"So, er, what's the problem, exactly?" I ask after we've begun walking again.
Kenji trails the other two, and Andrew can't help but look back occasionally with slight, jumpy nervousness. Paul just stares dead ahead. I wonder if either of these two were old enough to have fought in the Mutant Wars. Paul's clearly the older, more seasoned of the pair, but Andrew looks at Kenji with the eyes of someone who has clearly seen other, less civilised mutants do far, far more aggressive things.
"Our mayor…well, we found him...dead," Paul says, flatly and bluntly.
"So you want us to figure out what happened," Kenji finishes for me.
"Er…yes, yes, we would," Andrew replies, chuckling nervously. For someone talking about the death of someone presumably rather important, he seems quite out of touch. "Come on, let me show you. It is easier than to explain."
They lead us into town. As we approach, Manahawkin looks like a smaller, inland version of Long Beach – a collection of refurbished pre-War houses lining the side of the road. Signs guide passersby to the Parkway, conveniently straight through the town centre.
There's a crater visible to our left, maybe a few thousand feet away from the road, walled off with the remnants of old billboards.
"A nuke landed there," Andrew explains. "They say it was headed for Great – er, Atlantic City, but it missed and landed straight in er – what's that town called again?"
"Mayetta," Paul fills him in.
"Yeah, Mayetta. Anyway, it was a damn miracle for us."
I nod.
We pass a pair of Republic Army soldiers on either side of the road – marking the entrance to town – and a pair of women pass by, giving Andrew - not Kenji this time - odd looks, and whispering at each other.
"So the body's in the town hall," Paul says. "We haven't moved it yet. I presume you'll want to see it."
"Right away," I gesture.
I spare a glance at Kenji. He just shrugs.
The town hall, I realised, had in fact been an elementary school before the War. No one had bothered removing the sign out front, instead opting to paint MANAHAWKIN TOWN HALL over it in bright red. There were a number of rusting relics of parked cars still in the lot as we came nearer.
The second thing I noticed was the green-and-yellow Atlantic Republic flag flying proudly from the building's roof.
The third thing I noticed were the pair of Republic Army soldiers outside the building, arguing profusely with the pair of what appeared to be local guards. "If it weren't for us," I hear one of the Republic soldiers say as I come into earshot, "a mutie would be shitting out all your organs by now. Who protects you from the Barrens? Who keeps the power running? Who keeps the Parkway smoothly flowing so that your town can even exist? Ma-ha-naw-kin needs the Republic."
"Oh, stop jacking off to yourself," one of the locals replies. "And what about us, huh? Now we're just police. We're not more than babysitters while you take all our freedoms away."
"We are not taking your freedoms away, and the least you could do is show some fucking gratitude."
The second local taps his comrade on the shoulder and points in our direction. "Why," he says in a cutesy mocking voice, "if it isn't little Andy Caulkins! Go in, you're wanted inside. Hey, it's robably your Republic fuckbuddies again."
"Fuck off, Herbert," Paul spits, in the most emotion I'd seen from him yet.
"You have a problem?" Kenji asks, after we've passed the pack there, all four pairs of eyes fixed on Kenji, and a slightly flushed Andrew holds the door open for us.
"Er…let's just say that Andrew is known as one of the biggest Republic supporters in town," Paul explains, "and the Republic, suffice to say, has some opposition here. Especially amongst the others in the town militia."
Andrew leads us down a dank, slightly decayed corridor, and reaches a room – appropriately, marked as the principal's office – and shows us in.
Two militia members are sifting through papers, while a Republic soldier is calmly leaning against the wall, a smoking cigarette propped in his mouth and a rifle slung vertically behind her right shoulder.
In the plush chair behind the desk, an old man's body is slumped over. A jagged hole is visible in his temple, from which congealed blood has poured out, vertically straight down onto the ground. Judging from his skin colour and his general stiffness, he must have died some time ago – yesterday, perhaps. But he way the bullet - he must have been shot from below. No killer would shoot from that angle.
Well, now is the time to get to work.
I step forward. In a sick, twisted way, I feel somewhat glad they brought me here, and I feel a little smile inside. Even in Atlantic City, mysterious deaths are far from common – or, at least, I don't particularly hear about them. Most of the ones that do happen go straight to the police. The skills about judging dead bodies they taught me – us – back at that place – the Manor – are not skills I get to use very often. It's been six months the last, entirely too long.
"Ah, you're finally here," the Republic soldier says, abruptly lurching forward and turning to face us. "Look, Caulkins, I know who you are, and I really don't want to have to do this." There is genuine sadness in her words. "But duty comes first, and unless we do find something, I'm sorry, I'm afraid we'll have to take you back to Long Beach for trial."
"Don't worry, we've brought someone, Sergeant Harrison," Andrew says, almost with resignation. He gestures at me. Shit. "She can prove our innocence."
"A…girl," Harrison says, dryly. "What can she do?"
"Zoe Jackson, the famous detective?"
She bats a quick eye at me. "Never heard of her."
"Well…just trust me, she's famous."
"If you say so." I can hear Sergeant Harrison verbally rolling her eyes.
"Wait," I interrupt, turning to Andrew. "Your innocence?"
"Well, er, we were…kind of...on station here…at the time of the death."
"So you want us to help you because you'll be blamed for the mayor's death if you can't prove otherwise," I say.
"Yes!" Andrew says.
"Idiots," I mutter under my breath. I couldn't believe I'd come all this way for this. But, then again, Kenji had been right. This pair did really need our help, and stupidity should never come in the way of the truth.
The two other militia members vacate the room, both taking turns to look funny at Kenji as they walk out the door. The mutant turns away – I think seeing the body like this is too much for his poor soul. Hm, I'll have to make up to him for that someday.
"What happened, exactly?" I ask.
"We were standing outside the front doors," Paul says. "And then we heard a loud gunshot from inside. We come here, find the door open and the mayor slumped over dead – exactly like that. We tried to save him, but...it was too late."
"And nothing else?"
"Exactly like that. Nothing else." Hm. Is it just me, or is skin slightly orange-hued? As is Andrew? Outside, in the isotope-tinged sunlight, it had just looked like a tan – it is the height of summer, after all, but inside, here, in this light, it's easier to discern.
I walk closer to the body, and note the gun fallen to the floor, straight below where the mayor's dead hand rests, limply. I look back at the hole on the head – it's the perfect angle. It looks like suicide.
I note the stack of papers on one corner of the desk, which I'd seen the two locals just looking through. The mayor quite licked to write shit down, I notice. And this seemed to be a record of the days immediately before his death.
The one on top, most prominent, is scrawled in large letters: REPUBLIC ARMY, with a large X violently stricken through it. Hm. Intriguing. I sort through the stack of papers. To those two locals who had just left, they probably mean nothing. But, knowing what I know, as I read them, my eyes open.
I look up, back at the waiting crowd at the back of the room. "Did he know who was on guard?"
"Of course," Andrew says. "Mayor Thompson knew everyone in the town militia on a first-name basis."
"Alright then. It's a suicide," I decide. "These two are innocent."
"How do you know?" Harrison squints at me.
"First of all, the angle of the gun - he must have shot himself from below." I paused. "Read these notes, if you can," I continue. "The mayor's wife died a few months ago – you can see here, December thirteenth, twenty-two eighty-six, his speech at the funeral. He's been depressed since then. The third one, here, is a note to his wife – dated from April of this year."
"So?" Harrison comes closer to me and squints.
"But look what he hated above anything else. The Republic. It only makes sense that, in his final goodbye to the world, he'd try to discredit the one man in town who'd most vocally support the Republic – and maybe, his successor would end the Republic's rule here."
Harrison nods, speechless, clearly impressed.
"I can't believe none of those assholes could figure it out," Andrew says, once we're back outside. "That was amazing!"
"It only takes a little filling of the gaps," I respond, "and in a case like this, few people are willing to do that. Of course, they'll have to double check. Those notes might be plants. Who knows? They can't do anything until they know for sure. But at least you're reprieved for now."
"Well, in any case, thank you!" Andrew says again.
"Now, I said I'd help you," Paul says, handing me an object that I never thought I'd be able to touch in my life. "I've had this for a while," he says, "no use for it now. Bad memories, see. But you – you look like someone who'd need it."
"Is this…a…Pip-Boy?" I gape.
"It is," Paul nods.
I look at Kenji. He nods, encouragingly. I slip it on my wrist – it fits perfectly!
"Looks good on you, Zoe," Paul says. "Now, head out of town that way." He points down further down the road we'd come into town on, roughly westward. "You'll hit the Parkway in about a quarter mile. And it's easy enough to get anywhere from there. Barnegat's only a short walk north."