Play@YSDC

At the Gate – Sing Sing Prison
2:45pm - Wednesday 14th January

"You're not the type we normally get making professional visits Missy, but these seem to be in order." The guard hands the documents back to Cynthia, "Please wait in the administration building, the warden would like to speak to you before you're taken to the Death House."

Noticing Atauchi's cold stare, the guard asks, "You got a problem pal?"

"None of you are armed are you? No weapons or sharp objects are allowed inside the jail."

Cynthia gives a brittle smile as she takes back the paperwork.

"It's crazy what they've got us women doing nowadays, huh? Please don't mind my friend - he's like that with everybody."

She is rather disconcerted abut the request to give up her handgun, despite the fact that it's a perfectly reasonable request. She hands her gun over, grateful that she had left her sword at home - that would have raised some awkward questions!

"A girl can't be too careful. Here ya go - but I want a receipt, okay?"

Marcus also hands his gun over and waits for the warden.

Atauchi continued to eye the guard, but remained silent. When the others produced their handguns for confiscation, he stepped forward and slid a handgun from beneath his overcoat. He placed it alongside the others, but conveniently forgot about the small knife concealed inside his left boot. His expression remained stoic as he waited at his companions' sides.

OOC:   Probably also for the best that Atauchi didn't carry his bow on the train with him.

The Administration Building - Sing Sing Prison, Westchester County, NY
2:50pm - Wednesday 14th January, 1925

The trio of investigators are lead through the gate and into the prison's admin building, which stand just inside the prison walls. The office area that they are taken into has a waiting area with wooden bench seats, to which the investigators are directed. The rest of the large room is taken up with desks and numerous filing cabinets. There are four lady clerical workers sat at desk in here, three guards - two of whom are chatting about the football play-offs - and two elderly trustee prisoners.

The frosted window of a door to an adjacent office has been stencilled with black letters reading 'Lewis E. Lawes - Warden', but one of the secretaries says, "Please take a seat gentlemen and Miss Vallier; Mister Brunton is expecting you, he's on his way now and will take you across to the death house."

Cynthia nods towards the sign on the warden's door.

"Mr. Brunton huh? What happened to Mr. Lawes?"

"Mr Brunton is subwarden for the death-house," replies the secretary. "Mr Lowe is a very busy man, but he asked Mr Brunton to look after your visit."

"Ah, here he is now."

A short and stocky man with close cropped, salt and pepper hair steps into the office building. He is wearing a modest, brown three-piece suit and smiles warmly as he walks across to the investigators.

"Good afternoon, Miss Vallier I assume? I'm George Brunton, I've have the honour of looking after the facilities and inmates at the death house."

He looks a little surprised by Cynthia's companions, particularly Atauchi, but non-the-less extends a powerful handshake and genial smile to each of the investigators.

"Before I take you across, might I enquire about the nature of your visit? Adams, is happy to meet with you, but he still maintains his innocence, and so I'm not sure what you hope to learn from your visit."

"The warden doesn't want anyone else making trouble."

"Bodyguards," Marcus explains. "This place is no place for a woman on her own."

He lets Cynthia take the lead otherwise, figuring she's better at presenting their case then he is.

As Cynthia shakes Brunton's hand, she tilts her head towards her companions.

"Sometimes a little protection is necessary, like my friend says. As a behaviourist, I get to study some pretty strange people. That's what I'm here to do: study the Voodoo Killer and try to find out what makes him tick."

She looks at the sub-warden quizzically.

"I'd be interested to know your take on the guy. He says he's innocent - what do you think? You say your boss doesn't want anyone else making trouble - is Adams stirring things up or another prisoner? Did the behavioural change coincide with his arrival?"

She smiles apologetically.

"Sorry for the third degree an' all, but it helps to add context to the subject and such."

Like Marcus, Atauchi seemed quite content to allow Cynthia to do the talking in this particular situation. He followed along with the conversation as best as he was able and simultaneously peered about his surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.

Spot Hidden (70%),[dice]0[/dice]

OOC:   @Raiko Let me know if making a Spot Hidden here is appropriate and worthy of a tick. It was a hard success.

OOC:   Still a few decades too early for the Zodiac killer Cynthia.

Burton shrugs, "I think that Hilton Adams believes he's innocent and that he was framed. Well he believes it, or he's a good liar, or crazy."

The subwarden grins ruefully at Cynthia, "That's the trouble in here though, lots of crazy people and good liars who all say they're innocent.

"The trouble is outside the jail. A lady reporter believes Adams story. Mr Lawes is finding her tiresome"

OOC:   @jp1885, Nothing to spot yet, but I'll save that roll for if it's needed later at the prison.

OOC,Oops my mistake! post duly edited. (It was Zero that asked for the spot hidden BTW :))

Cynthia rolls her eyes.

"Don't get me started on journalists... If she catches wind of my studies here, the university will also have trouble to deal with. At least I know to look out for her now, so thanks for the tip-off. What's her name?"

"Rebecca Shosenburg, she works for the Times. She's not published anything about the story since Adams was convicted, but she visited a few times and she's been making enquiries in the city."

Burton leads the way out of the administration building.

"The death house is down by the river, across the tracks. We'll keep you quite safe Miss Vallier, don't worry.

"Anyway," he continues "Perhaps Miss Shosenburg is right, and she'll get Adams cleared. If not, then it will be my sad duty to supervise his execution "

Cynthia goes cold at the mention of execution, as if she suddenly realises where she is and what happens here. She shudders as she exits the administration building.

"Well, that's, er... Anyway, let's get going huh?"

Marcus follows along, lighting up a smoke as he does; it's one habit he's not been able to break, nor does he really want to.

Inside the Death House – Sing Sing Prison, Westchester County, NY
3:00pm - Wednesday 14th January, 1925
Brunton leads leads Cynthia and her minders down the hill and across the railroad tracks to the death house, an innocuous looking, two storey brick building. Once inside they need to pass though two different sets of locked and guarded gates, and then along death row itself. On the way though the checks Mr. Brunton explains the rules:

"The prisoner will remain inside his cell at all times."

"You will remain a safe distance from the bars at all times."

"You will not pass anything to the prisoner, and you will not accept anything from the prisoner."

"Is that clear?"

The left-hand side of the corridor is lined with windows which look into the barren central courtyard of the death house. Along the right-hand side stand the cells of the condemned. Hilton Adams' cell is the third along the row, and a wooden stool has been sat outside the bars awaiting Cynthia.

"You have a visitor Adams, behave yourself."

"Miss Vallier?" Brunton indicates the stool and turns to leave the investigators.

"Let the guard know when you're finished. I'll be in the building if you need me."

He walks away towards the gate, where a guard stands ready to let him through.

Adams’ cell is cramped, with just enough room for a lavatory, a metal-framed bed, and a small desk and chair. Adams sits waiting for the investigators, seated on the edge of his bed, as near to the bars of his cell as he can get. Hilton is an African-American man, probably about thirty years old, with strong features and a muscular build. He wears a black-and-white striped denim prisoner’s uniform. His short, dark hair is lightly peppered with grey, despite his youth, and his face is creased with lines.

"I would shake your hand,” he says, with a wry smile, “but I don’t think that would go down too well with Mr. Brunton, eh?"

OOC,[ooc]It's all very Silence of the Lambs.[/ooc]

Suppressing a shiver, Cynthia sits as requested, fishing out a pencil and notepad but otherwise keeping her hands firmly to herself. As a lone female, sitting in front of the Voodoo Murderer in a building full of condemned men, she can't help but feel vulnerable despite the bold front she usually tries to project.

She turns briefly, giving Marcus and Atauchi a look which clearly states 'watch my back', before clearing her throat to address Adams.

"Yeah, I guess not... Thank you for agreeing to talk to me. I'll be honest with you Mr. Adams - I'm here to study you, considering the things that you... that, er occurred... What the hell - the voodoo murders." She shrugs. "I'd rather be up front with you than mess around."

"If you don't mind, please can you tell me your story? By that I mean: from your background to how you came to be in here."

Cynthia will attempt to read Adams' body language as she jots down his reply.

Psychology 79% Extreme pass,[dice]0[/dice]

The Death House - Sing Sing Prison, Westchester County, NY
3:05pm - Wednesday 14th January, 1925

Hilton Adams sat silently for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on Cynthia. The stare of a serial killer. She got the feeling that he was trying to read her, just as she was reading him.

"Thirteen..."

He pauses for another second, "That's how many lives I've taken. I figure that if I walk to meet Ol' Sparky in a few weeks, then I guess it's no less than I deserve. Though I'd prefer to live a long life, 'n leave it to the almighty to judge whether I'm a righteous man."

Adams leans closer towards Cynthia, his face nearly touching the bars now.

"I see all their faces in my dreams, 'specially the young one. Lad can't have been older than sixteen, tried desperately to hold me off...

"And cried for his mother after I gutted him with my bolo and left him bleeding in the mud."

He sits back again, and takes a deep breath, "So if you want to interview a killer, Miss Vallier? Then look no further; I can tell you what it's like to stare into a man's eyes as he knows his times done, and to stick it to him without no remorse - not at that instant, at any rate.

"But my victims were all in the mud on the Western Front, it you want to speak to the Voodoo killer, you won't find him in Sing Sing.

"I'll tell you my story if you wish Miss Vallier, but mark my words; those eight Voodoo murders are just the tip o' the iceburg. Black folk been vanishing in Harlem for years, and no one cared a damn. I tried to look into what was goin' on an' this is where it got me."

Cynthia,There are going to be npcs within the campaign who are impossible to read in terms of truthfulness, because they insane, stone cold sociopaths or deranged lunatics, their sanity so shattered they they don't know what is true and what is madness. Hilton Adams is certainly a stone-cold killer, but Cynthia doesn't think he's insane. And if he is sane, she is sure that he is telling her the truth.

Marcus and Atauchi,A "bolo" is an American Great War trench knife. Not sure if Atauchi would know this, but I'll leave that to Zero to decide.

Cynthia forces herself to hold Adams' gaze for a heartbeat or two.

Having looked into the feral eyes of a kharisiri and the souless black orbs of Augustus Larkin, she reasons Adams could be the Voodoo Murderer, Ghenghis Khan and Kaiser Bill all rolled into one, but at least he'd be human.

Wanna read me pal? She thinks. Go right ahead...

"So folk started disappearing huh? Folk the likes of me don't usually think about. How did it come to your attention? What did you find out? Who did you tell?"

She stops and leans back a little.

"Sorry for the third degree - please tell your story in your own way."

Atauchi folded his arms and stood behind Cynthia as she conversed with the prisoner. The crime and punishment system in this city seemed to be rather inefficient. The man that stood before them had admitted to killing thirteen individuals, yet he still drew breath. The Quechua would have swiftly executed him for committing such atrocities.

OOC:   Atauchi may have a bolo in his collection by now.

"I was in the war too," Marcus responds, his eyes carrying a certain respect for Adams. "How I got this lovely medal," He points to the scar going down the side of his face.

Other than that, he's content to let Cynthia continue to do the talking.

Atauchi glanced over at Marcus as his companion interjected himself into the conversation. He had little knowledge of this Great War, afterall, the conflict hadn't managed to spill over into his part of the world. He only knew what Marcus had told him over the occasional drink at one of the numerous speakeasies the two of them had frequented over the past several years. Still, he understood the concept of camaraderie that it must instill in those whom participated.

OOC:   Thanks. I thought about adding a bit about how the Inca often walked the "guilty" off a cliff. If that individual survived, they were permitted to repent and act as a reminder to others about the penalty of their specific crime.

OOC:   @Silver Priest Hope you don't mind, but I decided to fill in a bit of the time in between adventures by making Atauchi and Marcus occasional drinking buddies, heh.

The Death House - Sing Sing Prison, Westchester County, NY
3:05pm - Wednesday 14th January, 1925

"Okay then," Hilton Adams sits back on his bunk and begins his story.

"So when I got back from the war in 1919, I heard tales of folk disappearing in Harlem on the nights of the dark moon. Just one or two people each time, but every month some people just vanish."

"Folks say this has been going on for months, while I was away in France. Ain't no bodies turnin' up mid you, this is still years before the Voodoo killin's begin, every month on the nights that the moon's dark the same thing happens, folks just vanish, never to be seen again. And never heard from either."

He shakes his head in disgust, "Their folks go to talk to the police, but they ain't interested. As far as they is concerned Harlem is full of black folk coming and going. They say maybe they just moved back down south, maybe they don't like the big city. Maybe they just untrustworthy, that they probably be back soon.

"As time goes on, the number of folk vanishing got bigger, it was usually still only two, but sometimes could be even maybe a dozen in the same month, though still always during the dark moon.

"So I got together with some friends who was in the Hellfighters with me during the war. We started to organise patrols to protect the community, an' askin' questions, see if we could find out what was goin' on. Seein' as the police weren't goin' to help, we tried to do their job for them."

He chuckles, at the irony, glancing around his small cell.

"This is where that community spirit got me.

"We never stopped the disappearances, but once I saved a man from being taken. Fought off two men wearing tribal masks, tore off a strip of red cloth from the masks as one of them run away.

"When the killings began, we heard rumour that they was folks who'd got too close to the truth. A folklorist called Dr. Mordecai Lemming, claimed that the symbol carved into the victims heads belonged to an old African death cult, that they was operating in Harlem or that gangsters were usin' the cult's methods scare off rivals.

"So we did some research in the public library, learned of a cult called The Bloody Tongue, who disembowelled their victims and carved the rune in the heads, and who wore masks with red tongues dangling."

Adams pauses to collect his thoughts before continuing.

OOC:   If you want to interrupt, you can. Otherwise I'll post the next bit of my monologue.

Cynthia furiously scribbles down notes while Adams tells his story.

She has a number of questions to ask; not least whether Dr. Lemming is still alive and what the mysterious symbol looked like.

However, she knows that, when someone is in full flow, it's often best to let them talk rather than interrupt them and so saves her questions for when the prisoner has finished.

Besides, it can only be a matter of time before he realises that they have more than an academic interest in the case...

Marcus also waits, but makes a note to ask about Adams companions after he's done. They could prove useful leads to track down.

He also wanted to know more about the man Adams saved from taking.

Atauchi lit his pipe which began to smolder as he continued to listen to the condemned man recount his tale. Of particular interest were the name and practices of this death cult operating out of the dark continent. It seemed that this folklorist from Harlem could shed some more light on them, provided he himself had not become one of their victims. He leaned against the wall and remained silent.

History (09%),[dice]0[/dice]

Occult (38%),[dice]1[/dice]

OOC:   Heh, the dice are not with me today. Carry on, Raiko. Nothing to see here.

"After that, we tried to find someone who about that kind of cult. Needham, that's my friend Needham Johnson, one of the Hellfighters, he knew of a shop called Ju Ju House down a back street off of 137th Street near to Lexington Avenue.

"Ju Ju is the name for African magic, and Needham said that the owner Silas N'Kwane was said to be an expert on traditional African magic, an' stocked all sort of magic mumbo jumbo in his little store.

"But Needham is a reporter for the New York Age which is most keen to promote the image of a modern, civilised Harlem. So they weren't happy at all for him to be out at night with me huntin' down no Ju Ju cults an' Voodoo murderers."

A wry smile, "A few o' the boys were getting' pressured by their bosses by this time, so I went to visit Ju Ju house myself.

"Silas N'Kwane was most helpful, a bit eccentric maybe, but a wise old bastard. He agreed that the killin's and the disappearances were linked, and that this cult o' the Bloody Tongue was behind it. He said that a gang o'racketeers had taken to using the ways of an old-old cult out of Kenya to scare away any opposition. He said that the Bloody Tongue was the name of the cult and the name of their god, and that those who vanished under the dark moon would have been sacrificed, because the Bloody Tongue is most powerful when the moon is darkest. The other victims, the so-called Voodoo murders old Silas figured those were the ones who crossed the cult – they learned too much or were rival gangsters. They were left as warnings, victims who the cult wanted to be found.

"He said that the vanished ones would never be found, as the cult wouldn't want the true scale of the murders to be known, even the NYPD could ignore that."

"Me an' the other Hellfighter boys tried takin' this information to the cops at the 14th Precinct, but they didn't have time for hearin' tales o' no African murder cult. They'd heard about our vigilante patrols by now, so they took a couple o' us in the back an' give us a good seein' to. Then kicked us out, an' told us to leave the policin' to the police."

He pauses again, rubs his chin and stares intently at Cynthia, "We didn't give up though. We looked into some o' the killin's, and heard that the PI, Van Buskirk, had visited the same speakeasy that poor Roberta Barlow had worked at, Fat Maybelle's. Some of the vanished had been there too."

"So I paid a few visits to Fat Maybelle's to stake it out. A nasty thug called Mukunga M'Dari runs a numbers racket upstairs, and his gang keeps Maybelle stocked up on liquor.

"After a few nights watching the place, I spotted M'Dari leaving on his own, so I tried to follow him. I lost him down a back alley, but found the body of Adolf Thurmond gutted an' layin' in a pool of bloody. With the cult symbol carved in his head."

Hilton shake his head bitterly, "As I bent over his body, the cops showed up, like they was waitin' for me. They said they found my bolo at the scene, covered in Adolf's blood, but I ain't no fool, I knew the murders were done with a big knife, so I never took the bolo out on patrol, just my army revolver. Cops planted my knife."

Cynthia immediately thinks of the rapier hanging over her fireplace and suppresses a shudder. If Adams was telling the truth, then, like his bolo, she could easily be framed with that.

"Damn - that's quite a story. So why d'you think the cops fitted you up?"

It's not unheard of for cops to be on the take, but she wants to hear Adam's thoughts on the subject.

"If you were released today, who would you trust and who would you go and beat the crap out of?"

Not the most subtle line if questioning, but, given the apparent scale and reach of this cult, subtlety might not be the answer.

Finally, going for broke, she asks:

"This symbol of theirs, can you describe it?"

"Sounds like someone in the cult may have framed you," says Marcus. "This M'Dari leads you on a wild goose chase, make sure you stumble upon a fresh kill, and then arrange for the police to show up the same time you're there. That's what I'd have done, at least. Not that the police are innocent; I'm sure they loved the case being wrapped up for them and asked very few questions as to how convenient it all turned out to be.

"Any of your buddies still out there looking into this, trying to prove your innocence? Heard this reporter lady is trying to help prove you didn't do it."

Atauchi silently puffed on his pipe as the other two continued to hound the prisoner with questions. The Quechua man followed the interrogation that was taking place before him, but saw no reason to partake himself. He had once heard Jackson refer to their group as investigators, though he never felt that term really suited him. His role was much more simple than that. Asking questions and academic research were things the others were tasked with, not him.

"Well, I ain't sayin' that every cop is guilty, but I left the bolo at home. The police searched the house and the knife turned up at the crime scene." Hilton nods his head and scowls, "So I expect some cops got a better idea than me how it came to be there.

"The lady reporter is Rebecca Shosenburg, she writes for The Times. She seems like a good woman, or at least she sees a good story if things turn out in my favour.

"Other than Miss Shosenburg, the only person I can be sure I trust is my wife Millie. I told her not to get involved, for her own safety, but I know she's been talkin' to Miss Shosenburg and I worry she's been lookin' for proof herself too.

"My old war pals in the Hellfighters? Well I guess they've been scared off, I ain't heard from them since my arrest. Don't blame them, though.

"If I got out today, first person I'd be lookin' for is Mukunga M'Dari.

"As for the symbol, the one carved on the victims looked kind of like a flower pattern inside two crescent like brackets, but Silas N'Kwane said that the flower pattern represents the maw of the Bloody Tongue. He said that sometimes the Bloody Tongue is represented by a Spiral pattern instead."

Cynthia stiffens at the mention of the spiral symbol. Was it a coincidence that Larkin had a spiral tattooed on his chest? There was also the African connection to consider. Sure, Africa was a big place, and the spiral is hardly an unusual thing to find in any culture's art, but even so...

"What about Dr. Lemming, is he still around?"

After this she asks:

"Ever hear the name Larkin during all this?"

At the mention of Larkin, Marcus tenses for a few seconds. His memories of Peru were not his fondest.

"Thanks for the interview Mr. Adams. For what little it's worth, I believe you. We've dealt with something similar before. Can't go too far into details at the moment but we'll look into it. You've given us a lot of leads to look into, and if there's anything there we'll do what we can to help you out. I'll also check in on your wife, make sure she's not getting in over her head in all this."

Cynthia sighs quietly - so much for the pretence. Still, their lines of questioning must've hinted that their interest in the murders was less than academic - Adams was certainly no fool.

As far as I know, Dr. Lemming can still be found in the Murray Hill Hotel, unless the money's run out. He's livin' off of some inheritance.

The hotel's a block away from Grand Central on Park Avenue. I had a hard time gettin' in there to see him though, an' he couldn't get me out quick enough. I ain't the kind o' person who they like to see in the Murray Hill Hotel apparently, not outside the kitchen's at least."

Adams chuckles as his eyes drift over Marcus and Atauchi, "I ain't sure your friends are their type neither Miss."

"As to Larkin, I don't think that I've ever heard that name. Why?

"I appreciate anything you can do to help. Don't be gettin' into no trouble on my account, but I'd owe you one if you looked in to see Millie, I don't expec' I'll be a no position to repay the debt though."

OOC,[ooc]I edited a post above that mentioned Dr. Lemming being based in Harlem. Sorry I misread some of the information.[/ooc]

Cynthia waves away Adams' question as she finishes up her notes.

"Oh, just a name that cropped up recently. We'll certainly go see your wife if you're happy for us to do so."

She is about to add 'we'll send her your regards', but loud and insensitive as she usually is, even she knows that'd be way too glib.

"Oh, and if we visit Dr. Lemming we'll be sure to bear that in mind."

She shuts her notebook. If this really was a study into the mind of a serial killer, then the result would be a fascinating treatise on how the guilty can so utterly deceive themselves into believing they were completely innocent of their crimes, subconsciously concocting a cockamamie story to divorce themselves from their deeds - some kind of dissociation perhaps.

However this isn't a real study, and Cynthia is pretty sure that the guy is innocent. She briefly considers saying as such, but perhaps offering such a ray of hope would be more cruel than keeping her thoughts to herself.

She turns to the others.

"Unless you have anything to ask, we'll thank Mr. Adams and be on our way."

Atauchi felt a sobering wave of uneasiness as his companions tossed around Larkin's name. It was certainly possible that the two cults were operating in congruence. They may even be one and the same, and that thought was quite disturbing to say the least. Perhaps Jackson could reveal more when he arrived. Until then, it was clear that there were a few more leads to follow up on, beginning with the doctor.

"I think we done here." he announced, his steely gaze on the prisoner.

The Death House - Sing Sing Prison, Westchester County, NY
3:30pm - Wednesday 14th January, 1925

Adams sits back again on his bed, leaning back against the wall of his tiny cell. He has a warm smile on his face, but Atauchi notices that the prisoner is meeting his gaze with a cold stare of his own. Adams' eyes don't leave Atauchi he speaks.

"Well thanks for the visit, I 'ppreciate the company, hopefully if all goes well I'll one day be able to return the favour and pay you all a visit.

"To thank you in person."

He holds Atauchi's gaze for a another second, then looks away to Cynthia, "You take care of yourself out there Miss, if you go enquirin' about these disappearances and murders."

Cynthia tilts her head quizzically at what Adams says to Atauchi. Was that some kind of threat or just misplaced confidence?

'Probably some machismo-driven something', she thinks to herself as the pair lock gazes, but nonetheless she remains on her guard.

She nods at Adams' warning.

"Thank you for talking to us - I'll be sure to be careful. I think we're done here guys." She stands to leave, but then turns back to the prisoner.

"I dunno what's gonna happen next Mr. Adams, but I hope justice is served one way or another."

Marcus raises an eyebrow and attempts to decipher the hidden meaning, if any, behind Adams words.

psychology 40%,[dice]0[/dice]

"You take care of yourself, Mr. Adams. And if you think of anything else, pass it up the line and we'll be in touch."

With the conclusion of the interview apparent, Atauchi wet his thumb with saliva and snuffed out his pipe. He then glanced at Adams and emptied out its charred contents upon the floor. He studied the man for several moments then proceeded to follow the others out of the cell block.

Psychology (10%),[dice]0[/dice]

OOC:   A success on the Psychology skill was highly unlikely, but worth the try anyway.