Chapter 2
The Necromancer’s Colleague
The first lesson that John Eleanor King had ever learned in his lifelong career as a private investigator, was that people did strange things for money.
“People do strange things for money.”
Funeral director and part time necromancer Sebastian Grimm had heard this many times before.
“I have heard this many times before.”
“Then you ought to know better than to think otherwise,” a comment made in regard to a recent murder incident staged to appear as an accidental suicide.
Samantha Sweeney, valued employee of the King’s Treasury Bank (no relation), lost her life approximately two days ago at the hands of her co-worker Jacob Trent, over the simple matter of promotion and raise.
“The world don’t spin on charity. You maybe. But not the rest of us.”
A comment made in regard to Sebastian Grimm’s own monetary affairs. The funeral director who by day spent his time seeing the dead to their final resting place, and by night by gallivanting about to assist the private detective solve cases of murder. By way of his special talent, and for free.
“What’s your point?”
“It’s hard to understand where you get your kicks in all this is all.”
“It’s called doing something for goodness’ sake,” Sebastian replied. “Funerals give closure to the living. What I do gives closure to the ones that need it the most.”
“The dead, you mean.”
“Exactly.”
“You get paid to conduct funerals. But you don’t take money for going around being a lapdog for the dead.”
“That isn’t something that I could do for money. It would be wrong. No. I would never exploit my abilities to chaff the dead for a check.”
“Well that makes one of us.”
A waiter arrived at the table bearing two full glasses of iced water. He was an Indian man, and the traditional nature of his clothing exploited that fact. As did the very restaurant itself.
The Bombay Bomb was nothing if not atmospheric. Its premises radiated with a sublime aura of orange colored warmth. Its air, coated with a distinct aroma of spices, seasoning, and incense. Its walls, orange hot in hue, covered in murals of ancient Eastern kingdoms bearing depictions of elephants, peasants, and men with villainous twirly moustaches bearing crowns.
Being a man of exploratory nature, John King often enjoyed dining at restaurants that boasted a national cuisine. For this reason, lunch hours were usually his most cherished moments of the day, as they provided him the perfect opportunity to discover foreign, exotic menus, and at a quarter less than the regular price.
“What will you have today?” asked the Indian waiter, notepad and pen in hand.
John King perused the menu.
“I’ll have your chicken tikka, a side serving of chana masala, and a plate of some alu gobi to go.”
The waiter jotted down the details.
“Very well sir. And you sir?”
Sebastian shook his head.
“Nothing for me. Thanks.”
“It’d do you some good to order something,” insisted John King.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Yes you are. Don’t lie to me.”
And that was another talent that the private detective possessed. On top of having a gum shoe’s prowess and street smarts, he could also detect any lie that came from his colleague’s lips. How or why this was, Sebastian didn’t know.
“I just don’t eat outside food.”
“Well you ought to. Expand your dietary horizons for once. Give your taste buds a bit of culture from time to time.”
“Culture gives me constipation.”
“You just need to build up a stronger digestion.”
“Look, can we talk about the case?”
John King signaled the waiter away.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But it’s your loss.”
Sebastian waited patiently until the waiter was safely out of ear shot. An old couple sat on the table beside them, prompting him to lean towards to his partner before allowing himself to speak.
“You will find out if she was killed won’t you?”
“As long as you pay me to.”
This was something of an unusual dynamic in the necromancer-private eye relationship. In most scenarios, John King would be hired by a third party to investigate a murder (in this instance third party meaning the friends and/or family members of a given victim). The private detective would then enlist the aid of the necromancer, and together they would head about to solve the case, upon which the detective would then reap the bounty of his work while the necromancer took comfort in the act of having assisted the dead.
Now however, since there was no one in doubt of Samantha Sweeney’s suicide save for the necromancer himself, there was no third party to prompt an investigation. And thus, the necromancer himself had to hire the detective if he wanted to see an end to Samantha’s killer.
“I can’t believe you’re making me pay for this. After all the jobs I’ve helped you solve, and for free.”
“You don’t want to collect half the reward that’s your hold up. I live by the rule of capitalism, which means dough before bro. The minute I start doing pro bono, I wind up on a slippery slope to losing sight of my values.”
“And you are nothing if not a paragon of values,” quipped Sebastian.
“Hey, I don’t deserve that attitude.”
The necromancer rolled his eyes, and thought it best to simply move on to the case at hand.
“Are you going to the police?”
John King shook his head.
“Got no proof that Jacob Trent is our guy. My men in blue says there was no residual evidence at the crime scene. I can’t go turning in a man when I’ve got zilch to back me up. Did the girl tell you anything?”
“Only that she saw him before she died. Said he wore a black hoodie.”
“And she knows it was him?”
“She was pretty confident about it.”
John King sighed.
“If only dead people were allowed to testify in open court. It’d make my job a whole lot easier.”
“It’d also make the cops’ jobs a whole lot easier. No one would need to hire you any more.”
“Point.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’ll scope our man Jacob Trent. Chances are I’ll find something in his house while he isn’t there. Maybe the black hoodie he wore at the night of the murder.”
Sebastian Grimm did not approve of this idea. First because as far as he could remember, it was illegal to sneak into people’s homes uninvited. And second, the home he had planned to sneak into belonged to a cold blooded murder.
No, this did not seem a bright idea at all. And Sebastian would have voiced his doubts on the matter if he thought it would have made a lick of difference. But he knew the detective better than to tell him how to do his job. No amount of pleading or reminder of federal law would make the stubborn man reconsider his course of tactics. When John King set his mind to a case, he resolved to have it solved no matter what the cost.
And thus held the saying true.
People do strange things for money.
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