How much did Valorie know about life bonds?

That question kept Cain's mind occupied on the long ride to the outskirts of town; the cab driver didn't take the scenic route through those suburbs that looked like everybody cut the grass with nail scissors but the speedy one through the decrepit parts of town, navigating urban canyons of hopeless drug abuse and gang violence, dirty side alleys and abandoned shops with broken windows. But after a few decades in this city, you didn't see it anymore; no, you let your mind wander to the girl who shared the first part of the taxiride with you.

He felt better now, not as tired as before. Breakfast had done its thing and his magic was helping too, and yet he knew that he would have to do more about it if he wished to preserve his life and relative youth for longer. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was that ache in his joints that he got when his body wanted to remind him of his true age. Of course, Valorie didn't have to worry about these things yet. She had done what she could to destroy herself but, then again, so had Francis when he was only a little older and for much longer than her, before he found his purpose.

And now, here he was after dropping her off, wondering if she knew that he knew exactly where she was.

It wasn't a permanent life bond - an eternal bond - so the effect would fade after a day or two and he couldn't tell what she was thinking or doing, but he knew where she was and he would know if she got hurt, a side-effect that made his sacrifice even more worthwhile. It gave him options if she decided to go back on her words, if she got herself in trouble or trouble found her. He was probably too obsessed with her for his own good but he would have hated to watch her waste her potential and perhaps pass the point where she couldn't escape the drug abuse on her own. It was for her own good, really.

Or so he told himself as the taxi pulled up in front of an old church. Well, perhaps it had been a church once but some of the side buildings had collapsed and the tower looked like it was well on its way to the end of the line too, so the church had more or less been downgraded to an oversized, really unstable-looking chapel. Understandably, it looked like people only ever entered it when they had to during mass, and Cain couldn't imagine that anybody without at least half a mind to meet his maker got anywhere near this thing.

He paid the driver and made his way to the entrance, the cobblestone and overgrowth making him feel strangely calm in the face of such architectural danger. The door was half-open and as he entered, he saw a man in black robes kneeling and praying before the crucified Lamb of God. There were many religions in this world and many promised, not without merit, power or a longer life; but christianity didn't and yet it was one of the largest faiths in the world, even though it had its share of magic cult contenders. Here, in Santa Somabra, however, you could be lucky if you woke up in the morning and still had some faith, let alone a pulse.

[color=lightblue]"Excuse me, Father Karpenko?"[/color], Cain broke the silence as he took of his hat and approached the man who had obviously heard his footsteps but still finished his prayer before rising and turning.

The priest was a clean-shaved man with greying blonde hair, a little smaller than Cain and a little broader too, with metal-rimmed glasses and a good-natured look to him that was rare in Santa Somabra.
"Yes? What can I do for you, my Son?"

Cain respectfully bowed his head before entering 'detective mode', or so Vigilance had mockingly called it once - that state of mind you got into when you tried to be friendly but firm, tried to pay attention to every detail and would willingly rip any witness a new one if that could potentially lead to more information.
[color=lightblue]"My name is Francis Cain. I'm a private investigator looking into the Somabra Slayer case. My sources told me that the Slayer's most recent victims, Joanna Calhoun and Hugh Blackwood, both were part of your congregation. Would you mind answering me a few question?"[/color]

Karpenko looked surprised but that soon made room for sadness as he shook his head.
"Terrible thing, that; may they rest in peace. Well, if I can contribute to your investigation in any way, ask away."

[color=lightblue]"Thank you. What was the nature of the relationship between Miss Calhoun and Mister Blackwood?"[/color]

"I don't think there was any to begin with, to be honest. They were here for mass most every Sunday but they never spoke, as far as I could tell; not actively avoiding each other but just... strangers."

[color=lightblue]"And did you know the two?"[/color], Cain inquired.

"I can't say that I did. Of course, I offer every member of my parish to hear their confession and in these dark times, I am more of a shrink than a priest to some, but neither of them were particularly close to me."

Francis nodded. So far, this conversation was going as expected and leading nowhere, but that didn't mean it was pointless. Karpenko adjusted his glasses as Cain thought of his next question.
[color=lightblue]"Was anything different about them in the last weeks before their death? Did they seem nervous or frightened to you?"[/color]

"Hm... Let me think."
Karpenko seemed thoughtful but the way his eyes moved while he answered these questions was strange. The way he spoke suggested truthfulness but something was off; there was nothing to nail him down on, though.
"Not particularly, no... They were a little agitated, now that you mention it; left mass in a bigger hurry than usual. But I have several people in my community who couldn't deal with the pressure of being an aardvark in the local gangs and confessed, and compared to them, Miss Calhoun and Mister Blackwood were very calm, if they had any inkling as to what was going to happen."

And there it was. It stood out like a sore thumb and maybe a detached observer wouldn't have known what to make of it but it gave Cain at least an approach.

[color=lightblue]"Father Karpenko, does anybody in your family work in law enforcement?"[/color]

Suddenly, the priest seemed rather nervous himself.
"No, nobody. Why do you ask?"

Cain pressed on.
[color=lightblue]"Any friends who work in the SSPD? Acquaintances, anything?"[/color]

"N-no, I'm telling you", Karpenko stuttered. "What does that have to do with-"

[color=lightblue]"Aardvark. You see, 'mole' is what people usually say. The only people I know who would refer to police informants or undercover operatives as 'aardvarks' are SSPD cops."[/color]

"I-I don't-"

[color=lightblue]"What are you, really? Fresh meat from the academy or just some pen-pusher who got unlucky?"[/color], Cain pushed.

"I think you should go", the 'priest' decided, beads of sweat forming at the edge of his hair, and turned to leave himself.

[color=lightblue]"I doubt you'll have this position much longer, not after you got your operatives killed."[/color]

"I didn't get them killed! They weren't even my operatives!", Karpenko yelled, his words echoing back and forth in the church. There was enough guilt in his exclamation that Cain knew he had him, hook, line and sinker. 

[color=lightblue]"You were their dead drop, their lifeline to the SSPD, right? Who are you working for? Richard Kennedy? Paul Lawson? Khadija Samat?"[/color]

"Lawson. But how do you-"

[color=lightblue]"Cain"[/color], he interrupted. [color=lightblue]"Does that name really not ring any bells? Detective, homicide, no?"[/color] Karpenko shook his head. [color=lightblue]"Well, guess I can't blame you. I don't know your face either. What matters, though, is that I still occasionally work for the SSPD and I have my connections; I could let Lawson know over what kind of stupid mistake you blew your cover and have him tell me what Calhoun and Blackwood were doing, exactly, or..."[/color]

He took a nice, long pause. Karpenko, or whatever his real name was, was a mess at this point, looking like he was about to start crying while Cain reached into his pocket and lit himself a cigarette before continuing.

[color=lightblue]"Or you could tell me what they were doing and I forget about this slip-up that could cost you your career."[/color]

Was Karpenko's mistake big enough to actually threaten his career? Probably not, not with how rampant the corruption ran in the SSPD. But that wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was that Karpenko believed it, and apparently he did because he sat down on one of the benches and, with a sigh of resignation, started spilling his guts.

"I don't know what they were doing. They didn't have anything to do with the Slayer, as far as I know; or maybe they did and they just didn't want to make it obvious. All I know is that their last message for Lawson was that they wanted to investigate the Nyctari and he gave his go-ahead. A few days later..."
He shrugged. Was he crying?

[color=lightblue]"Is that absolutely everything you can tell me?"[/color]

Karpenko nodded with a soft snivel.

[color=lightblue]"Jesus Christ, look at you: You really wanna cry in front of another man, right in the middle of a church? Get up."[/color]
Cain grabbed the man in robes by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet.
[color=lightblue]"I'm not gonna tell Lawson - I'm a man of my word. If you forgot about this encounter as well, nobody will ever know you blew your cover. What's your real name?"[/color]

"Walter Dixon", he responded without hesitation. Something told Cain that he hadn't really grasped to concept of undercover work yet.

[color=lightblue]"Alright, Walter, let me tell you something: Undercover work is really tough and I can tell you're not cut out for it, so as soon as you can, you should ask Lawson to give you your office job back, plain and simple. You wouldn't want to be here if the Slayer drew the same conclusions as I and shows up here one day, now, would you?"[/color]

Francis had never seen somebody's face switch from ignorance to insight to pure panic in under two second. Cain put his trilby back on.
"Good day, Father."