Jerry Marsh jumped - he was clearly on edge. He turned to face her, nervously chuckling, evidently scared. "M-Mister Marconi is pretty pissed," he confessed, pressing his lips together. "Bad things have happened here, but never this bad." he chuckled again, but then seemed to reflect on his words. His eyes went out of focus as he thought of the Baroness' body, which had been only inches away from his feet before.
He quickly restored himself, continuing to clean up the lobby. A lot of people had stormed out of the hotel after they were allowed too, leaving behind their masks on the floor. The bellboy already had a handful of them in his arms. "But I can't be of any help to you," he confessed, "I've already had my fair share of interrogation, if you don't mind my saying so." his eyes were still aimed at the floor, focused on the masks. "You should talk to someone with a higher standing, they'll know what to do. I'm not trained for this."
Detective Locke stood only a few feet away, a cigarette in his mouth, pondering if he would go out for a smoke or not.
Yikes...
She sure as hell wasn't gonna go and try that again. Least not anytime soon. She'd give it a day or so before attempting that blasted compassion thing again.
Soon enough, and as per the usual, Teddy found herself left alone and somewhat abandoned by her peers. Even all the masks had been taken... except hers of course. The beggars mask sat squashed and bent upon the floor. She frowned at the blasted thing. Teddy was used to being on her own, and sometimes she enjoyed the sensation. However, after such a event, solitude was an admittedly uneasy feeling.
So it relieved her a little when she spotted the detective lingering nearby. And the look on his face was one she knew all too well. With a knowing smile, she sauntered over to the man, the mask kicked aside as she walked. With a practised gesture, she produced a tatty looking matchbox and waved it in front of him temptingly.
She spoke with a sing-song childish like tease,
"Go on, you know you want tooo,"
The detective's eyes glanced sideways at her, the right side of his lip curling up slightly. "Thanks, ma'am," he said, taking a the pack as he went to stand in the archway of the front door. He lit the cigarette and took a drag, inhaling before removing the cigarette and producing a lengthy blow of smoke.
He gave the pack back to the woman, adding a nod. "You a smoker?" he then asked, taking another drag from the cigarette. Something about the question didn't make it seem genuine, as if he didn't really care. Perhaps it was the dull look in his eyes, or perhaps it was just a side effect of having questioned millions of people in the span of one night.
The detective did look a tad more disheveled than at first - his tuxedo jacket he had left behind in his 'office', revealing a wrinkled white shirt topped with black suspenders. On one of the suspenders hung a gun holster, a silver revolver shining inside. He had undone the top two buttons of his shirt.
She smiled, almost childishly when he spoke. For Teddy rather secretly delighted in the American accent and all it's glory. It seemed as most Americans either questioned and/or looked down upon her Northern cadence, Teddy repeated the action towards them. But of course, with a lot less intentional malice. She was of course far better than that... most of the time anyway.
He must have read her mind or something, as she was instinctively reaching for her own supply when the detective asked if she smoked also. She wiggled her packet at him in response. The girl sighed, almost forlornly,
"When you come where I come from, you're practically smoking from birth with all the bloody smog hangin' around the place."
Intriguingly, Teddy didn't smoke like most fashionable ladies of the time did. Most girls would elegantly puff and huff with singular swipes of long elegant fingers. But not our bird Teddy, oh no. She held onto that thing like it was the last cigarette she'd ever touch again, and she dragged like her bloody life depended on it. Seemingly aware of her rather un-graceful habits, Teddy joked with the man,
"If I was born smoking anyway, I figured I may as well upgrade it to a more sophisticated style."
Fatigue was beginning to take it's toll, on the both of them it would seem. Through her exterior joking, dare I say positive, attitude, rest and a desire to be far away from this blasted hotel started to call her name. But that darned sense of curiosity spurred her on still. She couldn't help her eyes from wandering, and a daunting question lingered in her mind.
Far quieter than before, a soft voice dared to ask,
"Do you think you'll have to use that..."
She merely motioned to the weapon with her head.
The detective looked up, a sense of intrigue over him. He looked down and pondered, taking yet another drag from his cigarette which was burning up quickly. "I sure hope not, ma'am," he finally said, looking up with a sincere scowl, "I think one corpse is enough for the night, don't you agree?" he smiled, as if he knew she would. She had to.
By now, he was considering whether she was genuinely approaching the detective for small talk, or if she was talking to him to make herself seem less like a suspect. Either way, it only made her seem more like a suspect.
Come now, he almost audibly scoffed at himself, this one's as innocent as a nun on Sunday.
But he still couldn't be certain. Whatever she was aiming at, for now, the best cause of action was just to proceed.
Teddy of course smiled, and nodded at him.
"I can't argue that."
Then, out of nowhere, she started to giggle. A old biddy had just been ruthlessly murdered, and here she was, tittering with childish enthusiasm. She looked to him, grinning like a giddy schoolgirl,
"I can't help it anymore, I've got to tell you."
Teddy turned and faced Locke fully.
"It's the way you say it, the way all of you say it,"
She paused, seemingly for effect.
"Ma'am. Ma'am! Like it rhymes with ham or something!"
It seemed exhausted delusion was finally taking over in force.
Locke squinted at the woman, his mouth agape with disbelief. "You think now's a good time to be crackin' jokes, ma'am?"
Ma'am.
As he said it, thinking on Teddy's words, he couldn't help but break into a chuckle. His southern drawl had always bothered him slightly when he analyzed it, but it didn't seem like something he could just shake off.
"Fine, I'll let that one slip," he then said, still scoffing from laughter, "but one more like that and I'm afraid I'll have to arrest ya for distractin' an officer on duty." he was only half joking - he really did start to wonder what she was distracting him for. He took a drag from the cigarette, throwing the butt onto the floor.
"What's your name again?" he asked, "Rogers? Roberts? Summin' with an R."
Still chuckling to herself a little, she todded.
"Aye, it's Roberts. Teddy Roberts."
She wondered if she should take offence that he'd forgotten. But the girl reminded herself that a) she was in no way high and mighty enough to claim recognition from anyone that wasn't family at least, and b) the poor sod had just questioned a dozen or so wealthy twats, so she decided to just leave the matter be.
The detective snorted, spitting out a muster of saliva onto the pavement just outside the hotel. Not only was it something he regularly had to do while or after smoking, it had also been a habit from his past days working on ranches and herding cows. It had stuck with him ever since.
Oblivious to the fact the woman may have been disgusted by it, he pocketed one hand and wandered back into the hotel.
But the detective could never put his thoughts at ease, and he just had to ask. He spun around again, stopping in his tracks, one hand behind his head.
"Look, uh... miss," he now deliberately avoided the word 'ma'am', "I'll be honest with ya. Normally at an event like this I'd be more than happy with your company, but ya gotta admit this ain't no time for small talk. A woman's dead, for chrissakes. So before I get to my duties, I really must ask - why this conversation? Just wastin' time?"
... I mean, I guess she'd seen worse.
But luckily he'd asked her a question which distracted from the... 'interesting' ejection the detective had kindly let her bare witness too.
She sighed, dawdling on in after him slowly. She pondered upon her thoughts as well as her steps. It didn't take her too long to think up of an answer though, and she looked at Locke, dead in the eyes.
"I'm thousands of miles from my home. I'm surrounded by people that either hate me, or simply keep me around for a laugh. And I'm completely on my own when there's a murderer on the loose. For christs sake, even the bellboy didn't want to talk to me. So I saw you, and hoped for a like mind that I could at least try and talk calmly with."
"Well, Jerry ain't so bad," the detective replied, shrugging. "He was probably just scared is all."
She was quiet for a moment, thinking again. Her words almost came out reluctantly.
"I was scared, and you were the only one who I thought could help for a moment."
Locke had to think on this. It rarely happened that people actually approached him - he had a way of making people turn on him just by being in their presence. "Well, that's what I'm here for, ma'am," he said, trying to keep professional.
Teddy just gave a short, blunt nod.
"Yeah... well. Thanks,"
She straightened herself up and coughed slightly.
"I need to make a call then collapse into my bed, and I honestly recommend you do the same as well."
She frowned softly to herself,
"Your bed though, not mine."
And with that wonderfully awkward finishing statement done and said, Teddy gave a final sigh and made a bee-line for the phone booths.
Day One
november 1st
the grand marconi hotel
10:41 a.m.
After a night - or rather, morning - of good sleep, Detective Locke had been the first to wake up for a morning smoke. The Hotel staff were already up and running, rushing around the Hotel like nothing had occurred the night before. But the body of the baroness was still very much present; in fact, a black car had pulled up early in the morning, and two men were in the process of 'escorting' the baroness into the vehicle.
She wasn't the only one who left the mansion, though.
They were one guest short - a certain businessman name of Bohai Jing, who had engaged in a long conversation with Detective Locke around 5 AM. Convinced of the man's innocence, the detective had pardoned him and allowed the man to leave the premises.
He hoped he hadn't made a mistake.
It seemed to have rained in the morning. The trees were leaking with dew and there were puddles all around the Hotel, the orange morning light glinting off them. Locke's mouth curled up slightly - his favorite weather.
Cigarette in mouth, he leaned on the balcony overlooking the Hotel gardens and took a long drag.
It was going to be a long day.
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