Milano Miller was clapped in heavy irons only minutes after he made his confession.

Samuel made sure the chains were attached to both his wrists and his ankles, with both the cuffs and the chains made of thick, heavy steel. His escorts were three orderlies Samuel had asked for by name; officers he could trust with this simple but critical task. The orderlies carrying out his instructions asked only once why he was being treated as a dangerous criminal.

"He's on suicide watch," Samuel said before the two orderlies led the quiet, broken man away.

"Sam," Angela said, as the chained man was hauled away on a small cart, little more than a dolly. "That's pretty burning severe. Wrist cuffs were probably enough."

Angela looked pale and clutched at the collar of her coat with her hand. Her expression as she stared at Samuel, was a very thin veneer of calm poorly applied over horror and disgust.

"Do you think my suicide watch call was unwarranted, Ang?" Samuel asked.

"I think clapping him in ankle chains and hauling him away like he was the Cutter of Rosethorne Heights is really burning dehumanising, Sam," Angela said, as she gestured towards the crowd forming at the edges of the square.

"That's not what I asked, Ang," Samuel reminded her quietly. "Do you disagree with putting him on suicide watch?"

Angela hesitated, then shook her head. "No. A guy like him, with resources and connections, could easily get someone to help him die if we aren't careful."

"And what you're seeing is the protocol for transporting someone on suicide watch. A protocol based on examining thousands of cases over decades since the Fifth. I don't like seeing it, but it is how things are done. And it will keep him alive," Samuel asserted as he fished his watch out of his pocket.

"And letting the privileged powers of High Central see one of their own get clapped in irons had nothing to do with your decision?" Angela asked.

"Are you kidding? I don't need that kind of attention," Samuel said as he shook his head. "We should head back to the precinct. We can start investigating at the Frosty Hearth, ask around to see if anyone has seen Silas there in the last few nights. Maybe start with that bartender friend of yours, Clovis."

"Isn't he your friend, too?" Angela asked, laughing as she jabbed him in the ribs. "After that man to man talk of yours?"

"To be honest, I trust him less after our talk last night. Your friend has his hands into some soot that's never seen the sun," Samuel said. "But I think I need that bartender friend of yours to help move this case forward."

"Right. Where the burning hell is Bertram, anyway?" Angela asked.

"Over there," Samuel replied, pointing across the square towards the entrance to the Agora. "Talking with his boss."

Almost as if he had invoked their attention by talking about them, both Agrias and Bertram turned from their conversation and walked over to join them.

"How did you make that connection, Inspector?" Agrias asked. "How did you know that Milano Miller had done someone a favour to pay for his son's protection?"

"I ran into the victim this morning, in the precinct. A clerk in the same Bureau named Darrick Vorlan. Darrick knows enough about the process to know when the proper paperwork hasn't been finished. He also had the sense to remember the name of the Crafter who carried out the order," Samuel explained. "All I had to do after was send a courier to ask the Crafter. She threatened to light me on fire if I bothered her again, but she gave me Milano Miller."

"I see," Agrias said, nodding, "Thank you, Inspectors. You've made remarkable headway on this. What are you planning next?"

"We have no name, but we know Silas met the man shortly after he killed Vontusk and the others on the platform. We have a couple of people to ask, and Angela's on good terms with the barkeep. Hopefully, someone saw something."

"Good. And Fraser, Ostal, remember to wait for backup if you even suspect that you're going to encounter Silas Miller. Your close call in Nursery Tower could have gotten you killed," Agrias said.

"Aye, ma'am," Angela said, curling her hand into a fist and resting it on her chest.

Samuel recognised it as the military's salute, with the right fist resting over the heart.

Agrias nodded politely in response before she turned away and walked back towards the Agora.

Samuel turned away and followed the orderlies wheeling Milano Miller onto the train. The train was empty apart from them, a feat that his own authority was woefully inadequate for. Which meant it had been arranged by someone with considerable power.

Samuel found it a profound courtesy.

"She remembers your names," Bertram said, his eyes wide and a rueful grin on his face. "You have impressed her."

"Honestly?" Samuel asked incredulously. "A parliamentarian is murdered, this reject is still on the loose, and your boss is happy with the outcome?"

"She's murderously irritated with recent events," Bertram said with a laugh Samuel could see was more nervousness than humour. "Nevertheless, Samuel, you have impressed her. That's not easily done."

Samuel didn't know how to respond to that, and let himself listen to the rhythmic clanging of the train as it carried them back to the precinct.

*****

It was creeping towards late afternoon by the time their morbid column finally delivered Milano Miller to a holding cell in Samuel's precinct. The sun was currently being cut nearly in half by the Spire, as it always was at precisely 4:37.

It was the time that most workers set down their tools for the day. For Samuel, it was when new trouble usually began.

"Inspector Fraser!" Someone called out. The woman's voice was muffled by at least one hallway, but it was audible enough that Samuel put down the form he was filling out.

"Is that-" Angela asked, looking up from her desk.

"Astrolae? Our clerk from Stats?" Samuel asked drily, grinning as he stood up from his desk. "Sounds like her."

"Wait, the clerk on loan from Stats is actually bringing you information?" Angela asked.

"Yes," Samuel answered Angela, just before he poked his head out of his door and shouted in response. "In my office!"

"She left her office? To deliver you information? Herself?"

"I'm beginning to doubt your inspector credentials," Samuel retorted.

"I'm just saying she doesn't do that for me. Or anyone else in the department," Angela said with deceptive mildness.

Samuel didn't retort to that, as Isabel Astrolabe rounded the corner and nearly collapsed at his feet. "Stairs. Spit and ash, I hate stairs."

"The precinct is only one level, unless you go to the holding cells," Angela noted drily.

"Not here," Isabel replied, too breathless to put any bite into her reply. Samuel tried his best to keep his own amusement from showing.

"I spent the last hour in that decomposing mess Civil Development calls a record hall. Sixteen flights of stairs, because they think listing things alphabetically is a good idea. I'm half tempted to transfer over there just to try and put some order to it," Isabel explained, as she drew out a single piece of paper from her satchel. "Had them press a copy for you."

"Of what?" Samuel asked, as he took the paper and opened it.

"Record of eviction, suspected outbreak of an unspecified virulent disease," Isabel said. "Twelve years ago. Clovis Hannover, his wife, and twins, still unnamed."

"Clovis?" Angela asked, rising to his feet. "Sam, what the burning hell?"

"Give it a second, Ang. It will make sense," Samuel promised. He turned back to Isabel and asked, "Who authorised the eviction?"

"Darrick Vorlan," Isabel said.

"Oh," Angela said, sinking back down in her seat. "Oh burn me, no..."

Samuel took the paper, and set it down on his desk. "Isabel, I need the room."

"Aye," Bertram agreed, standing up. The shadow moved to the door, and gently guided Isabel out.

Samuel waited until the doorknob clicked, and Bertram turned around to lean on it. Samuel then sat down across from Angela. "Ang, who is Clovis to you?"

Angela sighed, and gestured to her empty sleeve. "I didn't take this well at first, after the Sixth. I spent a lot of time trying to kill myself by drinking and picking fights. Which is harder than you think when you can drink as much as I can, and people are too polite to scrap with a cripple. I went from one bar to the next for a year until I found Clovis. He helped me bounce back, treated me like an adult. He was the friend I needed then."

"I see," Samuel said softly. "Look. I have a distinctly un-subtle link between Clovis and our case. Our suspect's father evicts the man who had Clovis put on the street twelve years ago, a day after his son meets someone at The Frosty Hearth for refuge. It's a strong link."

"Yeah. Spit and ash, Sam, it's not like I don't know the guy's up to his neck in shady shit," Angela shrugged. "But I owe the guy something."

Samuel nodded. "Then it's best you ask him what we need to ask. Because as much as you think you owe him, doing this betrayed your trust. Your friend didn't just tiptoe off the straight and narrow. We both know the path of righteousness is a knife's edge over a pit of fire. If this were just a minor infraction like smuggling beer or forging lottery tokens, I'd give him a slap on the wrists and drink at his bar later."

Samuel paused before he continued. "But I have good reason to suspect Clovis is harbouring a mass murderer. And because you care about him, you'll make sure he makes it to the precinct alive. I can't trust Bertram with that, or anyone else from Oversight."

Angela's resolve was steel. Samuel could see it in the set of her jaw, in how her gaze was focused and sharp despite the tears. She grieved, she suffered, but her pain was the scabbard around a sword.

"He's not wrong," Bertram admitted. "For what Samuel now suspects him of, Clovis would be dragged into a pit lined with Coldstone. We wouldn't ask any questions until after he was missing at least one finger, and some of his teeth."

"Are you serious?" Angela asked.

"I am," Bertram replied.

"Bringing him in is a kindness, Ang. Are you with me?" Samuel asked, rhetorically. He had seen the answer in her eyes for the last minute.

"Of course."

Samuel smiled in relief. "Good. Let's get going, partner."