Noticing the gradually rising, red glow in Yulia's cheeks, Clive felt a similar warmth rise in his own face. The warmth was strange, uncomfortable and, one might venture to say, embarrassing. It felt new and foreign, carrying an long-forgotten feeling of newness with it. It demanded a degree of carefulness before choosing another action or before muttering another word. It grounded, humbled, those who felt it. Reminded them of human's inexorable desire for friendship, attachment, or companionship.
Not one to debase himself, Clive cleared his throat, pretending to look elsewhere for a moment. "Yeah," he finally agreed. "We got a lot to do." Then, he quickly withdrew his feet from the water and stood, causing a ripple to travel across the lake's surface.
Once everything had been put back and order, the pair made their way back to headquarters. While Yulia worked on documenting their findings from the field, Clive began his search for scientists that may have recently aligned with Avarice. It was going to be a complete crapshoot if identifying any such scientist would be helpful or not, but as long as there was a chance, Clive felt compelled to keep the information at his and Yulia's disposal. Maybe there would be some kind of loose end with the person they identify, a family member who has heard from them recently, a credit card transaction or phone call that could at least get them in the same geographical region as the suspect.
Several hours went by. For the first hour, Clive spent most of it leering at his computer screen, occasionally taking a break to jot something down. During the second, he did much of the same, however, he had begun frequenting the printer. Each time he returned, he would return with different piles of papers that were kept separate with paperclips. Once the third hour rolled around, he had removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He began pinning the documents he collected to the cork board mounted behind him, in the very rare empty spaces that were left. Each stack belonged to a certain person of interest, names that Clive began to commit to memory. Not just the names. Ages, addresses, or at least the ballpark areas, criminal records if a person happened to have one. Their physical traits, their height, weight, facial features if a picture was available.
Eventually, he began to glean over the last pile of documents that he would hang on the bottom of his board. Carefully, methodically, he turned through the pages. When he reached the end, he flipped back to the first page, reading the woman's name again. Mira Saisho, the name read. Clive wheeled his chair back around to his computer screen, going back to the digital records for Mira. This woman had a mugshot on record, although it was from nearly ten years ago now. The image was grainy on the printout, but the quality was much better on the computer.
Despite being a mugshot, Mira looked rather pretty in the image. She must have been in her late twenties in the image, which aligned with her date of birth that was listed in the profile that Clive put together for her. Her hair was shorter in length, just barely falling below her jawline, and was shaded in a silvery purple hue. It had clearly been expertly styled. The silvery tresses were straightened and styled into curtain bangs that shrouded the sides of Mira's face, teasing her beautiful and youthful features through the space in between.
This woman is a scientist? Clive thought to himself, gazing for too long at the woman's shoulders, exposed through her aptly named cold-shoulder top. Once he could finally tear his eyes away from the screen, he sifted through the printed documents again. She stole from Silph Co., he realized. And she was trying to steal a... Master Ball?
He considered the strange profile for a while longer, before pinning the documents on his wall. It seemed like it was time to call it quits. Although Mira's picture was a welcome distraction amongst the see of unflattering mugshots and images of missing persons, or large question marks where pictures were not available, Clive knew that a rested mind would not have been so distracted by such things.
~~~~~~~~~
A heavy, burdensome force weighed down on Clive the next morning. Moving was a struggle, requiring much effort and occasional stretching in between bouts. "Too old for this shit," Clive grumbled on his walk to headquarters. His muscles ached in response to the previous day's activities, despite his apparent training over the last several weeks. None of that training particularly included swimming, Clive regrettably realized.
The rest of the morning went by rather predictably. Even Clive's soreness became manageable, only requiring a few pain relief pills and an occasional stretch here and there. The day's oddities only began when Clive noticed a strange, rolled up piece of paper on his desk. "What's this?" he involuntarily wondered aloud as he reached for the bound up roll. The paper was stiff and rough to the touch, and was bound in a single pale blue ribbon. After untying the ribbon, Clive carefully began to unroll the hardened paper, which creaked and crunched under the flexion.
The inside of the aged document was marked in a fading, dark ink, which outlined what appeared to be a map of some kind. "This is..." Clive held his breath for a long while, before tapping his Rotom-phone awake. "Town Map," he commanded, and he set the phone down next to the map. With his fingers, he pinched at the screen to zoom in towards Blackthorn City, then scrolled down slightly. The aged, dried up map matched the cliffs to the south of Blackthorn. On the eastern side of the cliffs, a strange, red circular mark was stamped. Clive cleared his throat, before letting go of the map, which promptly coiled itself back up.
Where did this thing come from? Clive could only venture a few guesses. His father and Dragonite hailed from Blackthorn City. Could the map been a gift from one of the older member's of the force? Maybe an old trinket of his father's that served as a memento? "Hey, you guys," he said, addressing the other detectives in the office. "Did any of you see anyone leave this on my desk?" He carefully raised the decrepit document, gently shaking it in front of him.
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