Member
Argus Lichfield
Physical State: Slightly tense
Mental State: Suspicious
Argus had met a lot of liars in his time. I'll have the bank's money by Thursday, I swear. I'm not a member of the Milwaukee Worker's Union, honest to God mister. Sir, Private Schofield was the one who done drew a penis on your cap, sir.
The problem Argus held with liars was that no matter how many he crushed, there always seemed to be another to take their place. Some were better at it than others. Others couldn't tell a lie to save themselves. Fortunately, the solution was always the same: a gun, a knife, and some encouragement. After all, there was a lot of things in a man's life that he could always do without - his reputation, his possessions, loved ones, certain parts of the body - and if you knew which ones to relieve him of, before too long he'd be singing like a canary.
Barry Lexington, unfortunately, was not a very good liar. He was clearly a man of action rather than wits, and it was immediately apparent to Argus that he was stalling for time. The sudden pleasant change in tone, the poor excuse about the case files being locked up until lunch time, the smiling - these were not the markings of a broken man. These were the markings of a man who thought he had the upper hand.
He felt his revolver shift ever so slightly under his coat as Barry hurried out of the office, the holster brushing gently against his thigh like a lover's touch. It would be so easy to provide the Inspector with a little encouragement. A round through the back of the leg, then another in the arm. The Inspector was a big man with military training but adrenalin and discipline could only do so much, and Argus only needed to buy a few moments to pull out his knife and follow up. Yes, so easy. He crack him open like a chestnut, carve him up like meat, then he would-
Argus closed his eyes and slowed his frantic, ragged breathing. Whatever Lexington was hiding, it could wait. There were more pressing matters at hand - Taking a look at Atkins' office, for one. Interviewing witnesses. Contacting his handlers at the Bureau. None of which involved poking around in the affairs (or insides) of a roach like Lexington.
Argus strode back into the foyer. There was no trace of Lexington's accomplice, save for the station's front door swinging shut. The Inspector spun around the very second he heard the click of Argus' shoes on the ageing stone floor. Whatever the pair's exchange had entailed, it was clearly not for him to know. 'Did you get bored of my office that quickly?' he said, with a notable amount of venom. 'Geeze, good luck lasting that long in Arkham.'
'Well then, Inspector, for both our sakes I hope my stay here will be a short one.' he fired back. The Bureau's influence was powerful but even so it was not omnipotent, and he suspected that shooting a police chief dead in cold blood was something that Mills and Hanson couldn't just make 'disappear'. His irritation would have to be confined to verbal sparring, at least for now; until the moment the insubordinate little shit gave him causus belli to wage his own personal war against Lexington.
'Now then, I should trust that the files will be ready for me to review later this evening.' Argus idly twirled the pencil between his fingers. The journal was still open in his hand - Lexington, rather conveniently, had neglected to answer his query.'But the question still stands, Inspector: Who was there the night Dr. Howard Atkins died?
Ageing wooden police barricades lined the deserted University Square, showing clear signs of neglect rather than wear. These were not items that regularly travelled outside the confines of the station storeroom. If anything, it was an indication to prevalence of serious crime in Arkham: almost non-existent.
Lexington, although with great reluctance, had given up several names. Most of them were unknown, but a few were cause for concern; fellow colleagues and academics from Miskatonic whom had appeared as people of interest in the Bureau's dossier. Upon pressing further however, Lexington shut him out. 'I don't fucking know, Lichfield. He'd replied, trying to keep his rage in check. 'I don't know the life story of every fucking person in Arkham. Go talk to the bookworms over at the University if you want to know. Isn't this your case now, anyway?'
Now the University stood before him, its bizarre mixture of granite flagstones and ageing gambrel roofs giving it the appearance of a haphazardly built monstrosity; a Frankenstein's Monster of architecture, designed by a madman with no heed for modern stylistic conventions. His eyes wandered from the monument and the grisly scene below to the tallest window of the Tower, perhaps the only sane building in on the entire campus, its ancient stone spire reaching up to pierce the heavens like the spear of some titanic warrior. It was from that window that Atkins had plunged eight stories to the cold and unforgiving flagstones before, taking his secrets with him.
'Excuse me sir, but this is an active crime scene. I'm going to have to ask you to step back behind the barricade.'
The young officer had puffed his chest out and stood upright, attempting to project power he possessed neither the experience nor rank to wield. Argus gave him only the briefest of looks before brushing past him. 'I'll only be a moment.'
The officer remained still, flabbergasted that a stranger would so calmly and brazenly defy a direct order from a law enforcement official. It went against everything the Academy had taught him. 'S-sir, I'm going to ask you again: Please step back behind the barricades.'
'Stand down, Private.' Argus' tone changed as he felt the anger well deep within him. The meeting with Lexington had worn his patience thin, and he was in no mood to play games. 'My name is Agent Lichfield, Pinkerton. The Feds requested I take over the Atkins case.'
The officer placed a hand on Argus' shoulder. 'Well, Mr... Lichfield, I'm going to need to see some identifica-'
It was all the provocation Argus needed. Quicker than the Officer could react, Argus had spun and picked him up by the scruff of his collar, drawing his mouth into a snarl as he pulled him close. 'Listen here Private, I give the fucking orders, not you.' Argus hissed, almost more reptilian than human.
The officer froze with terror. The stranger's expression was no longer recognisably human but rather something more primal, something mankind fearfully left behind long ago. It was his eyes - eyes that burnt like fire, like an unstoppable inferno; but there was no warmth in it, no heat, just the bitter chill of void; like ice... Like death. The stranger's voice continued as a hoarse and terrible whisper:
'Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I wanted to come to this shit-stained backwater? No, I just go where the work takes me, and I just so happened to have the misfortune of winding up here. You want to see some identification? Here!' Argus reached into his coat and pulled out his identification, thrusting it in the petrified Officer's face. 'Here it is, Private. Now, I've had a very long journey to get here, I'm cold, I'm tired, and it seems that every single fucking person I run into is trying to stop me from doing my goddamn job. Get the fuck out of my way - and Christ Almighty, if you ever lay another fucking finger on me I will shatter every single bone in your hand, one by one. Do I make myself clear, Private?'
A choked gasp escaped the Officer's lips as he frantically looked around the deserted square looking for someone - anyone - to come and help him. Argus gripped him tighter and raised a fist. 'I asked you a question, son. Do. I make. Myself. Clear?'
'Y-y-yes sir, Agent Lichfield.' The terrified officer stammered - he'd only been on the force for three weeks, and he wasn't at all prepared to let this psychotic Fed send him to an early retirement. Argus grinned at him wickedly. 'Good.' He released the gasping officer from his iron grip before straightening out his trenchcoat. 'Now that we've reached an agreement, I believe that you haven't yet introduced yourself. What's your name, boy?'
The officer looked back at him with a mixture of fear and confusion. Every breath came quick and frantic. 'H-Hutchins, sir. Officer Hutchins.'
'Hutchins.' Argus said slowly, sounding every syllable. A thin puff of mist escaped his lips and hung in the air briefly before dissipating. 'You from around here?' Hutchins nodded.
'Well then, I hope you won't mind me asking you a few questions.' Argus tone made it painfully clear that this was not a request; it was a demand. 'Let's start off with the most important one: What do you know about Dr. Atkins?'
[Hr]
Officer Hutchins had cracked like an egg, but rather disappointingly wasn't the fount of knowledge that Argus had anticipated. He'd known Atkins, sure, even spoken to him on occasion. But Hutchins was at the Police Academy up north in the months leading up to his death; he'd only become aware of the late professor's erratic behaviour less than three days before the incident. As for the particulars of the case, Hutchins was simply on guard duty and nothing more. He didn't know what Lexington had discovered, if anything.
'I see. Well, thank you for your time Officer. Oh, and best we keep this between ourselves - that Inspector of yours isn't too fond of me, and I'd just hate to think of what he'd do to you if he'd found out you'd been fraternising with 'the enemy', so to speak.' He'd added. 'I can count on you... Can't I?' Hutchins had agreed. The young lad had, after all, nowhere else to turn now but Argus; he was in too deep to back out.
The next few hours were spent exploring the campus and its myriad of buildings, familiarising himself with the floorplan as the sun began to dip below the horizon. By the time he arrived back to the quiet hallway that led to Atkins' office, many of the students and staff at the University had gone home for the night.
Argus stood before the old pine door. Behind it, he knew, would be an integral part of the puzzle. With a final glance up and down the silent hallway, he pulled a small piece of metal from his pocket and reached towards the lock-
Without warning the door swung open, connecting with his head. The lockpick dropped from Argus' hands and clinked on the hardwood floor as he staggered backwards. Pain radiated from the impact point across his skull, and it took an almost inhuman amount of concentration not to cry out in shock. His left hand gripped his hat while the right shot down to the holster under his trenchcoat, dazed but ready to fend off however many assailants hid inside the office.