffs “They’d come in to look at the scene once, explain what we already know and fine us for wasting police time.”
“But what if it wasn’t suicide at all? What if there was foul play involved?”
“The people who work here are kept on a tight schedule. No one was unaccounted for when it happened.”
“So then what did you do?”
“We held a small mandatory ceremony in the factory to commemorate him and thank him for his service, then brought him to Wishu Island and had him cremated.”
“Wishu Island?”
He lets out a chuckle as he puts the tin back “You new here?”
“A little.”
“Wishu Island is where the dead people go. We can’t stick em in the ground here so we make our way to Wishu Island to do it there, most coffins end up either burned, stacked or sunken into the ocean.” He then walks to a shelf at the far end of the room and pulls down a large box-tin with a dog eating biscuits on the front. A piece of tape wrapped around the lid has the name of George’s father scrawled into it “He’s in here if you wanna ask additional questions?”
That’s gross.
Not the ashes, they’re just inorganic matter but the way he’s acting right now.
Like he’s waiting for me to faint from shock.
It’s deplorable.
But the long and short of it is that there’s no way George’s father was involved in Donna’s death.
Although I do wonder why this guy didn’t know mister Gerris had a son but he did know he had a daughter.
“You said he had a daughter who ran away from home.”
The man sighs “uhu.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Yeah it was Dora, no wait Donna, Dora was the wife.”“Right. Thank you for your time.” I take a final glance at the cutting machine and can’t help but envision the guy, gagged, head pressed to the cutting table, ready to flick the switch.
I shudder.
These things are a lot more entertaining when they’re not happening for real.
“I’ll show you out.”
“Right, thank you.”
I try to keep a straight face as I rush past the receptionist.
Then take a deep breath once I’m outside again, filling out my notes as I make my way back.
I should tell George.
Right?
His father died. He should at least know that.
I wonder if Donna knew…
His death would be in the paper, right? Just a little block of text on the births and deaths page.
That is assuming the factory would wanna pay for the space.
So, there’s the possibility they both didn’t know, and a possibility she did but purposefully didn’t tell George.
Either way, telling him is the right thing to do. The man has obviously been on his mind thinking he might be responsible for Donna’s death. He has the right to know what happened.
Is it selfish to wanna bring Hamala along?
George didn’t tell me about his father, he told Hamala.
Hamala is the better conversationalist.
I’ve been taught the proper etiquette, how to match a military rank to the way a person is addressed.
But Hamala knows what to say to make someone else feel comfortable. How to make them feel heard and at ease.
It’s amazing.

Back at the ship I head straight for the parlour, find only Dana sitting on the sofa reading a book and drop down on the sofa across from her.
“Where’s Hamala?” I don’t know what’s up with my tone. This whole ordeal has put me in a mood I can’t really explain.
“Looking at another space to build her restaurant.”
“By herself?” Who will translate then?
“Xuiyo’s with her. She said it was fine.”
“I didn’t even know she had a viewing today.”
“You didn’t? She told you at dinner yesterday.”
“I…” I try to think back to yesterday’s dinner. Then the realisation hits that I don’t remember. Probably, because I wasn’t paying attention at all as I was thinking about the case.
“Sorry.”
She shrugs “I don’t need an apology.”
“I’ll apologise to Hamala too when she gets here.”
She nods.
So…
I can’t take Hamala with me to see George right now.
In that case what’s next?
I pick out my notebook and sit down.
“How did the investigation at the factory go?” Dana asks me after a suspiciously long silence.
“Oh uh, George’s father is dead. He died nearly a year ago, so I see no reason to think he’s involved.”
She nods understandingly and puts a hand on my shoulder “Did you tell him yet?”
“Actually, I wanted to take Hamala along so no. Since he seems more comfortable around her than me.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
Silence dawns, I wonder if now is a good time to ask something that’s been bothering me for a while now. “Can I ask a strange question?”
“Of course.”
“Why did you call me up on the stage to help you, rather than Hamala?”
“Hamala was busy calming down Xuiyo.”
“I could have done that. It’d have been easier than trying to save a life, and Hamala would have done a way better job by your side.”
She puts a hand on my shoulder “I know Xuiyo and you are exceptional friends. But Hamala is his girlfriend. She would do a better job and you did a good job helping me.”
“But Donna’s dead.”
“Donna got stabbed in the back. That’s not an easy thing to fix. But we did what we could rather than stand by and do nothing and that’s what matters.”
“I guess” I try to calm the storm in my stomach, I let out a forced chuckle “I didn’t know you knew medicine too.”
“Standard manta training. It’s not a replacement for a good doctor of course.”
“You trained to be manta?”
“Yes, although it sounds a lot more official than it was. I just followed a manta around for a while and by the time I knew what I needed to know I started forging my own path.”
“So, suppose I wanna be manta too? How would I go about it?”
“Well, normally you register yourself with the society in Qwao but considering we just spend twenty-five days to fly in the opposite direction it wouldn’t really be practical at the moment. Especially since your father hasn’t stopped looking for you yet.”
I blink for a moment “My father is looking for me?”
“You expected him not to?”
“I expected him to do an attempt for appearance’s sake and then give up a week later.”
“Well regardless of his motivations, Ramp told me he’s still looking for you and imploring people for information.”
“And they haven’t…?”
“Of course not.”
“Good.” I sigh “Today has been weird. Do you think being manta matches with being a detective? Or would the fact I carry a gun disqualify me?”
“I think you could make a very good manta as a detective.”
“Too bad that we can’t go to Qwao then.”
“Just because you can’t register doesn’t mean you can’t practice. The first few month you’d be following a manta around anyway. If you want I can teach you a couple-“
“No! I mean, how about you finish being my flying instructor before you pick up yet another teaching task.” I chuckle awkwardly.
Then the door opens with a smack and Hamala strides inside with bad weather on her face and Xuiyo in tow.
“Oh Hamala, I’m sorry I-”
“Do I look thirty-five to you!?” She challenges the room at large then doesn’t wait for a response before ranting on ”That lady dragged us all the way through the tour only to ask at the very end how old I am!? And then it’s all. We don’t accept tenants younger than thirty-five. Then why waste my time like that!?”
“I-” I look back at Dana. “The person doing the tour spoke Jigani?”
“Yes, but that’s not the point it’s that the place looked great and the price was doable but she just raised my hopes only to tell me that I wasn’t eligible at the last second.”
“That really sucks. Maybe she’s getting paid per tour?” I try, but Xuiyo shakes his head and hugs Hamala instead.
“Sounds like you all had long days today.” Dana says as she reaches underneath the sofa and pull up a familiar box. “How about a game of xaitu to get our mind off things?”
I close my notebook for now. “Sure, I could play.” Seems like there are higher priorities at the moment. “Hamala, you in?”
“If you don’t mind me kicking your ass.”
I smile broadly.
“Bring it.”