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talesofsorrowandofruin · 6 months

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Seven Snippets, Seven People Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @autumnalwalker! :D

Here are seven excerpts from The Case-Files of Seo Yo-han:

His plan to spend at least an hour out on the decks received a sudden check when he turned a corner and found the hallway blocked. Four people were gathered outside a cabin door: a middle-aged woman, a young woman, a man who could be anything from thirty to fifty, and a steward. In his own words Yo-han was interested in learning about other people. In his half-brothers' words — not to mention the words of all the criminals he'd caught over the last twenty years — he was a busybody fundamentally incapable of keeping his nose out of other people's business. Either way, he stopped at once to see what was happening. The middle-aged woman was the main actor in the unfolding drama. A casual passer-by would have assumed she was a British noblewoman — a countess at the very least, to judge by her behaviour. Yo-han had always had a gift for languages and had trained himself to have a decent grasp of accents in foreign languages. He also had studied enough people of all races and from all walks of life to pick up on subtleties of body language and expression. He knew at once that this was no noblewoman. She was as common as common could be, and she knew it. She was afraid everyone else knew it too. That was why she wore five pearl necklaces. That was why her clothes were the very latest fashion, even though they didn't suit her at all. That was why she acted like she owned the ship. That was why she put on an upper-class accent. Yo-han had never seen this woman before, but he had seen a thousand copies of her. His eyes moved to the young woman. The first word that came to mind was "sharp". Everything about her was sharp: her jaw, her nose, the shape of her face, the look in her eyes. She didn't say a word. Her face was very pale and there was a wild, hunted sort of look in her eyes. Her expression was blank. Her hair was bound up in a severe bun better suited to a much older woman. Yo-han looked at her thoughtfully. He'd seen people very like this woman before. People who had been pushed to the very limits of their endurance. What would happen if she snapped? The man looked about as happy as a dental patient undergoing a root canal. His clothes were respectable but certainly not new. Yo-han spotted the ink stains on his fingers and immediately knew he was a secretary. He spared a moment to pity anyone who had to work for the middle-aged woman. Finally there was the hapless steward, who had been unable to get a word in edgewise yet. The poor man looked like he was contemplating running on deck and leaping overboard.

As soon as Ophelia was gone, Rachael opened the drawer of her bedside table. She took out the letter and read it over again. It had arrived at the hotel in Hong Kong, addressed to Király and with a postmark showing it had come from London. Rachael had seen it sitting at the desk and had no compunction about taking it with her own letters. Why should her staff care if she read their letters? If they objected it was only proof they had something to hide. She had opened the letter when she was alone. At once she recognised the handwriting. Octavia had written this. Octavia, her useless, ungrateful niece who had run away to become some sort of actress like her disreputable mother. Octavia, who had come to Langdale Manor just before Rachael left and had the audacity to inform her that she — Octavia — was thinking of getting married. In the ensuing row it had been revealed that Octavia was in fact already married and was trying to break the news gently. Rachael had not been mollified by this concern for her feelings. Especially when Octavia had refused to say which of her useless, talentless actor friends she'd married. There was no name at the top or signature at the bottom. Nor was there a date or a return address. The message was short. I must see you as soon as you get home. VERY IMPORTANT. Don't phone or write. I had a blazing row with the old hag before I left. Remember J! Heather Glenn. Rachael had held onto this letter for the last week. She was sure Király didn't know it existed, and she hadn't let Ophelia see it either. She simply didn't know what to do about it. The most likely explanation was that Octavia had come to sponge money off Rachael. When that hadn't worked she realised it was useless going to Ophelia, who had no money of her own, and instead appealed to Király. The reference to herself as "the old hag" incensed her. As soon as she got home she'd see her lawyer and have Octavia completely disinherited. But who or what was J? Rachael had tried various conjectures. A mutual friend of Octavia and Király, a place, a stage play, a license plate, even the initial of a rival company. None of them were convincing. Finally she hit on the idea of blackmail. J referenced some event or person Király wanted to remain unknown, Octavia had found out somehow, and she was using it to demand money. As for Heather Glenn — or possibly that was really Heather Glem, or even Heather Glew; Octavia's handwriting was a mess — she must be one of Octavia's actress friends. Why she was mentioned in the letter was yet another mystery.

A steward arrived a minute later with the detective in tow. Mr. Seo looked at the body and drew his breath in sharply. He let it out again with a sort of low whistle. "Well, doctor? What conclusions have you drawn?" he asked. Dr. Latimer pointed to the bullet wound. "She was shot at fairly close range with a gun. I don't know enough about guns to say what sort, but judging by the damage it was a powerful one. The bullet travelled right through her head and out the other side, taking a considerable chunk out of her skull. Death was instantaneous. Her body is still warm and only beginning to go stiff, so she was killed no more than three hours ago." Seo nodded. "What was the angle of the bullet?" "Odd. That's the only way I can describe it. The killer must have crouched down and fired upwards." Seo looked around the room. He looked at something on the wall opposite the body. His expression hardened. "I don't believe cabins usually have holes cut in their walls." "Of course not," Adler said, insulted at the very suggestion. "Why, that would encourage voyeurs and—" He broke off in astonishment as Seo moved a suitcase out of the way. A small square had clearly been sawn out of the wall. Seo peered through it. "Right through the wall. Who has the cabin next door?" Dr. Latimer frowned. "It was originally my cabin. The victim made a tremendous fuss and got her niece moved into it on the first day." "Her niece, who earlier today shouted that she wished her aunt was dead." Seo frowned at the hole. He ran his finger along the bottom edge. "This was sawn from the other side. Recently, too. No earlier than this morning." He turned his head abruptly. "Only one thing doesn't fit here. The watch. How did it end up on the floor?" Neither Latimer nor Adler could answer that. "She knocked it down in her death throes?" the steward suggested. "Except the doctor has just declared she died instantly. Do you think she could have thrown her arms up, knocked the watch off the bedside table, then set her arms down on the bed again in a split second?" "No, that's impossible. The murderer must have knocked it down," Latimer said. "The murderer wasn't in this room at all. They fired the gun through that hole. See the scorch mark on the wood?" It was all very well for him to think about minor details like watches and scorch marks. Adler had a much more important problem. "Should I arrest the niece?" Seo didn't answer for a while. He continued to stare at the watch as if it held all the secrets of the universe. "Yes, I suppose you have no choice. The circumstantial evidence against her is certainly… very strong."

"That was a horrible experience," Phil said. Behind them the house loomed like some fairy-tale monster. The curtains were drawn so the only light was from the streetlamps below. "Indeed," Mr. Seo said. "Have you solved the mystery?" "Not entirely. I'm still unsure if Mrs. Lennox is poisoning her husband. But whatever the answer, my advice will be the same: they should get a divorce." That was the most sensible thing Phil had heard all night. "I think she is poisoning him. You didn't hear how she talked. She was very insulting about you, and she implied something nasty about her husband. I don't know what she meant." "I believe I do." Phil looked at him curiously. He didn't seem inclined to enlighten her. As they reached the gates they came across a most unexpected scene. A man was pacing in circles under a streetlamp, muttering to himself. He was clearly drunk. Phil could smell the stuff from here. He had to keep one hand on the lamppost to stay upright, which was why he was walking in circles. Mr. Seo's hand went to his pocket. Phil looked back towards the house, then along the street to her own. It wasn't far, but they would have to pass the drunkard. He spotted them. He straightened up with a belligerent air. "Now you listen here," he began, slurring his words together. "Go home," Mr. Seo interrupted. "You're drunk and making a spectacle of yourself." The man said a few extremely rude things. "Your fine lady thinks she can fire my daughter and get away with it, well, she can't!" It struck Phil that there might be some useful information here. "Do you mean Lady Kilskeery fired your daughter?" The man's language got even worse. Mr. Seo took his hand out of his pocket. Something was concealed in his hand. When the swear words were removed from the man's speech, his story was, "Gave her the worst reference so she can't get another job, and what did my poor girl ever do to her? Told her what she thought, that's what! Well, I won't stand for it! If my Jenny doesn't get her job back I'll wring that woman's neck!" He raised his hands to demonstrate, but overbalanced and fell flat on the ground. "That's quite enough from you, my good man," Mr. Seo said coldly. "I have a gun aimed at you right now. I advise you to leave." At the mention of a gun the man sobered up. He leapt to his feet and scurried away at an astonishing rate for someone so drunk, still swearing under his breath. "Do you really have a gun?" Phil asked incredulously. Mr. Seo opened his hand, revealing the key to her front door. "No, but he doesn't know that. I doubt he'll be back in a hurry."

Yo-han stared up at the ceiling. He turned onto his side and stared at the curtains. When he still couldn't fall asleep, he turned to the other side and stared at the indistinct shape that was his alarm clock. His brain refused to let him sleep. Those five letters explained everything. If he could only recognise them… Disjointed thoughts and images filled his mind. Leopold Colman aiming a gun through a window. Yo-han's arrival in Tbilisi weeks later. Colman long gone… Why was he thinking of Tbilisi? Colman had slipped through his fingers that time. Sentences from a guidebook: The Georgian alphabet's origin is unknown. It may have been inspired by ancient Greek. But those letters weren't Georgian. It is similar to but unrelated to— Yo-han sat bolt upright. 1909. Of course it had looked like Qnwuw; he'd tried to read it as if it was the Latin alphabet. It should be Ադանա. How could he have forgotten? It had been spoken of constantly when it happened… …And the world had forgotten within months. He wasn't tired at all now. He turned on the lamp, opened his notebook, and began to write. When he was finished he knew everything.

Yo-han continued, "The solution is obvious." His voice was oddly light. Nothing at all like how he had sounded when he laid out the evidence against Leo. There was something going on here that Phil wasn't in on. "Mr. Lennox conspired with either the maid herself or with her father. They knew Mrs. Lennox would meet Çelik Bey in that place at that time. They killed both of them, then cut Çelik Bey's body to make it look like he was the target." Stunned silence followed this announcement. Vi stared open-mouthed at Yo-han. Phil kept her eyes on Lennox. He was still tense. He looked… He looked like someone who was expecting an unpleasant surprise. Not like a murderer who had just been revealed. Beside him Eames had his hands balled into fists. Light dawned on Phil, right as Yo-han said, "Officer, arrest this man." Máté obediently stepped forward. He'd rehearsed his line several times earlier. The only difference was that now he used the accused's name. "Alexander Lennox, I am arresting you for—" Eames leapt up with a shriek. "Stop! You bloody idiot!" He was practically snarling as he looked at Yo-han. "Alec had nothing to do with it! I killed them!" Phil, Vi and Máté looked at Yo-han in unison. Yo-han met Eames' gaze steadily. He was half-smiling. Phil looked back at Eames. She saw the exact moment he realised he'd been led into a trap. His shoulders slumped. He sank down onto the arm of Lennox's chair. He buried his face in his hands. Lennox stared at him. His eyes were very wide and he was trembling faintly, but he didn't look as shocked as Phil would have expected. "David," he said softly. He reached out and put his hand on Eames' shoulder. "David, why?" Eames made a noise somewhere between laughter and choking. "You ask me that?" He lowered his hands and straightened up. He and Lennox stared each other in the eye. Eames took Lennox's hand in both of his. He looked over at Yo-han. "How did you know?" "From your behaviour before and after the murder. From your relationship with Mr. Lennox. From the murder weapon and how you were one of the few people who could have taken it. From the photos in your room. From the cross you draw in your notebooks. But most importantly," Yo-han added, "from something Miss Patton said." Phil's mouth dropped open. "Me? But I don't know anything about this!" "You mentioned an incident a month ago. Mr. Eames punched someone for insulting a woman's appearance. You assumed he was her sweetheart. When I discovered Mr. Eames' preferences, that assumption no longer made sense. So who was the woman? You said she was foreign, and so is Mr. Eames. Who else could she be but a relative?"

They discussed the situation after breakfast. "So," Yo-han said. "I take it you want me to prove your innocence and catch the real culprit." Colman nodded. "When you catch them, don't bother handing them over to the police. I can deal with them myself." Yo-han looked at him. He raised an eyebrow. Colman looked back. One of his eyebrows was naturally higher than the other, giving the impression he was copying Yo-han. What was the point of trying to lecture an assassin on the morality of killing people? Yo-han gave up and moved on. "An alibi will be helpful." "Not for me," Colman said with a too-bright smile. "At the time of the murders I was in Italy, killing my father." Stunned silence fell. Yo-han's instinctive reaction was to recoil in horror. His stronger reaction, born from years of dealing with the most deranged family dramas imaginable, was to sigh wearily. "Why," he said flatly, not even bothering to turn it into a question. Colman shrugged. Beneath his flippant attitude and forced smile there was a mask of defiance. Beneath it was something Yo-han recognised only too well: grief mixed with the knowledge that something had been done too late. That some things could never be fixed. "He killed my mother. I don't mean he literally shot her or stabbed her or threw her in a well, but he killed her just the same." Yo-han suddenly understood Colman's motives perfectly. Hate could drive people to do terrible things, but grief could drive them even further.

Tagging @ahordeofwasps, @eccaiia, @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables, @sarandipitywrites, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D

Adding the taglists: @akindofmagictoo, @lightgriffinsect, @original-writing, @zeenimf, @essiesreadingcorner, @oh-no-another-idea, @verba-writing, @kittensartswriting, @writingpotato07, @sarahlizziewrites, @acertainmoshke, @author-a-holmes, @sam-glade, @late-to-the-fandom (Let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglists!)

#tag game #writing #my writing #my WIPs #WIP: moth #WIP: glass #WIP: deceit #the case files of seo yo han

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