Chapter ten: Teamwork

Trigger warnings for those who need them

Themes of grief.

It’s already the next day when Hamala and I arrive at the theater.
I hope George has time to see us.
I’d feel bad for Hamala if we came all this way for nothing.
There are no children listening at the door this time.
But I putting my ear to the door I can still hear the music.
Solemn, but calmer this time, a melancholy piece rather than a funeral dirge.
Hamala raises an eyebrow at me disapprovingly for eavesdropping.
I scratch the back of my head, then knock on the door. The music stops abruptly as I ask through the door “Hello, George? It’s Alice and Hamala. I, I went to the factory, can we maybe talk for a bit?”
“One moment.” There’s the rattle of a key, then the door opens slowly “Hello?”
“Hello George. Can we come in?”
His expression lifts at hearing Hamala’s voice “Yes, you can come in.”
Beyond the door lays a small but comfortable looking sitting room with a couple chairs, a table and a stove. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes please.” Hamala says immediately.
“Uh, yes thank you.”
He smiles, then waves in the direction of the chairs “Please sit down. I’ll be with you in a bit.”
“All right.”
I sit down, Hamala sits down across from me.
My eyes follow the man as he takes a kettle to a copper tank on the other side of the room with presumably water and fills it up, finger hooked around the rim of the vessel.
He then closes the tap and heads to the stove.
He turns it on, carefully holds the back of his hand towards the fire for a moment and closes the hatch.
He sets the kettle down on the metal grid atop the stove.
He steps aside and reaches for a set of cups hanging from the wall.
He pulls down three and sets them down.
“Do you take sugar and milk?” He asks.
“Not for me.” Hamala says resolutely.
“I’ll have sugar if you have it.” I admit.
He nods, then procures a small bowl from a cupboard and walks over to the table to set it down “The water will be ready shortly. Did you find Donna’s killer?”
“Well uhm, not yet, but we did find something. It might be best if you sit down first.”
“All right, Hamala were are you sitting?”
Hamala takes a quick look around “Across from Alice, by the door.”
“I’ll sit next to you.”
“Sure.”
He reaches for the back of the chair, then pulls it back and sits down.
He then places his hands on the table and asks “What did you find?”
“I went to Snips by the ships. To see if your father had anything to do with the murder.”
His face pales “Did you tell him why you went to see him? Did you tell him Donna’s dead?”
“I didn’t tell him anything, you see. Your father wasn’t there.” I look to Hamala for help, but she keeps gently nodding along without interrupting me. “George, your father died, close to a year ago.” I swallow.
The air feels too thick, too tense.
My eyes are fixed on George’s face, he frowns at the news. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ve seen his ashes.”
“How did he die?”
“According to the foreman I spoke to, the death was…a workplace accident.”
“I see.” he lets out a long drawn-out breath.
Then the tension gets broken by the loud shriek of the kettle.
He gets up, walks to the stove and resumes making tea.
Hamala and I look at one another. “Was I supposed to tell him it was suicide?”
“Would it have helped?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Ask him if he’s okay.”
“Are you okay George?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I have green tea or white which one would you like?”
“Uh, white tea please.”
“Coming up.” There’s silence as George finishes up tea and I try to figure out what I was expecting.
Tears?
Anger?
Something at least, some emotion that could tell me what to say next.
He turns back to us with a cup in his left hand, then uses his right to locate the table. “Here you go.” he tells me as he sets the cup down in front of me.
“Thank you.”
He retrieves the cup for Hamala and then himself before sitting down again.
Hamala takes a sip, “It’s very nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Alice?”
“Yes?”
“Can you translate ‘I’m a bit embarrassed. We came into your house and accepted your tea but I haven’t even asked ‘How have you been?’ yet.’”
How does Hamala always know what to say? I translate the words for George and he quickly shakes his head upon hearing it.
“Oh, don’t be, I really wanted to know…that.” His shoulders sag “I miss her. She used to hum throughout the room when we were off work. Sometimes I’d sit at the piano and play along with her song. Now unless I play the piano it’s just…silent. And that just reminds me of how lonely I am.”
Hamala looks at me and I can feel the pain she’s feeling alongside him.
It’s only been a few months since her yaye died and ever since we’ve been on the run.
“Alice, I have another thing to translate. Something longer, could you manage?” she asks, voice small.
“I can try.”
“Can you tell him that while I never lost a sibling I’ve seen my fair share of death among my loved ones. And it’s tough, and it makes you feel like your whole life is uprooted and there’s no way to even go on without them and then as time goes on you just, have to. And things are weird and they are sad and you will never stop missing them, but you will get used to them not being here. And you will find your joy back in other places and slowly but surely you’ll pick up your life again. Because that’s the only option.”
I look at Hamala, then at George, “I-uh, could you repeat that in pieces? I’ll have to take some liberties I have no idea what uprooted means in Charan?”
She smiles solemnly, “That’s okay.”
I try my best. I really do, because I want the message, the essence of the words to translate over. I inspect George’s face as I try to gauge how well I’m doing.
He just looks, concentrated?
“Hamala said all that?”
“Uhu.”
George gets up from his chair and walks to my friend.
Hamala looks up at him, a bit confused.
“C- can I hug you?” tears start spilling from blind eyes and Hamala rises from her chair and says “Of course.”
He cries.
She cries as well.
I’m envious of her abilities.
I’m also grateful she’s here.
I’d just stumble, through the story and then try to find an excuse to leave again. All the conversation training I had was ‘don’t talk back’ and how to address Cygnian officers of every rank.
I’m not sure how useful that’s going to be in my investigations.
I wait patiently for the two of them to finish crying and hugging.
“Alice?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for finding out what happened to my father. I’ll have to…think on what it means but at least I don’t have to fear him anymore.”
“You’re welcome.” I grin widely.
Guess I at least did something right.
And just like that something in the atmosphere changes.
As if a heavy blanket got lifted off the three of us, and we can finally breathe easy.
I take another sip of tea then ask, “So what’s mister Craig planning for the rest of the theater season?”
“We’re doing tchiecks at the moment. Single act plays that take little work to learn or perform while mister Craig reaches out to different performers.”
“Sounds nice.” Hamala tells him, warmth radiating from her voice.
He merely shrugs in response.
Hamala’s tone changes, it sounds more serious, but calm “Do you still want to leave?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to go back to my mother but I don’t know any other place I’d be welcome to stay.”
“I’d offer you a place at the restaurant if it…were”
“What do you mean?”
Hamala looks at me, then shakes her head and says “I want to start a restaurant, but I’m still looking for a place. You’re welcome when it’s done.”
His mouth pulls into a wide grin “I’d like that. What kind of restaurant is it?”
I look from the sidelines as the two of them chat.
I don’t have anything to add.
Sometimes Hamala struggles to find the right word, but then manages to explain herself using longer sentences instead.
Sometimes George needs to formulate a sentence again to use more common language.
It’s not a fast conversation by any means.
But it’s nice.
After the cups are empty and the conversation spent, Hamala gives George a short hug, “Thank you for the tea.”
He nods “Good luck with making your restaurant.”
“Thank you.”
George turns his gaze to me, despite not having said anything for the last thirty minutes he speaks directly to me as he says, “Thank you for stopping by and telling me. And thank you for looking for Donna’s murderer. I know you’re still very busy with the case but even after that’s done I would like it if we could meet again. I don’t get many visitors normally.”
“I’d like that.”
He then walks to a door on the far end and opens it to reveal the hustle and bustle of the streets outside.
“I uh, was wondering if I could go out through the theater again? Do some sleuthing.”
“By all means.”
“If you wanna go back to the Griffin that’s okay.” I tell Hamala. “And let you have all the fun? It’s okay I have time.”

As the door closes behind me, I try to orient myself for a moment. Then make my way to the dressing rooms.
There are a couple things I need to do still.
I pull out my notebook and flip through the pages on the way.
“So where are we headed?” Hamala asks as she rushes to keep up with me.
“I want to talk to Tashi, the dancer who played the gardener. Tonya said he might not want to, but I still want to try. I want to know if he noticed anything about the Snake’s performance or appearance that could help with the murderer’s profile.”
“All right.”
“I also need to figure out how the knife got on stage, so I’ll need to go to the prop department as well.” I stop dead in my tracks, look around.
“Mister Craig said the prop department was in one of the dressing rooms now.”
But which one?
I start walking again, slower this time. “The communal dressing rooms are at the front. These are for all the performers who aren’t principals and stay here from contract to contract. Then behind those there are the dressing rooms for principal performers. These have names on them.” I notice Melanie’s dressing room says ‘Pilkee’ which is the same as the name she introduced herself with but no first name.
I pass Johnasson’s dressing room. Last time we raced up here my focus was on the towel but now I read the sign and see ‘Garcia’ etched into the brass plate.
Tonya mentioned Johnasson’s promotion was recent. They probably didn’t have the time to change the sign yet.
I find Sashou two doors over and note the towel hanging on the door. That means I should knock right?
So I do.
And find there’s no response.
“Maybe he’s not in?” Hamala offers.
“But then why put up the towel?”
“Towel?”
“The towel, it should signify someone’s busy but…” I knock again “Mister Sashou?” I ask through the door. “Hello? My name is Elizabeth Castella and I’m a detective?” Wait why did I make that sound like a question of course I’m a detective! “Can I come in?”
I’m talking to an empty room aren’t I?
I open the door and find the room empty.
I’m surprised to see how different this place looks from the dressing rooms of Melanie and Johnasson. It feels cosy, familiar. Now that I think about it, didn’t the gardener say something in Jigani before rushing off the stage? It wasn’t Charan at the very least. I turn to Hamala who’s gazing around the room “Do you think mister Sashou is Jaobainu?” I ask.
“I know he is, look.” Hamala points out a little shrine with pale sticks of incense stuck inside a wooden burner.
“You had one of these in the restaurant too right?”
She nods. “For my parents, but they can be set up for any deceased loved one. They’re called joulao. I have one on the ship too actually.” She adds.
“Really?”
“Yes, in our cabin.”
“I didn’t know.”
She chuckles “That’s because our cabin is tiny and with Xuiyo and I it’s already a struggle, nevermind entertaining three people.”
“Fair enough.”
“Looks like this one’s set up for Donna and Darren.” Hamala adds as she points at two little prints made up of tiny dots. “Portraits and writings are the traditional but I guess when you have flyers with their photo’s on them that works too.”
I reach out to the pictures to inspect then closer, Hamala gently puts a hand on my arm to stop me. “It’s considered very inconsiderate to touch other people’s joulao”
“Right, sorry.” I pull my hand back and look around the room some more.
Him being Jigani would fit as I notice a small earless teacup by the low dresser. Then hesitate I notice there’s liquid inside.
Tea, still warm.
Why?
A chill passes my shoulders and I look back with a start.
It’s the window.
It’s left at a crack.
I wonder if he was here just now and fled through the window to avoid me, leaving his tea behind.
But we’re on a tall terrace, surely that’s not right? I walk to the window and notice the drop to the next roof beneath isn’t actually all that far. In fact, if you were to walk across it, you’d be able to see into all of the dressing rooms.
I look around for footprints or other marks, but the time for convenient footprints in the snow is well done with and if he did exit through here he’s probably long gone.
“Blasted.”
If I had just walked in I would have gotten him right?
Now he just makes himself look guilty.
But why?
He was on stage when it happened, for crying out loud he has an obvious alibi!
Maybe the snake and him were working together?
“What is it?” Hamala asks and I point at the window “I think our witness ran away.”
She looks back at the tea, steam still coming off and she says “Ah, well, at least we found some things.”
“Yeah…”
“It looks like our gardener has an admirer as well.”
“Really? How so?”
Hamala directs my attention to a small paper box lovingly decorated in copper paper and a golden bow. “It was placed underneath the dresser and pushed against the wall. It looked like the owner put a lot of effort into hiding it so I opened it.” She takes off the lid and inside is a glass bottle of perfume and a small pile of paper snippets.
“Strange.” I push the bottle aside and start picking out the snippets, there’s writing on them.
A letter torn to pieces, but why?
Then there’s a knock on the door. “Miss Castella!”
My face pales.
I look at the box, at Hamala.
Then she snatches it from my hands, closes it and lets it slip into her long shimou sleeves without a further word.
I’m stunned, but not for long as the door opens and mister Barnaby Craig steps in.
“Miss Castella.” The man states firmly “I am grateful for your help and have been very accommodating to your…unconventional methods of deduction. But I don’t appreciate you sneaking in here, bothering my employees and exactly what were you thinking going to Snips? We’ve had these costumes for years I could have told you that had you thought to ask. There’s no need to strain my business relations-”
“Mister Craig I uh…”
Hamala looks at me, then to the actor director “You didn’t discuss you were going to the factory beforehand?”
“Nope.”
She chuckles, “Your impulsivity will be the death of you some day.”“Yes I know.”
“What are you two chatting about?”
“Just tell him it was inconsiderate of and you’re sorry. Then tell him you’ll be more transparent in future.”
I bow deeply “I apologise mister Craig. I simply wanted to follow a lead- But I didn’t consider the ramifications it could have for your company. I will attempt to act in a more transparent manner in future and act with your support rather than against it.”
“Right, well, good. Now what do you want? And who are you?”
“Oh, I’m Hamala, I’m her…”
“Sidekick?”
“I was looking for the word for friend actually.”
“Fair enough.” I address mister Craig once more “She’s my friend, we visited George because we had news for him about the case and then I thought we could kill two birds with one stone by coming here. But that was presumptuous of me.”
“Yes, very.”
“Should we leave?” Hamala offers.
I shake my head “I still want to see the props department.”
“Well then you should go and ask permission.”
“Fine.” I turn to the actor director once more “Mister Craig I was wondering if it’d be okay for us to have a look at the prop making department?”
“What for?”
“Well, the murder was committed with a knife that either came from the props department or was made to resemble one from the props department.”
The big man sighs “Fine, but I want you to leave right after. No more snooping around afterwards.”
“Of course.” I nod agreeably and then follow him down the corridor.
I glance back at Hamala, eyes drifting towards her sleeves.
If anyone finds out we stole that box we’re in trouble.
But I’m glad she did.
I have to know what’s in that letter.
“You said you had news about the case for George.”
“Huh? Oh yes.”
“Did you get closer to solving it?”
“Absolutely, I got to strike a suspect off my list.”
“Oh that’s, that’s good then.” He stops at a door where the brass plate says ‘Nek’ “This is the one, just ask your questions and then next time you need to investigate inside these walls I expect to be notified in advance.” he says, straightening his waistcoat as he gets ready to resume his duties.
“Understood, oh actually, I have a question, before you go.” I pull out my notebook.
“What is it?”
“During my investigation I picked up the name of ‘Valentine Garcia’ I heard he got fired from the company?”
Mister Craig scoffs “I’m certain mister Garcia isn’t involved in this.”“How can you be sure?” I press.
“Because mister Garcia has been told clearly that he is no longer welcome here. The other dancers know this as well. He’d have no way to get in and if he had he’d have been kicked out long before he could make it to the stage.”
I underline the words ‘no longer welcome’ and ‘kicked out’.“And if he had found a way? Would he have reason to try and kill Darren or Donna?”
“He wouldn’t.” Barnaby states firmly.
“I’d like to talk to him if possible, do you happen to know where I can find him?”
He thinks for a moment, as if weighing his options. “I should have his address from his application. Mind he could have moved in the meantime.”“Even if that were the case it’d help me a great deal.”
“I’ll have to look through my archive. I can have the address sent to you, where’s your office?”
“Right, I’m afraid I don’t have an office yet but you can send it to my ship at 108 on the parking lot, that’s all the way in the back.”
“You don’t have an office?”
“We just moved here.”
“But you did solve cases before right?”
“Yes! Yes of course.”
“What kinds?” He asks.
I quickly dig through my brain. “Well, there was the case where a man was axed up and left in the woods by his son. The one where a woman infiltrated a country club to kill her husband on the green and a truly harrowing case of cannibalism I couldn’t possibly give the details of.”
The man looks at me, then to Hamala’s who I can see is trying her damnedest to not give the game away.
Mister Craig nods. “All right, well I’ll have the information send to your ship then.” he concludes.
“Thank you”
He nods briskly, then leaves.
I take a deep breath the moment mister Craig is out of view.
Then I let out a sigh of relief.
“Is being a detective always this tense?” Hamala asks.
“I don’t know but this case certainly is.” I try to suppress a giggle, find my composure again, and knock on the door of the prop workshop.