“You can begin by showing me the consul’s office,” Gavriel said.
“Of course. It’s on the second floor.”
The entered the Assembly and started up a marble staircase.
“How long did you work for Casolaba?” Gavriel asked.
“About a year and a half, sir. I came from Niss last spring.”
He’d heard of it. A small resort town on Satu Jos’s southern coast. “What brought you to the capital, Bottas?”
He cleared his throat. “My uncle runs the Sapphire Bay Hotel. He’s, er, a generous donor to the Freedom League. When I expressed interest in politics, he arranged an introduction to the consul.”
Nepotism, Gavriel thought with disgust. Like every other appointment in this city.
Other than a pair of watchmen, who stood straighter and looked alert when they saw Morningstar, the halls of the assembly were quiet. They made their way down a corridor. Bottas produced a ring of keys. “The consul’s office has been sealed since the discovery of the body, by order of the witches,” he said. “Shall I . . .?”
The door had been taped with the symbol of the Morag, head of the witches’ High Council. Gavriel examined the seal closely. Satisfied that it was intact, he nodded and Bottas removed the tape.
“Give me the keys,” Gavriel said.
Bottas handed them over, and Gavriel unlocked the door. “This will serve as my base of operations. I require interviews with anyone who had contact with Casolaba in the week before his death.”
“I’ll prepare a list,” Bottas said.
The consul’s office occupied a corner overlooking Liberty Plaza. It was cluttered with items ranging from a gold-enameled humidor for Casolaba’s imported cigars to ochre Lagashi pottery and rare artwork. All gifts from his benefactors, no doubt.
Above the desk hung a portrait of the dead man. Middle-aged, jowly, with a white beard and receding hairline. The swell of his coat suggested a prodigious appetite.
“Who discovered the body?” Gavriel asked.
“A man named Tristo Arpin. He sweeps the square every morning and spotted it from below. Arpin alerted the watchman and they climbed the stairs to the dome. Kota Confidential printed an exclusive. I hear they paid a handsome sum for it.” Bottas opened his valise and unfolded a broadsheet with the screaming headline, His Eyes Were Burned Out!
Gavriel quickly devoured the article. He had not known that particular grisly detail.
“Shall I add Arpin to the witness list?” Bottas asked.
“Since he has given such a detailed account to the scribblers,” Gavriel said dryly, “that won’t be necessary for the moment. Where is the body now?”
“Er, I’m not sure. The morgue?”
“Is that a question or an answer?” Gavriel snapped.
Bottas swallowed. “I shall find out straightaway, sir.”
“What about this watchman? The one who was on duty. Did he hear or see anything?”
“I’m afraid not. He made a statement, it’s in the file. But he’s rather hard of hearing, sir. And his eyesight isn’t very good.”
“You have a deaf and blind watchman?”
“Not completely. Er, his cousin is a delegate’s aide.”
“Of course.” Gavriel sighed. “I’ll want a complete list of everyone who was in the Assembly building yesterday, their arrival and departure times, and any unusual visitors in the past month.” He set the broadsheet aside. “We will commence the interviews with senior staff and lawmakers now.”
Bottas looked embarrassed.
“Is there a problem?” Gavriel asked.
