Aaron sits at his desk, the 1911 spread out in a meticulous pattern while he cleans the weapon. He sets down the piece in his hand and sets the cloth off to the side, walking up along side Eliza. He guides the woman over to a bench and sits her down gently, letting the other woman comfort her for a moment before he talks. "I'd love to help you ma'am, but first I'm gonna need you to calm down a smidge so you can tell us what's wrong, okay?" He straightens out his bright red tie before looking around the office. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, or maybe a cigarette? It might help settle your nerves."
A big man in a suit, with a thick mustache and greased-back hair stands up, staring morosely down at an old book, and the two dictionaries he's using to try and get it to a language he speaks fluently. His suit is nicely tailored, but everything he wears seems to naturally end up a little rumpled, giving off the impression of it being a bit more shabby than it actually is. His body makes an unpleasant series of creaks and groans and pops as he walks. He produces a flask from somewhere underneath his suit and pours a shot of Tequila, likewise produced, for the woman, beckoning her to drink. Once she leaves the doorway, he checks the hallway and shuts the office door.
"I'm Mr. Guerra," he says, with a thick accent. "Take a drink and breathe, then tell us what we can do for you, eh?" He looks her over, then quietly adds, "On second thought, I find you wine instead. What I drink strips the varnish off coffins."
Nilan looks up from the newspaper he is reading and says Tell us your problem Miss. The pale man looks concerned, but doesn't stand up. He knows that Jorge is much better with the clients than he is.
The woman sniffs and nods gratefully to Eliza. She takes the cloth to continue dabbing at her wet cheeks and eyes as Aaron guides her to a bench, where she breathes heavily as she wipes her face dry. She takes the cup Jorge offers her without comment, although she also looks unsure of what to do with it; she seems to clutch it desperately, like she needs something to hold onto, and a shot of tequila will do as well as anything. Her breath hitches a few times more, and when Nilan calmly asks her to speak, she nods, takes a final deep breath, and begins.
"My name is Sarah, Sarah Kind?" She blinks and the offer of anything catches up with her, and she holds out the tequila. "Uhm. I don't drink, or smoke... maybe tea, or just water if you have it?" She tries to smile, but it's pretty weak. "I'm... I'm here for my brother. About my brother, actually. He's..." For a moment it seems like she's going to burst into tears again, but she manages to hold it in.
"He's missing. I live with him, and his wife, and he's always home, even if he's out the night before. Especially a Sunday, he likes to go to church... He's a good man, Henry. That's his name. Please, I didn't see him at all yesterday either, but Marci says the police won't help until he's been gone longer and they won't help anyway even then and, and I j-just didn't know where else to-to go and--" It's all too much for the girl, and her words break down as tears begin streaming down her cheeks.
Well, missing persons was certainly something they did. Far too many missing people were causes by something stranger than most people knew existed. "I'll put on the kettle. Anyone want a cup a' Joe, or is tea fine all around?" Eliza starts the small office stove and puts the water on to heat. "Please stay calm Miss Kind," she adds evenly as the waterworks start up again. "We can't help you if you're too distraught to talk to us. Did your brother go out at night a lot? Do you know where?"
"I'm sure he's a wonderful man, really. I'm guessing Marci is your brother's wife; when was the last time either of you saw him, and where was that? Do you have any idea where he would have been?"
Nilan nods and begins taking notes, speaking to himself in an offhand way
Henry Kind. Missing person. Last seen Saturday 10 Aug. Marci and Sarah Kind last contacts.
The woman is still teary-eyed as the investigators set about to get her a drink, but Eliza's calming tone gets her to take another series of deep breaths and nods. "Yes. Yes, you're right."
She seems hesitant, but looks at Eliza again, and begins speaking despite the slight flush that comes to her cheeks. "Henry is a good man, but he isn't perfect. He... he liked to gamble. He didn't drink to excess, but he loved going to the casinos, or just to meet with men and place bets. He liked cards and dice, but he'd bet on anything. We actually moved here because he used to gamble on the horse races, and then the casinos opened up..."
She shakes her head and sniffs. The noise isn't very ladylike, and you're glad she didn't blow her nose in the handkerchief. "Marci is Henry's wife, yes. We both love and care for him very much, and I'm sure she's just upset, that's why she said the police won't help." She turns to Aaron. "I saw him Friday at supper, before he went out for the evening. But Marci says he came by the house a short while yesterday morning, late, while I was at the store. But he was gone before I got back, and all night and now today..." She has to pause before breaking down again and swallows like she has a rock in her throat. "So I guess he's only been missing a day, but it seems like so much longer, at least to me. And I have no idea where he'd been or where he is now."
"It's possible that he simply lost track of time at one of the casinos," Eliza says thoughtfully. "But I think we can take a look for him without too much trouble. Does anyone have a problem with that?"
"I'd believe it. I hear those places aren't built with any windows or clocks so you'll lose track of time. I guess they figure you'll spend more money that way." Aaron nods when Eliza mentions looking for the man, kneeling down on the balls of his feet so he's at eye level with their client. "We'll go looking for him, don't you worry. Is there a particular casino he liked to frequent? Could you give us a physical description so we'll know him if we see him?" He pauses for a second to let her catch her breath. "We'll find him for you. We just need to discuss things, okay? Figure out where the best place to start looking for him. Can you help us do that?"
Miss Kind looks up at Aaron with a grateful smile. "Thank you. Thank you. I don't know about where he went, he didn't talk to me about that... maybe Marci knows something more?" At the mention of a description, she gasps and nods, reaching into the handbag she's been clutching since she walked in. "I brought a photograph, it isn't much but I hope it helps..."
The picture she produces is cheap and folded, but serviceable with a little added description from the dame. Henry Kind has the look of a man with too many worries and no way to get past them... maybe because his entertainment is the sort that gives you more worries itself. In the photograph he's wearing a cheap suit and a hat that was probably new before the War, and judging by the car near him on the street, he's short as well as thin. His hair and mustache are thin and fair--Miss Kind clarifies them as "blonde, straw blonde"--and the eyes behind his round glasses are "brown, but not dark."
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Michael sat behind his deck, reading today's newspaper and sipping on a dry whiskey, when Miss Kind entered the agency. The woman had those eyes, like a lost child on a mall during rush hour, that he had seen before during his years as a beat cop.
He let the others start asking the easier questions, on his experience the ones he was about to ask needed the relative to already be calm if you wanted to avoid hostility and bruished feelings.
Putting aside the now folded newspaper, Michael walked up to Sarah Kind and offered her his hand "Miss Kind, I am Michael Murphy. We'll need more information to cross out dome of the possibilities." said Murphy as he dragged a chair and picked pen and paper to write before going through the myriad questions, pausing to let her answer between each "What's your brother's trade? Did he have any partners? How about the competition?"
"You've mentioned gambling... That's a dangerous venue if you are a careless player, Miss Kind. Have he ever met a loan shark? Sorry, I meant a money lender or pawn broker."
"I know these are difficult questions Miss Kind, but I need you to understand that they are vital to find your brother on the double... How was Henry's relationship with his wife? Could he have an affair?"
"Onky thing left to do, Miss Kind" Michael says as he passes her a sheet of paper and a pen "Is that you try to remember any directions and names. His church, gambling dens, friends, debtors... Anything you can put on that paper will help."
"I'd appreciate it if you could give us Marrci's address, so we could go talk to her as well."
Jorge nods to Aaron. "Unless you have something more for us to go on, his Senorita is the best lead so far." He pours Miss Kind a glass of water, gently, but firmly taking the shotglass from her hands and replacing it with the water instead. Half-turning, he takes the shot himself, with practiced ease and then exhales through his nose, his mustache bristling.
Mrs. Kind, the wife, was the last to see him. We should most definitely speak with her. Nilan says, looking up from his notes he had been taking.
When Michael speaks up, Sarah Kind takes his hand and forces a smile. Once he has his pen and paper ready, she takes a moment to think over his questions and then begins.
"Henry is a writer, mostly for the local paper, the Herald? He's written for some other works, too, journals I think, but mostly the Herald. Nothing dangerous, mostly pieces on politics and the history bits. As far as partners, I think it's just whoever he works with on a given story, whether a photographer or another writer. And the editors, of course." She sniffs and shakes her head. "I don't think he has any troubles at work. He's never said anything about it."
She gratefully accepts the water from Jorge and takes a sip. "I don't think Henry ever went to lenders, no. He's never mentioned money troubles. I think he's always won and lost about the same amount." The smile she gives doesn't reach her eyes. "He's talked about selling some of his old things every now and then, but I don't think he'll ever go through with it. He has a small collection of antiques. He's always been fascinated with history."
At the question of an affair, Miss Kind looks shocked and flustered. She sputters for a moment and shakes her head, her cheeks flushing like ripening strawberries. "No, no! My brother is a good man, a kind man, he loves Marci very much. He would never!" She bristles for a moment longer, but a little gentle talk calms her down, and she takes the paper and pen with pursed lips. "I'll do what I can..."
"We believe you Miss Kind," Eliza says. "If he was smart enough not to over do it with his gambling, then I doubt he's in too much trouble. We'll have to ask around with his co-workers too."
"I agree. I'm sure it's nothing major, and we'll find him no worse for wear. Don't you worry."
The dame finishes writing on the provided paper and looks up, her eyes teary again. "This is all I can think of. Thank you for helping. I wrote down our address as well, please come by if you think it would help. And let me know the minute you find out anything!" She gathers up her few things and herself, and soon enough is out of the office to leave the investigators to their work.
The paper doesn't have a lot of information, but it's better than nothing. Overall it speaks of a man who doesn't have much of a social life, or at least none that his sister knows about. The first names are Sarah and Marci Kind, along with their home address. Next is the Herald's office address; only one name accompanies it, Roger Hayes. Editor? is written next to it in parentheses, suggesting Sarah knew the man's name but not his precise relationship with her brother. Finally, she's marked down the address of a bar in town, and noted that Henry's spoken about a friend named Pete who he would meet there.
Once Sarah leaves, Eliza pulls out a cigarette and her holder and pops a window open, letting the smoke drift out into the air. "I hate the criers," she mutters, her entire demeanor shifting. "They never seem to stop blubbering." She absently taps the ash off the end of her smoke. "Let's start with the wife. She might have been the last one to see him. And let's hope he didn't stick his nose into someplace it didn't belong and get it bitten off by a pissed off mobster or a beastie that doesn't like company."
"I agree, the wife is a good start. We'll talk with her. It might be a good idea to check out his little antique collection, while we're there. It's unlikely, but the poor fool could have stumbled across some sort of relic that someone else is after for their own reasons. We'll see what we can find with his wife and work from there." He heads over to the door and pulls on his heavy overcoat. "Let's see what we can find, shall we?"
In almost all cases...the spouse is suspect number one. Nilan adds, grabbing his journal and his bag.
"That too, Nilan." Aaron rubs the back of his neck as he heads for the door. "We... probably shouldn't mention that to her, though. Maybe keep an eye on her while we look around, see if anything seems off about her? That'll be our best bet if she's involved."
After some discussion in the office, our investigators decide to check in at the Kind residence first. It seems from the information so far that Henry's wife Marci is the last to have seen him before he went missing--or at least the last to see him that the detectives know about. And as their Doctor points out, she may be a suspect if there's anything unsavory about the disappearance. So they gather up their things, knowing that it pays to be prepared in a city like this and in their line of work. Even in a case like this, where it could be as simple as a man who's lost at the casinos and just hasn't gone home yet... Well, they know better than most that there's always something darker lurking around the corner.
They are Rippers, after all.
Las Vegas is still an up and coming city, not a sprawling metropolis like they have Back East or even in some places further West; although there are cars and taxis to get around, and even a trolley that runs along the busiest part of town, it's also fairly easy to walk where you need to go. In any case, our investigators get to the Kind house, set off in one of the residential neighborhoods, without trouble or excitement. It's an average Vegas day: as hot and dry as the surrounding desert, with an added cloud of desperation and vice. There's no other place quite like it... and for that, the world is thankful.
The Kinds live in a one-story home, a little small for raising a family but just fine for a couple and his sister. No car outside--either Henry drove wherever he went, or he didn't own one. A wide window looks in on a pleasantly decorated den, complete with several chairs, a fireplace, and a radio.
Shortly after the door receives a knock, it opens halfway to reveal a thin woman peering out with a guarded expression. She looks more the part of the classic dame in trouble, with shoulder-length blonde hair and watery blue eyes. Her plain dress and lack of jewelry don't quite live up to it, though, and the color around her eyes looks to be from tiredness as much as crying. She looks over the strangers at her door, suspicious and hesitant. "Who are you? What do you want?" Marci Kind's voice is thin and terse, unabashed in its brusqueness.
Eliza pulls her wide brimmed hat low as they travel through the city, keeping the sun off her almost sickly pale skin. She flicks her cigarette into the street when they finally reach the Kind house and she takes the front. "We're with the Maltese Detective Agency," she says calmly as Marci makes her appearance. "Your sister-in-law asked us to try to find out where your husband's gotten. Would you mind sitting and having a chat for a few minutes?"
Jorge waits to the back of the rest, letting Eliza take point. He gives her a slightly stern eye, uncomfortable with how readily she slips on the skin of a kind and concerned investigator. He coughs politely, more to stifle the barely-audible pops of his suddenly clenching mechanical hand than anything else.
"We're here to help, ma'am. As Miss Crow here mentioned, we've already spoken with Sarah. She came to ask us for help, and we figured this would be a good first stop. Just in case you knew anything that your sister-in-law didn't." Aaron puts on a kind smile, trying to disarm the woman's concerns. "My name's Aaron Nikhols, ma'am. If you have the time, anything you know could help us get your husband home safe and sound."
Mrs. Kind's suspicious look lasts a few seconds longer, but then she nods and opens the door fully. "Oh, alright. I told Sarah not to go to the police about this, I'm sure Henry's alright and he'll be home soon... Silly me for not saying detectives were off limits, too." She gives a forced, short laugh, and gestures for you to enter. "Please, come in." Her words and her tone don't match at all. Frankly, it sounds like Marci's too tired to really put up a good front.
She leads you into the sitting room you saw from outside, and draws the curtains until only a thin line of light shines through. Once that's finished, she takes a seat and folds her hands in her lap. There's no offer of anything to drink or eat. "So, what is it you want to know? If you're wondering, I have nothing to do with it. Henry doesn't exactly have a hidden pile of money I stand to inherit or anything like that." She laughs again, and this time it sounds more deprecating than forced. "I'm sure I wouldn't even know what his antiques are worth, or where to sell them."
"No one is accusing you of anything," Eliza assures her as she escorts them into the sitting room. "And despite what the radio dramas tell you, the wife isn't the culprit all that often. We're just trying to pick up his trail and according to Mrs. Kind, the last person she's sure saw him was you when he stopped home briefly. If you know where he was right before that or where he was planning on going next, that would be helpful." One of her eyebrows pops up at the mention of antiques. "And what's this about antiques? Could there be anything unusual among them? Some people find the oddest things to be worth a fortune."
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Michael walks up and down the room as the meeting goes on. His guts say Miss Kind hudes something, perhaps related to the case at hand... Perhaps not.
His eyes jump from one item to the next, trying to spot anything out of place, a single unusual detail, a thread to pick up and pull the whole thing.
His steps bring him back to the right of
Eliza and he takes a pack of cigarettes from his coat, gesturing Miss Kind if he is allowed to smoke.
"I am curious, Mrs. Kind, as to why would you laugh so bitterly after mentioning the lack of a pile of money to inherit. Excuse me if I am too direct, but are you going through economical problems?" he allows the question to be answered, or scoffed at, before continuing.
"My partner raises a valid point regarding the antiques, there is people who would stop at nothing to obtain certain pieces. Does your husband have an office here? Somewhere we can inspect to see if there's anything amiss, a recipe or ledger perhaps."
Nilan gives Eliza a look when she says "all that often" because...well.
Why don't you just start at the beginning. Tell us a little more about your husband, and the days leading up to his disappearance.