Junior Inspector Thomas asked question after question, hoping to gain any further information on the mysterious Mr. Bell. But Liam, sitting across from him, refused to budge on anything. They were sitting in a small, modest living room of Liam’s home. His delighted parents were waiting in the kitchen to give all the privacy the inspectors asked for.
"Liam, anything at all could help us," Thomas asked again, practically pleading.
The young man just gazed back in continued silence, his frown shifting between indifference and annoyance. Young Liam looked a lot better, despite it only being a few days since his rescue. With the bruises healing, more and more of his youthful face was shining through.
The junior inspector sighed, thinking briefly of how to get through to the young man. But he paused, as a hand once again darted out to the table, picking up a biscuit from a pile. The biscuit went straight under Plut’s huge mustache, like all the others before it. The munching that had been the background noise of the interview resumed.
Both of them glanced at the senior inspector, trying to gauge if that was the 11th or 12th biscuit he had happily eaten in silence.
"You really like biscuits, huh?" Liam volunteered, his voice quiet.
Plut nodded, the mustache slanting into an honest smile.
"They are excellent. Did you make these yourself?" The man asked, knowing Liam was a baker’s apprentice.
Liam nodded. "Yeah. First proper thing I learned to make."
Plut shamelessly reached over and took another. "Your baker is a great teacher. I could live off of these."
His partner side-eyed him, wondering what he missed. Thomas had politely tried a biscuit as well in the beginning, and his teeth regretted it.
"Our bakery is the best on the street," Liam agreed, a bit of pride increasing the volume of his voice.
"Hmm." Plut agreed, snacking. "Pride in one’s work shines the best through the work itself."
Finishing his current biscuit, Plut dusted his hands before laying them in his lap. Gazing at Liam gently, the inspector began, "Liam. I think you may be thinking the wrong thing."
"And what am I thinking?" The young man scowled.
"That we want to arrest Mr. Bell."
"And you don’t?"
"Not really. I’d rather shake his hand." Plut answered honestly.
Liam looked taken aback, not expecting that to come from the City Watch. The young man had been guarded about information on their rescuer, especially with how aggressive the guards were on that day asking about him.
The last thing he wanted was for Mr. Bell to get in trouble, just for saving them. It wasn’t fair.
"Then if you don’t want to arrest him, why do you keep asking about him?"
Plut sighed, leaning back into his seat. "Personally, I want to know how he knew about your situation. He had missing posters of all of you. Yet, instead of telling us, he went in to get you himself."
"And killed Fisher." Liam continued, presuming what Plut was going to say.
The inspector just spread his hands with a little shrug. "We actually don’t know that, Liam. We do not know the cause of death yet, nor have we spoken to Mr. Bell. Until we get more information from the morgue, your tormentor could have dropped dead from natural causes, for all we know."
Thomas opened his mouth to add something, but was cut off as Plut continued.
"And to be honest, Liam. Let’s say that Bell did kill him. It’s a crime, yes. But it could have been in self-defense, for all we know. We have gotten enough testimony and evidence to know that the man who died practically deserved it, and more."
The young man just nodded along, his interest growing.
"The point is. We don’t know. That’s why we are here. To find out. Not to arrest people. Not to fling accusations. We just want the truth, and we will honor it."
Liam continued to frown, but the severity of it lessened. His eyes grew softer as he finally started to cooperate.
Later, outside the home, both inspectors exited into the busy street, walking to their carriage.
Thomas looked exhausted. He was borderline grilling Liam for half an hour before Plut waltzed in. Turning to his partner, he wasn’t surprised the man was already smoking. Having gone so long without it, Plut was puffing it like he was underwater all morning.
"You know, that kid was saying nothing to me." Thomas sighed.
"You’ll learn," Plut said, puffing away. "You went in by the book. Stop talking to him like a witness, talk to him like a kid."
"But he is a witness! That is how we are supposed to talk to them! You are supposed to go by the book!" Thomas argued at the ball of smoke that was Plut’s face, trying not to pull his own hair out.
"You’ll learn." The senior inspector concluded. As they approached their carriage, the guard acting as their driver called down.
"Inspectors. Got word while you were in there, a professor is coming to the station as you requested."
"That was fast." Thomas blinked. "Normally the old farts take all week to get back to us."
"Yeah, they are sending the new guy. Some young professor, wet behind the ears type."
Plut just nodded, taking in all the information indiscriminately. The inspectors settled into their carriage as it left for the Watch station.
Looking out the window as the streets slowly passed by, Plut continued breathing his cigarette.
"What did we learn about Bell, Thomas?"
Flicking through his notepad, finding everything he had jotted down as Liam finally answered their questions. "Um, seems to be in his 50s. Bald, with a bit of white hair. Overweight, about 5’10. Moderately dressed, not too dirty. Well-spoken, polite, kind face?"
Thomas then continued to retell Liam’s rescue from his perspective, reading from his notebook.
"So, Bell gave Liam that little glyph. The one to free the others from the chains." Plut mused, continuing to blow smoke out the carriage window.
"The kid said Bell took it out of his pocket, it was prepared in advance?" Thomas questioned aloud.
Plut just nodded in agreement, faint satisfaction in his eyes.
"But did you notice how Bell spoke to Liam? Especially when he was drawing that glyph on the floor."
"Kindly?" Thomas blinked, confused.
"No." Plut shook his head, throwing his finished smoke out the window.
"He spoke to him like a teacher teaching someone."