Kram spent the next fifteen minutes digging around in his kitchen to find his biggest thermos so he could take the whole pot of coffee he had just finished brewing with him. It was late, almost midnight, by the time he was finally ready to leave, at least the traffic would be clear, he thought. Predictably his trip back to work was relatively short and, on the upside, almost every space in the parking garage was free, including Noh's. Kram smiled as he slid the black SUV into the space, one of the luxuries of being head of the unit was special parking, right by the elevator. Kram smugly laughed in his head, knowing Noh would be angry to find him parked there in the morning. Pressing the lock button on his key fob, he strolled nonchalantly to the elevator, his bag slung over his shoulder and giant thermos of coffee in hand.
Kram's steps echoed off the polished floor of the atrium, taking the next elevator up he found an officer was waiting outside the door with a file. Taking it Kram saluted before swiping his badge and heading into the office. Glancing at the report he saw, they had taken his prints, he would know if they matched their case soon. Kram poured some coffee, flopped down in a chair and opened the rest of the file.
Wasapon Sumanpinat, nothing particularly remarkable, some assault and battery charges, mostly bar fights, drunk in public. Nothing to suggest he is a criminal mastermind. Kram flipped the page, his military service record, held some interesting information, he served two years, as a military police officer mostly stationed on the border with Myanmar, the only thing of note in his record was disciplinary action for failure to obey orders. That was a vague charge, it could be anything from being late to your duty station or something more serious such as deciding to take action when he was ordered not to.
Kram drained the rest of his coffee and poured a fresh cup before collecting the file and badging out of the office. He took the elevator to the basement, it seemed to take longer in the absolute silence. He checked his watch, it was 2 am. Walking past the guards he turned into the room next to interrogation. He wanted to get a look at the guy first. What he found was a guy covered in blood and grime as though he had rolled around on the street. He was tall, at least 183cm, which meant he towered over Hart. Kram couldn't tell if he looked tired or drunk, either way coffee would help. Leaving he went across to the break room and poured a cup of the oldest coffee he could find; the consistency was somewhere between sludge and used motor oil. This asshole didn't deserve fresh coffee. Throwing in some cream he grabbed a few packs of sugar, and finally walked into the interrogation room. Tossing the file on the table he slid the coffee in front of the slumped figure.
"Coffee?" he didn't wait for a reply before continuing.
"I'm going, to be honest, you look like hell, you smell awful, it's late, my patience is thin, and I need you sober." said Kram. The person before him didn't respond.
"Oi!" Kram slammed his hand on the table spilling some of the coffee. "Do you understand me, Mud?" Kram raised his voice.
"It's Múd, like mood, not Mud." the man finally spoke.
"Ok Mud whatever you say, I'd think you would be more concerned with the fact you are being charged with assault on a police officer, but sure let's focus on how I say our name…Mud." Kram made sure to pronounce it wrong. every time he did the vein in Múd's temple jumped.
"So, what happened? Did you see your ex with someone else? You can't take no for an answer? Your mom didn't hug you enough?"
Múd didn't respond. He was clearly used to being goaded. Kram would have to try something else.
"Are you an artist too?"
Múd finally looked up.
"What?"
"I asked if you are an artist. Hart owns an art gallery, you dated, so it isn't a stretch to assume you might also be involved in art." Kram said slowly. Shit, this was like pulling teeth.
Kram rubbed his forehead. He hated stupid people they gave him migraines.
"Let's talk about Hart. How long did you two date?"
"Uhm, like six months or so I guess, maybe a year I don't know. Why do the police want to know how long I dated my boyfriend? You don't have anything better to do?" Múd scoffed, kicking his foot into the table leg.
"Ex." Said Kram.
"What?"
"Ex-boyfriend, you said boyfriend, but Hart broke up with you right?"
"I broke up with him!"
"Sure, you did," Kram smirked. "Here's the thing: I don't care who broke up with whom, what I care about is who is murdering people connected to the art district.
"Wait, what!" Múd jumped to his feet! "I thought I was here cause I spit in that fucking cop's face! Fuck this I didn't kill anybody!
"That's lovely." Kram said sarcastically.
"Now sit down! I want to show you some pictures and I want to know if you recognize anyone in these photos." Kram laid out the photos of Kisa and the unidentified man.
"They're dead!" exclaimed Múd.
"Yes, that's what murdered means. Nothing gets past you does it." Kram replied drily.
"What I want to know is if you recognize them." He said through gritted teeth trying to muster even an ounce of patience.
"I don't know, they're dead!" Múd said again as though Kram hadn't understood him the first time.
"We've established that they are dead, but they still have faces!" Kram jabbed at the photos "Do you recognize them?"
"No."
"No?"
"Well, I mean, I don't recognize him, but I recognize her. She wrote for some magazines, I worked with her a few times taking photos of the art she reviewed. I'm a photographer you know."
"Is that so?" Kram gritted his teeth, he wanted to strangle the man across from him. But at least the last two hours hadn't been a complete waste. This idiot connected Kisa to Hart, maybe, just maybe he knew something useful. Whether or not Kram could pry it from his useless head was another matter altogether.
"Ok, so you do know Kisa, did you ever see Kisa and Hart together?" Kram asked slowly.
"Sure," he shrugged, "that's how we met. Kisa was sent to cover this up-and-coming star of the art world at Hart's gallery, and I was sent as the photographer. I heard the review she wrote was brutal." He laughed.
"Do you remember the name of the artist?" asked Kram.
"Uh, no. Why would I? Do you know how many supposedly up-and-coming artists there are? There is a new one like every five minutes." Múd rolled his eyes.
Kram couldn't argue with that. The world was full of people who thought they were talented and short on those who actually are.
"Ok look at this photo one more time, try and remember if you have seen him at any events," Kram said, weariness creeping into his voice. Múd glanced at the photo.
"Nope," Múd shoved the photo away and leaned back in his chair.
"Great, well thanks for your help, you can go now it's not like I can't find you again if I have any more questions." Kram stood and picked up the file and photos.
"Wait, I can go?" Múd said excitedly.
"Of course, you can go… to jail, you assaulted an officer, remember." Kram nodded to the guard on the way out, he didn't bother to look back. "Thanks for confessing that you spit in detective Love's face, you've saved the taxpayers so much money.
"No! fuck you! I didn't do anything!" Múd violently shoved the metal chair he had been sitting in across the floor.
Kram reacted instantly, flinging out his arm he stopped the chair midair and sent it crashing back into Múd. Keeping his focus he held the chair and Múd in place, both frozen like a statue, using his control of gravity to keep them both pinned. Walking over he righted the chair and slid it across the floor back to the table. Dragging Múd back he shoved him in the chair handcuffing him to the metal ring that stuck out of the table.
"He's all yours" Kram nodded to the guard on his way out.
He sent a text to Love while he waited for the elevator.
—-He recognized Kisa, she knew Hart, she wrote a bad review of an artist exhibited there, I'll go back through the reports—-
It was almost four when Kram flopped back into his comfy swivel chair in the office, fresh coffee in hand. He spread out the files he, Noh and the forensics department had packed from her condo, he sorted the photos and articles that were printed looking for any mention of Hart's gallery.