Chương 120: CDM 2, Chapter 56: Search History

The weather cooperated for the memorial, offering a break from cold rain with a brief respite of sunlight. Arsenal Park was packed with mourners and well-wishers for the dedication. The road closures and traffic jams were almost as bad as when the S gate was active, turning that whole northern corner of the city into impassable streets packed with people. The memorial itself ended up being an abstract obelisk-like design with a wall of engraved names, every person who died in the S gate catastrophe.

An eternal flame burned at the center, and by 8 a. m., the pile of flowers left at the base of the memorial had become a mountain. Families of the deceased were offered seating at the front of the service, and the cameras shamelessly panned and zoomed across their tear-streaked faces. For a moment, I saw Dr. Guld, not recognizing him in his dress blues at first. I wondered how he had fared since the gate closed.

Every member of the Army research team, science and security, was familiar to him, and many were likely his friends. How would I react if everyone on the Enforcer floor died in an instant? The survivor's guilt alone must have been misery. The crawlers who ran the S gate were given stage seating. Seeing Martin Kielar and George Baker in the background of every speaker simmered a sort of constant hate as I watched. I hoped Beth, who was working a shift at Milly's as a favor to the owner, was handling this okay.

I didn't want to be around people for this, let alone drunks, but maybe I should have gone down to the bar for her sake more than anything. My phone buzzed. My food delivery was here, and the driver left it in front of the building. I cursed and ran down the stairs, nearly colliding with two of the stomp sisters on their way up. Ownerless takeout on a city sidewalk had a different kind of 5-second rule, so I had to hurry. Miraculously, it was still there.

It occurred to me on my way back up that eating nachos during a memorial might not be the most respectful thing to do. But I already had them and letting pulled pork nachos get soggy had to be a sin in some religion somewhere. The ceremony began with the singing of the national anthem, and then state and local government officials gave speeches on the merits of sacrifice and our responsibilities as survivors.

Anyone who died in the gate was a hero who lost their lives in service of taking humanity to greater heights, and they deserved to be honored as well as remembered. When Kielar took the stage, in a black suit with polished brown shoes, I almost turned the stream off. No, I needed to see this moment through to the end, so I left it on. Kielar gripped the podium with both hands, his face awash with stoic grief, and leaned toward the microphone.

"In 100 years," Kielar began.

"Historians will speak of the crawlers of today with the same reverence that they speak of heroes of war. We had a revolution. We went to war with each other. Then we went to war with the world, twice. America has persevered because of brave men and women like all those who passed in this tragedy. History will remember them as heroes who ensured that the foundation of our nation stayed strong, that this amazing country would survive to serve another generation."

He paused, checked his notecards, and then looked out over the audience.

"My grandfather was a pilot in World War II. He didn't like to talk about the war, but he said it was important that we did. Even though it hurt him to remember, he had to do his part so that the generations who followed understood the cost of victory. These were-" Kielar stiffened abruptly when an arrow appeared in his chest. He looked down at the shaft sticking out from his heart with wide, confused eyes.

The arrow erupted in flame an instant later, and Kielar, his body alight, stumbled blindly and fell off the stage while people raced to help. I just stared at the screen. Did that… How… Had I really watched Martin Kielar die on live television? The memorial descended into panic. Police ushered the remaining crawlers off the stage while the crowd screamed and ran in every direction. The camera trained on the podium fell over, and the stream cut to a newscaster at a desk.

"It appears that Martin Kielar has just been attacked," she reported.

"I repeat, one of Pittsburgh's most prominent crawling heroes was struck with an arrow in the midst of paying his respects to those who lost their lives in the S gate. We are working to reestablish communication with our team on the ground to learn more." The stream cut to an overhead view of the memorial, capturing masses of people fleeing.

"As you can see, the scene is in chaos, but we have a soft confirmation that Martin Kielar is dead at the scene. This is a developing situation. A great deal is likely to change as we learn more about what we all just witnessed." I sat back and sank into my couch. Kielar was dead. I watched him die. Most of the country watched it too. Was I disappointed by that? Was I happy? I couldn't feel anything but shock, actually. My phone buzzed.

"bro wtf wtf wtf kielar just died! did you see that shit?"

"I saw."

"that was from a void bow, right? i'm not crazy for seeing that." My memory picked up at the moment when Kielar and I recognized in the same instant that he was about to die. I couldn't see a clear picture of anything else in my mind's eye–just his face and the location of the arrow. I thought I saw the same thing, but the moment came and went so quickly. The internet, however, had picked up on the same oddity that Nathan had. The arrow didn't have a flight path. It materialized, already embedded in Kielar's chest.

A voidwood bow was the only explanation, and either the bow or the arrow was enchanted with Fire 3. Watching the replay, I agreed with everything about that conclusion. Hundreds of cameras were trained on Kielar in that moment, and as social media became awash with clips of Kielar's assassination, none of them captured an arrow in flight. That turned into a conjecture about which crawlers had the qualifications and the resources to mount an attack like that.

Some commentators predicted that law enforcement would track down every known owner of a voidwood bow for questioning, while others believed the enchantments were the key. Very few people in the world could apply a Fire 3 enchantment, so investigators were sure to demand the customer records for every enchanter in the area and maybe the nation. Surely the number of rare bows with a rare enchantment would be remarkably few. Shit. Martin Kielar was dead.

An emptiness swelled in my chest like some deep purpose had been stripped away from me. I wasn't the one to give Jonathan any justice. In fact, I made no progress at all on that front. A stranger had to do it for me. I texted Beth.

"You good?"

"I'm glad he's dead."

"You're under arrest! Don't move!" A knee pressed into my chest and a gun barrel pointed at my face.

"Try anything, you're dead." My head swam. What the fuck was happening? Why were men in tactical gear in my room, pointing weapons at me? Multiple hands emerged from the darkness of my bedroom, rolling me out of bed and onto my face, jerking my arms behind my back. I noticed a few of those movements felt weak, like a child attempting to arm wrestle me. I must out-level at least a few people in this room, I guessed.

Handcuffs dug into my wrists, tightening to the point that my shoulder blades scraped together, and someone pulled me to my feet.

"Dorion Carmino, you are under arrest for the murder of Martin Kielar. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish.

If you decide to answer questions now without a lawyer present, you have the right to stop answering at any time."

"Wait. What are you talking about?" When they led me out of my bedroom, I saw Nathan on his knees in his boxers with his hands behind his head. Three guns were trained on him. He looked at me, terrified and confused. If he had just been yanked out of bed, then he was in the same swirl of disorientation I was. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. I wondered if he heard the accusation.

I didn't think to tell him I was sorry until I had been dragged down three flights of stairs. The men arresting me, I gathered as my senses found their grip on reality, were an FBI anti-terrorism task force. They bounced my head off of the car when they pushed me into the back seat and started driving. At one point, the driver slammed the brakes. Since my hands were cuffed and I didn't have a seatbelt, my face bumped off the dividing glass.

I caught a look of devious pride in his eyes when he glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I didn't recognize the building, but the outside said FBI Field Office. We drove through a throng of reporters and into a private parking garage. A few minutes later, I was handcuffed to a table in an interrogation room alone. Okay. Now that I had my wits about me, I could think a little more clearly.

Brennan Kielar must have shared my vendetta against his great-uncle and probably told them about the picture of Jonathan too–not the part where they returned it to me in pieces, only the part where it looked like I used it to threaten Brennan. That bar might even have footage of that precise interaction. Investigating me was a reasonable reaction on their part. They didn't have to be such dicks about it, though. Tossing me around like they did was an awfully strange expression of the presumption of innocence.

Regardless, I did have motive. Never mind that I was lamenting how I had eaten all of the perfect nacho chip options–right balance of toppings, a clean area to grip the chip, just enough for a full mouth but not so much you had to stretch your jaw–when Kielar was killed. The door to the interrogation room opened, and a man in a white button-up strained by his pecs and biceps entered the room. He dropped a manila folder on the table and sat across from me.

"Let's start with-""I would like a lawyer, please," I said. He scowled.

"As soon as you do that, I can't help you."

"Lawyer."

"I just have a few basic questions. That's all."

"Lawyer."

"You realize this makes you look guilty, right? Answering my questions is the best and fastest way to clear your name. As soon as attorneys are involved, you could end up in holding for months waiting for your court date. Or, we can talk now, clear all this up, and be done with it."

"Lawyer."

"I tried to help you," the man said, collecting his folder as he stood.

"You're fucked now, kid." When the door slammed shut, I thought, "I'm already fucked." I had to hope for a rockstar public defender, maybe like someone in the movies who turned down all the big firms because they wanted to help the little guy. Though that was my hope, I knew I'd get Jake Rumplefuck Esquire or something. I don't know how long I sat there, joints aching from sitting in such an awkward position, but the door eventually opened. A matronly-looking woman in a tan pantsuit and loafers came through.

"Mr. Carmino, I am your attorney, Lisa Hornblue. Benny sent me." Benny as in Enforcer McDouglas?

"You're not a public defender." She chuckled.

"No. I'm not."

"I don't have a lot of savings right now."

"Pro bono. You don't have to worry about a fee. I need you to listen to me. They're going to try and rattle you, but if you feel yourself getting riled up, know that's the best time to shut your mouth and keep it that way. When they ask you a question, wait a beat before you answer, and give them the bare minimum, sticking to a yes or a no if you can. If you shouldn't answer, I'll tell you so, and then you do what?"

"Shut my mouth."

"Good boy. Now for the bad news. They're holding you on suspicion of terrorism and-""What?!" She put a hand on my wrist.

"Hang on. I'm working on getting that thrown out. The evidence they have is circumstantial, which means they don't have grounds to hold you indefinitely. So again, please take my advice, and don't take their bait." I nodded. Lisa went to the door and knocked.

"We're ready." Two detectives, one in a navy suit and the other in charcoal, entered. I hadn't seen them before.

"Can we have the cuffs removed, please?" she asked.

"My client is an exemplary government employee who is on leave for saving the lives of a CDM party, and he came here willingly." The detective in the gray suit reached forward and unlocked my cuffs. Lisa sat next to me on my side of the table across from both of the detectives.

"Where were you at 2: 35 p. m. yesterday?" Navy-suit guy asked me.

"Home."

"Doing what?"

"Watching the memorial service on TV."

"Was anyone there with you who can corroborate that story?"

"No." He took notes while Charcoal-suit guy leaned forward.

"Did you accuse Martin Kielar of murder?" Charcoal asked.

"Hearsay," Lisa interjected.

"Did you stalk Brennan Kielar?"

"Detective, really?" Lisa said.

"My client isn't answering that."

"We have footage from the Twisted Old Fashion that shows your client visiting the bar several times in a row, hoping to see Brennan Kielar."

"You have a camera that can record hopes now?" Charcoal scowled and refocused his attention on me.

"Have you ever waited at a bar, hoping Brennan Kielar would arrive?"

"Yes."

"Why?" I leaned over to Lisa to whisper.

"What do I do if this is related to my work with the CDM?" She simply nodded and turned to the detectives.

"My client cannot discuss this activity without express written permission from the Director of the Center for Dungeon Management."

"Did you threaten Brennan Kielar?"

"No."

"You didn't give him a picture of a missing person whom you believed his uncle murdered?" Lisa put a hand on mine to tell me not to answer. Navy asked, "Did you ever speak to Brennan Kielar at a bar?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Twice."

"How about on duty in your capacity as a CDM Enforcer?" Lisa shook her head.

"We just told you we can't disclose potentially privileged information without the proper permissions."

"Have you ever used an enchanted bow?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever used a voidwood bow?"

"Yes."

"Is that bow in your possession?" I shook my head.

"No."

"Where is it?"

"It belonged to Bluewater Security, and they checked my pockets before I left." Lisa glared at me. Right. I shouldn't speak like that.

"Have you ever conducted internet searches for cyanide, ethylene glycol, and arsenic?" Oh fuck. They had an angle on me already.

"Yes," I answered.

"For what purpose?"

"Goblin killing. I make YouTube videos."

"Did you contact several government offices seeking restricted city utility plans?" Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Yes."

"For what purpose?"

"Troll hunting for YouTube."

"Have you ever conducted internet searches about explosive devices, improvised or otherwise?"

"Yes."

"For what purpose?"

"Goblin hunting."

"Did you kill Martin Kielar?" Charcoal asked.

"No."

"Are you aware that Martin Kielar reported your threats because he was concerned for his safety and the safety of his family?"

"Don't answer that," Lisa said.

"Mr. Carmino deserves better than your tricks. Please show him that respect."

"Were you aware that Martin Kielar believed you were a threat to his safety?" I laughed.

"A man's death is funny to you?" Navy asked. Lisa put her hand on mine again.

"I believe my client is laughing because Martin Kielar died at level 23 while my client is only level 11. Anyone can file a bullshit report, detective."

"Were you aware?" Navy repeated. Lisa nodded for me to go ahead.

"No."

"Where is your voidwood bow?"

"I don't own one."

"Has your sister, Beth Carmino, ever expressed a desire to harm Martin Kielar?" I sat up. Lisa practically dove in front of me to keep me quiet.

"My client will not comment on hearsay."

"Does your sister, Beth Carmino, have an archery proficiency?"

"Yes."

"Why did you decide to use a bow instead of poison?" Lisa shook her head.

"Are you working with anyone else?" Charcoal asked.

"My client has already informed you that he did not do this. Please don't attempt to lead him again." Navy sighed and tried to ignore Lisa.

"This moment right here is your best opportunity to negotiate a plea deal. If you confess to the murder of Martin Kielar, we can take the death penalty off the table completely." Never in my life had I imagined a scenario where I, Dorion Carmino, would be in danger of receiving the death penalty.

"If you want to put an offer in writing, I will show it to my client," Lisa said.

"Is that all?"

"For now." Lisa reminded me to keep my mouth shut and assured me that she would get me released. The police still didn't have enough to justify holding me.

"Please protect my sister before anything else," I begged.

"I'll look in on her."

"Thank you." Then I was taken to a cell and left there. Getting myself screwed over was one thing, but hearing Beth's name had done exactly what they wanted. I was rattled. She didn't deserve to get sucked into this. I caught myself thinking, "I would take the fall to keep Beth out of prison."