Lacrima: Chapter Seven

Clues

In the short term, the most dignity they could give Argus was a pall of assorted towels. Bae insisted they kept his face visible - to which no one wanted to object. She draped a towel over herself as she watched vigil over his body.

Lucille held her shoulders, still matted with water. “You did good, Bae,” she said. “You tried.”

“Tried,” her voice quivered with the echo.

Lucille draped her arms around Bae, hugging her. Bae meekly raised a hand and brushed fingers against Lucille’s warm skin. She continued at the cold flesh below her.

Konrad squatted next to a neatly folded tee shirt. Sneakers stood beside it with socks shoved into the cavities. “Swim trunks. The folded shirt. It looks like he just went for a swim.”

Catherine looked to the pool. “Service, did you see anything in this room for the past seven hours?”

Service appeared as a mirage in the stagnant waters of the pool. Their fractal face swayed with the subtle disturbances on the surface. “Apologies, Catherine. We do not see anything in any of the rooms, let alone in the indoor pool. We receive vocal input from the guests, as we try to minimize our intrusions. Lacrima values your privacy. By our records, we were not asked by any guest within this room during that time.” Service then slipped away into the watery sways.

“The door was locked,” Konrad added, venturing to it. He crouched down again and whistled. “Look here!”

Catherine and Job moved fluidly to Konrad. Towards the bottom of the door, he pointed to smears of black against the blue paint. “Skid marks.”

“From a sneaker,” Catherine stated, noting the black rubber of the shoes that presumably belonged to Argus.

“Job,” Konrad said, rising to his full height. “If you were to look at this scene, what would be your gut reaction? As a psychologist?”

“I’m studying to be a psychology professor,” Job corrected. Bile collected at the back of his throat. The queasiness wouldn’t go away, even as he kept his distance from Argus’ body. His lifeless form haunted him like an afterimage burned into his retinas. “But my gut reaction: disgusted.”

“You get what I mean, Job,” Konrad said impatiently. “As someone with a background in psychology, I want to know your opinion. What does it look like happened with Argus?”

“You’re leading the question,” he noticed. But Job couldn’t pin exactly what conclusion the younger man wanted. He reconstructed the scene, glossing over the actual body, in his mind. Clothes set up neatly. A locked door. Dead person in the pool. No visible wounds. “You think it was suicide?”

“No.” Konrad pointed two fingers at Job. “Do you think it could’ve been a suicide?”

“Maybe.” He struggled to think straight. It was easy to spectate. Another thing entirely to be the throes of an investigation. “We can’t assume that. Let’s look for other possibilities, please.”

“Please,” Bae called over, not breaking eye contact with the corpse. “This could be an accident.”

“We can’t assume that either,” Job doubled down. The sickness sloshed in his gut. Chlorine smells made him want to gag. Stars in his eyes burned little white novas into his vision. “We can’t assume anything!” His lungs couldn’t get enough breath. Lucille materialized next to him, leading him to a fold-out chair. Strangely, looking at her made him feel better. Sitting down also helped.

“There’s not much we can do,” Lucille said. “We all need to take some time.”

“Yes,” Catherine concurred, flicking a glance to Argus. Her usual disaffected tableau twinged slightly. “Wild speculation will get us nowhere.”

“But we need to think through this,” Konrad insisted. He motioned with open hands, both placating and emphasizing. “What if Argus was-?”

“Please!” Bae strained in her yell. “We can discuss this later. We need to put Argus in a better spot.”

Slinking back, Konrad looked at the agitated faces around him. He nudged forward. “I’ll help carry him.”

Bae relaxed, mouthing ‘Thank you’ before they picked him up. She took his torso while Konrad strained to keep his legs straight. Argus felt stiff, wooden as they hauled him to the door. Lucille and Catherine assisted, guiding them out. Job lingered behind. His sight still swam.

The guests picked the incense room, placing him atop a bamboo mat. Finally, they put a towel over his face.

“We’ll have to give him a proper burial,” Lucille said. “Let’s wait for tomorrow. After a night’s sleep and when we’re all in better shape.” Everyone gave absent nods as they left their improvised tomb. With the door shut, Job gulped, heaved a deep breath, and finally got his wits mostly together. But he waited for the others to disperse first.

Lucille lingered, even as Bae, Catherine, and Konrad made their way up the stairs. “If you need someone to talk to, you have me, Job.”

“Thank you.” The sentiment flowed and dripped like honey into him. The last bubbles of illnesses popped. “I appreciate that.”

Giving a respectful smile, she made her exit. Bae Yuri had stalled at the stairs. Lucille reached a hand out and led her fellow guest up the rest of the staircase. Job found himself at the bottom. He looked outside. The vicious rain continued its assault.

There’s one more place we can look, he thought. Job made his way up to the second floor. Bae, Konrad, Catherine, and Lucille had retired to their rooms. Job would join them, but first he looked for Argus’ room. He couldn’t find a nameplate with his name.

Argus. Always the odd one out, he thought.

Job peeked inside one of the spare rooms and found Argus’ briefcase at the foot of the bed. He nodded and dove into the room. First, he checked the closet. Suits, vests, and slacks. Some casual outfits. A second pair of swim trunks…

The nausea returned, so Job went to the next stop: the nightstand. He opened the drawer to find a ring of keys, a leather wallet, and a phone.

Is it right to rifle through a dead man’s belongings? He wondered. I’m helping bring light to his death. That should be a good enough reason.

Job flipped through the beaten-up old wallet. He found a driver’s license, several gift cards, a scan card, and a crinkled-up receipt. Dropping the wallet and replacing it with the phone, he turned it on. The lock screen showed a number pad.

That would’ve been too easy. Looking through his messages…

Then, he noticed the lock screen. Curious, Job turned the phone to the side to get a better look at the horizontal picture. It had to be an older photo, but only by a decade or two. The picture lacked the glossy cleanliness of phone camera pictures. Maybe it was taken on a dedicated camera. Job couldn’t guess. Three broad-shoulder men posed for the picture in front of a fairly luxurious-looking camp. In the center, Esau Nebbel smiled too broadly, over compensating for the photo. Job didn’t recognize the man on the right, though he had the same general build of Esau, just a little slimmer. The unnamed man also put his brown and gray hair shorter than the long-locked Esau. He barely mustered a smile for the camera.

On the left, Argus brandished a sharp thumbs up. He looked exactly the same as when he met him.

He personally knew Esau, he thought. Job then placed the phone down and picked up the wallet again. He scrutinized the driver’s license, having skimmed past it before.

“Argus Nebbel.”

“Not just knew,” Job whispered. “Argus and Esau were family.”

No wonder he wanted to get into his office. He was so brazen because he personally knew Esau. Unlike the rest of us, he felt he needed an answer from his relative for all this seclusion, Job realized. At least, that’s what I think. And that’s all I have right now.

That at least gives me something to work off: a reason why he was here. I can chart and align his actions with that.

That explains why he didn’t want to give his last name. Maybe he didn’t want too much attention leveled on him. Maybe.

Potentially related. There’s also the matter of Service not responding to him, as Catherine noticed. The lack of a nameplate for his room.

Almost like he was never invited…

Argus Nebbel was never a guest in the first place.

Could he have invited himself? As a family member, he might have had access to information like when the next batch of guests would arrive. Again, that’s a maybe.

I’m confident that Argus was never a guest though.

But now to consider his death. He had to have been dead for hours. Rigor mortis had set in.

Konrad brought up suicide.

It has some fingerprints of it, but other marks are conspicuously absent. Drowning one self is a hellish process to taking one’s life. Usually those that attempt the act are trying to minimize or stop the pain, not languish in it. The sign of struggle, probably from him kicking the door, also points beyond himself as the killer…

Job shook his head.

Bae considered the possibility of it being an accident.

That seems to be more plausible. People underestimate how dangerous the water can be. However, if Argus has swim trunks and elected to go into the pool, I’m inclined to think he could swim. With an indoor pool, it’s not like he was caught up in some rapids or anything. If he was knocked unconscious beforehand or lost consciousness in the pool…

And the locked door. Argus didn’t know how the locking mechanism worked with the doors. Even if he did know, Service wouldn’t listen to him.

Someone else had to lock that door…

No.

No!

Then it has to be…

“A murder?” Job spoke it and made it true. He believed it. Now, he was damned to live it.

He noticed a bead of water trailing down the side of his lens. Job took off his glasses and dried them. He looked in every direction before exiting Argus’ room in efficient haste.

The oncoming night stretched long for Job.