Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [34]
You couldn’t do much about kids like that. You could maybe arrest their parents, if they had any around, but the kids themselves would vanish fast through any number of broken stone alleys to avoid being caught.
Jeryd was old. He couldn’t keep up with them. Couldn’t keep up with a lot of things around Villjamur.
As he picked up a weekly news pamphlet on the way to work, he was shocked to discover that the death of the councilor was headline news. The case would now mean having to work with the Council, something he really wasn’t looking forward to.
To his right lay a file, left for him by one of the night duty investigators. It detailed yet more violence near the city gates and the immigrant camp. Two refugees had been seriously injured with sword wounds to the head. People were even alleging rape. Accusations were flying everywhere. Meanwhile, the hygiene standards in the refugee camps were plummeting. There had been demonstrations by Villjamur’s extreme right wing activists. They didn’t want these types stealing what was “rightfully theirs” in the face of the Freeze. They didn’t want disease brought into their city. Things were now happening at a level of hysteria no one was familiar with.
People were getting angrier, and more desperate.
He spent an hour writing up notes from yesterday, while finishing a cold cup of tea the administrative girl, Ghale, had brought him earlier. She was dark-haired, attractive, but she didn’t have a tail and her human skin was too soft for his tastes.
Jeryd peered again at his observations so far. Delamonde Ghuda was forty-three years old. Married, with no known children. Once elected, Ghuda had spent fifteen years on the Council, regularly endorsed by popular vote. Whatever the masses wanted, he was with them, and their vote was with him. He helped push through various educational and tax reforms, spent one year as Treasurer of Villjamur, before being promoted to overseeing all of the Jamur Empire’s resources on behalf of the chancellor. That was a position he had held for four years.
So, who specifically would want to kill him?
At that moment, Aide Tryst entered the room without knocking. “Investigator, we’ve got a lead.”
Jeryd looked up, stifled a yawn. “Great. Out with it, then.”
“Witness statement has the deceased sighted the evening before in a tavern, drinking with a woman in her forties.”
“Nothing unusual there, lad.”
“They were seen leaving together, and rumor has it that she’s a prostitute. Has a noticeable wound on her face. Another witness has the same two spotted entering a residential tower next to the gallery.”
“Great, we now have a city councilor using whores. Like to explain that to his partner and the other councilors? I can bet you we’ll have orders to keep that little fact quiet. And considering the Council’s supposed to be a symbol of truth and probity …”
Tuya wiped him off with a towel, which she then threw into a basket in the corner. The guy had only wanted a handjob in the end, which suited her fine. Said he didn’t want to cheat on his partner, a last-minute change of mind. He lay on his back, panting for a while—men looked so pathetic after they’d come.
As she walked out of the room she said, “I’ll leave you to get dressed. Just leave the money on the side and let me know before you go.”
In fact he left her enough money to last her a week—four Sota and ten