Deadman

The first thing to do was to head back to the Mausoleum and see if I could find the woman that Lydia had been seeing. I walked straight in that direction, drawing my usual stares, though the streets, in general, had been cleared in spite of the heavy foot traffic that usually filled Pott’s. People were afraid. That was good, it may help people stay alive if the killer wasn’t just after a specific target as I suspected. I walked into the Mausoleum and made my way back to the chambers of the Honored Dead. They were all still huddled together in conference.

Solomon looked up at me as I entered. “What have you discovered?”

“She was ripped apart by a deadman’s teeth. Nix loaned a few Undertakers to ask if anyone was seen recently covered in blood.” I didn't mention the handprints, they were strange and seemed too large, but they could have also been the result of someone sliding a bloody hand across a surface. I needed more information.

“Lydia…” muttered Mama sadly. She never took it well when one she’d raised passed, no matter how often it happened.

“Julian, Lydia was apparently seeing a woman by the name of either Deborah or Deliliah, a white robe. I was hoping you could help me find them?”

He scratched his chin. “There is a white robe named Delilah, I’ll send for her.”

I shook my head. “No, just tell me where to find her. It may be easier for me to catch her off guard that way.”

“Is she a suspect?” asked Julian.

“Everyone’s a suspect until I have more information. The death was violent though, which points to passion. Delilah is my first lead.”

Julian nodded and called in an attendant. He gave her some quick instructions and pointed her to me. “She’ll take you to Delilah.”

I nodded and fell in behind the white robe as she led me through the Mausoleum. We reached a small room with several desks, and walked to an empty one. The woman leading me looked around. “Where’s Delilah?” she asked the nearest person, a deadman wearing a leather necklace over his white hood.

“She heard about Lydia and went home.”

I looked at the man. “Was she here all day?”

He nodded. “Yeah, she came in just a little bit after I did. She didn’t even leave to have a meal, she just took it at her desk.”

“Interesting. Where does she live?”

“Westside, I think, near the herds.”

“Any particular mural or color on her house?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s light blue with patches of white, like clouds. Went there for a party once.”

“Has she mentioned Lydia?”

The man nodded. “Oh yeah, hard to get her to mention anything else, to be honest. I actually met her at that party. She seemed nice, friendly.”

I looked over the man a little more closely. “You don’t seem to be that affected by the death.”

He nodded. “I was an Undertaker before I became a white robe. I’ve seen death. Seen friends die. Seen children die. This is tragic, but I’m more used to it than the average deadman.”

That made sense, I put my suspicions aside for a moment. “What was your name?”

“Jericho.”

I reached out and shook his hand. “Thank you for the information, Jericho.”

He nodded and returned to what he was working on. I looked over to the white robe that had led me there, who was still patiently waiting to see if I needed anything else. “That’s all I needed.”

She nodded, and left to return to whatever duties I’d dragged her from. I left the Mausoleum and started walking toward the Western side of town. Things had changed a bit. There were a few two story buildings I remembered being a single story, and the colors and murals had shifted a bit, likely as new people moved in or out of different buildings or their tastes simply changed. I missed a few of the landmarks I was used to, but luckily, the light blue of Delilah’s house was easy to find. I approached the front door, but before I knocked I took a deep breath in and tried to listen to whatever was happening behind the door. I smelled only one person, and could hear the faint sounds of sobbing. No smell of blood or anything else. At this point, I didn’t suspect this woman directly in Lydia’s death, but I hadn’t discounted the chance that Jericho was covering for her. The lack of blood smell on top of his alibi, however, was enough in my mind to at least partially clear her. I rapped my knuckles on the door twice.

The sobbing paused, and I heard someone move to the door. There was a deep breath, and a deadwoman opened it. She was wearing white robes, and unlike most deadmen had long hair, which she’d braided. Her eyes were solid black, and her teeth, while sharp, were small and manageable. Basically, she was ‘attractive’ for a deadwoman. I also noted that her hands weren't large enough to have made that suspicious print. I had considered the fact that maybe whoever killed Lydia could grow claws or increase their size, but that was just a theory for now. Crazier things exist in the wastes, but I wanted to stick with what I knew for now.

“Can I help you?” She asked, her eyes widening as she looked up at my face from the doorway.”

“I’m looking into the death of Lydia. I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“Are you…are you Donovan?”

I nodded and saw a brief flash of fear, but she hid it quickly. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was afraid of me, or afraid of answering questions about Lydia.

“Uh, come in, come in.”

I bent down to walk through the doorway, and took off my hat. Delilah led me into her living room and gestured me to a chair, I sat down and she almost did the same.

“Do you want some tea? Some water?”

I nodded. “Tea.” I hadn’t been able to have any in awhile and the tea in Pott’s was particularly good. Every house had its own little blend they liked to tinker with using the radded out herbs in their gardens.

She nodded and left the room. I listened to her head to the cellar, where it would be the coolest, and returned with a small earthenware pitcher and two cups. She poured one for me and one for herself.

I took a long sip. It was refreshing and sweet, with a heavy amount of mint mixed into it. I’d thought about attempting my own garden at my deadzone, but I’d never been much for growing anything. Always better at killing. Besides which, I wasn’t there enough to give it the care it would need to grow in the first place. I drank the entire cup and placed it down, turning my attention to Deliliah. “First, I want to ask if Lydia had any enemies. Anyone who disliked her, or had ever gotten violent with her.”

She shook her head. “Having an ‘enemy’? In Pott’s? No, she knew everyone. I never saw a single person who didn’t smile when she said hello.” She choked up a little as she spoke.

“Did she have any resources someone may have been interested in? Not like food or water, but maybe some old music? Art? Books?” People in Pott’s were cared for in terms of food and shelter, but boredom was a powerful motivator, at least for me. There had been more than a few fights over old world media, particularly if it was a matter of who should have such items after the original owner passed.

"No. She had some old cookbooks she liked to collect, but nothing I’ve ever heard of anyone else wanting. Most of the ingredients and spices aren’t exactly available anymore. She mostly just liked the anecdotes that the writers put before each recipe.”

There was another angle covered. “How long were you two together?” I asked.

“A month.”

That lined up with what Nix had told me. I scratched at my teeth. There was a lot of rage in Lydia’s murder, so I’d assumed a matter of passion, but nothing Delilah had told me seemed to indicate any enemies or jilted lovers. Still, if they’d only known each other a month it was quite possible that there were things Delilah didn’t know about Lydia. Deadmen relationships moved quickly, and everyone knew everyone at least a little, but that didn’t mean there weren’t secrets. “Where did Lydia work?”

“She worked at a restaurant near the Mausoleum. ‘The Last Meal’.”

I grimaced. The name schemes we used in the city were purposefully macabre, but that naming for the victim’s place of work was unfortunate. “Thank you for your time.” I stood up. “And for the tea.”

She nodded, and stood, collecting my cup, then walked me to the door. Before I could leave she grabbed my cloak. “Are you going to find who killed her?”

“Yes.”

“What’ll you do? Turn whoever did it over to the Honored Dead?”

I looked her in the eyes. “No.”

She gave me a firm nod and released my cloak.

I started to walk back toward the Mausoleum, it was getting dark and I wanted to give a final report before taking a rest. No sense in checking out ‘The Last Meal’ if it wasn’t staffed. Before I got too close an Undertaker approached me.

I realized that it was Rhea, who I’d met when I was working with Deux’s caravan. I nodded at her, and she returned the acknowledgement. “What’s up?” I asked her.

“We found someone who was seen covered in blood shortly after the murder.”

“Take me to them.”