Alcander had needed the meal, and had procured a toothpick to idly tongue in his mouth so as not to feel as strong of an urge for a lho-stick. The two ladies had been in an out, providing idle chitchat but not giving him much in the way of information, though granted he had not drilled them very hard, expecting the Rogue Trader himself to fill him in after he filled his own belly. Though he was not prepared for where they took him once the feast was over. 

"Shite," he cursed under his breath, the toothpicky nearly dropping from his lips. He was stunned for a good moment, but the season ed probator quickly took a hold of himself. He gave Yvine and Camilla a brief, albeit sharp look. "Buildin' castles in th' aer, ye two are."

He felt his hopes of this being a simple misunderstanding or an operation he could potentially refuse dash. Even though the two women weren't Rogue Traders, the death of one was held in the up most secrecy, as were the details of his death. He was just given a great responsibility, even if he refused to solve the case, he would have to stick around until it was concluded or someone else was anointed, or someone would come after him.

"Of all th' bleedin' luuk," He muttered, walking past the ladies and eyeing the corpse. He had evidentally been a well established Rogue Trader with many years under his belt, if the titles alone did not denote such a thing. Alcander could spot rejuvenant work easily enough, these days. The old man had been well maintained, big and not without a good bit of muscle. Alcander noticed the calluses on his hands and the various, generational scars along his body. He placed a hand on his brow and lifted it to open Orthelio's blank, blue eyes. Neither were bionic, nor did he see telltale signs of certain poisons. He picked up the old man's wrist and checked for a pulse, before sliding his finger down to see any bloating on the ulnar artery. 

"What are you doing?" Yvrine asked, a bit testily. 

"Chekin' t' see if the auld man is dead, o' cairse." Alcander remarked. 

"He would not be in here if he wasn't," Yvrine said. Alcander could feel her looking at Camilla with incredulity. The probator did not smile or respond. He had dealt with several cases where a man was hit with slow acting poison from the death world Veraekus. And there were other instances as well where the auspex and people's standard modes of checking signs of life were wrong. He wanted to be thorough. 

He lowered the thin white cloth covering the corpse's extremities, finding a small exit wound to the left of his abdomen. There were no scorch marks, so it was not done from a lasgun. The wound did not seem big enough for a standard autogun, much less a bolt round. But, as he gently lifted the heavy man up a few inches with surprising strength and felt underneath for the small of his back, it was clear whatever had hit him had hit him from behind. Whatever kind of projectile, it had struck him right by the kidney, cutting into it a bit. "Hou loong had he ben ded before ye foond me on Castobel?" 

"Two days." Camilla said. 

Alcander's head shot up, blinking. "Ye better be coddin' me," he said, suspicion and annoyance warring with ettiquete. The woman, Camilla she had said, was obviously unfamiliar with the term, but the way he said it made it clear, and he saw it dawn on her eyes a moment later. 

"I like to keep tabs on useful individuals." She said by way of explanation, and though she hid it well behind a neutral, professional face, he saw a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Alcander did his damned best not to mutter a curse on finding out he had been surveilled, even to a limited capacity.

Never trust a beautiful woman. 

Alcander set the cadaver down gently and went to clean his hands. "If ye would be sae kind, please take me tae the site where ye found him, and on the way, ye might be tellin' me why he woos on this wairld."