Chapter 17: A Personal Visit

Chapter 17: A Personal Visit

"Knock... knock... knock..."

"Come in."

Karen pushed open the door to Dis's study and stepped inside.

Dis closed the folder that had been spread out before him, watching Karen walk up to his desk and take a seat.

"What is it?"

"I've just finished providing grief counseling for Mrs. Seymour."

"How did it go?"

"Fairly well. She managed to release her pent-up emotions. From here on, it's just a matter of time to gradually heal the wounds and adjust to a new life."

"Mhm."

"However, I learned something rather peculiar from Mrs. Seymour."

"Speak."

"Mrs. Seymour lives at Number 46, Rhine Street."

"A prime location."

"Mr. Piaget—the man I met at the Hughes Funeral Home who gave me my first counseling fee of twenty thousand lubes—is the Seymours' neighbor. He lives at Number 45."

"Mhm."

"Grandfather, I feel this is a bit too coincidental. Mr. Seymour died in a dance hall, and it's said that he and Piaget were close friends in life, often going out fishing together.

Furthermore, it wasn't long ago that Old Darcy personally cremated the remains of Piaget's wife, Linda."

"Mhm, it is a bit of a coincidence."

"More importantly, it was with my own hands that I held Linda's ashes and passed them to Mr. Piaget. Yet Mrs. Seymour told me that just this morning, Linda brought over a delicious apple pie for her."

A wife who had already turned to ash had suddenly "returned to life," and was even baking.

"Are you implying that this Mr. Piaget is the murderer?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? It seemed to me that you and Inspector Duke were talking rather congenially."

"Grandfather, it is much like religious scriptures. We can sit face-to-face and discuss theories for an entire day—from the grand movements of the cosmos and the divine mysteries of the gods, down to the operations of human society and the ultimate goodness of human nature.

But once the conversation ends, we might not even be able to hail a taxi to get home."

Criminal psychology might seem like an elevated, profound concept, but it was hardly a cure-all. Sometimes, after a grand, sweeping discourse, one might realize the analysis was completely wide of the mark. Even if the analysis was brilliant and correct, it could only offer a general direction.

It was never a matter of pushing up one's glasses with a ring finger and declaring: There is only one truth, and that is...

When it came to investigating a case, Karen believed Inspector Duke would be far more adept than himself. After all, one should never compare their hobby to someone else's livelihood.

Perhaps Inspector Duke could find great inspiration here, but what Karen could offer was strictly limited to inspiration.

In his past life, a friend had once sent him a video of a case, hoping he would analyze it—a case of a husband murdering his wife and hiding the body.

After watching it, Karen had said bluntly that no analysis was even necessary.

When the old detective went to question the husband, he had likely already concluded in his heart that the husband was the killer. What followed was merely the tedious process of finding the body to secure the evidence.

And all the disguises of that husband, who appeared so "calm" and "composed" in the eyes of ordinary people, were utterly worthless in front of a veteran detective.

"I think I understand what you mean," Dis nodded.

Karen smiled.

"You mean to say that what I usually do is quite meaningless."

"..." Karen.

Dis picked up his teacup.

Karen stepped forward on his own initiative to lift the thermos.

Dis said,

"It's full."

Karen put the thermos down rather awkwardly.

"So, what is it you came here for?"

"It's like this, Grandfather. This afternoon, after we left, Mr. Piaget came by the house wanting to visit me. He left an invitation, asking me to be a guest at his home."

"Do you want to go?"

"Yes."

"Then go."

"But I... am afraid."

Karen sat there, speaking with complete justification.

"I will be quite busy over the next few days, with some matters to attend to," Dis said, setting down his teacup. "I won't have the time to accompany you out like I did this afternoon."

"Then... I won't go."

"Mhm," Dis nodded.

"Grandfather, you should rest early. I'm going to sleep as well."

"Good."

Karen stood up and walked to the door of the study. Just as he reached it, Dis's voice drifted from behind him once more:

"If you really wish to visit..."

Karen turned around, a smile on his face. "Is Grandfather willing to squeeze out some time to accompany me?"

Dis shook his head and said, "You can have it accompany you."

"Who?"

"Meow..."

Pu'er leapt down from some unknown corner of the bookshelf and walked over to Karen. The black cat's face bore an unmistakable expression of reluctance.

Karen had noticed long ago that this black cat of the household possessed a real talent for expressing emotion. While other pets could usually only convey a single mood by baring their teeth or growling, Pu'er was remarkably nuanced, or rather, anthropomorphic.

"Grandfather, are you certain?"

Karen asked.

"Certain."

Having received a definitive answer, Karen said with gravity,

"I understand, Grandfather."

With that, Karen walked out of the study and closed the door behind him for his grandfather.

Standing at the doorway,

Karen blinked,

trusting that Dis could provide him with a profound sense of security;

even setting aside the bizarre occurrences he had recently endured,

the mere fact that Dis had let him skin his arm in the hearse without so much as a flinch, coupled with the palpable murderous impulse directed at him at the doorway earlier, spoke volumes;

even if one were to imagine Dis as a ruthless triad enforcer, he would still be a formidable shield.

Cruel to himself,

unflinching in taking a life,

and even if he was advanced in years... well, age was hardly an issue, for Karen was certain that in a contest of sheer physical capability, he would be no match for Dis;

thus, the old man's presence far surpassed that of any common mob muscle from the streets.

And yet,

that cat...

"Perhaps it is a cat with a past,"

Karen murmured, glancing down to find that Purr had not followed him out;

"Time for a bath, then to sleep."

...

"You have lost your mind, utterly lost it! You actually expect my noble self to play detective games with a child? Dis, what on earth were you thinking, what were you thinking!"

Prancing with a feline grace, Purr did not leap onto the desk this time; instead, she pressed herself against the wall, maintaining a considerable distance.

"I am sending you to keep an eye on him. As you said, he is an aberrant."

Upon hearing this,

Purr tilted her furry face,

and countered:

"Then why not simply kill him?"

Dis turned his gaze toward Purr, cornered against the wall.

"Hiss..."

Purr’s tail bristled instantly, her limbs tensing as she corrected herself at once:

"Understood, I shall accompany him. I will keep a strict watch over this aberrant."

...

Dawn broke,

and Karen slept through until ten in the morning, a testament to the exhaustion wrought by the sheer overwhelming events of the previous day.

Furthermore, the quality of his rest had been poor, plagued by a succession of dreams;

in his slumber:

one moment he was holding a dancing girl close in a ballroom, the next he was shoveling ash beside an incinerator;

one moment he lay inside a coffin in the first-floor parlor listening to prayers,

and the next he was cradled in Madame Hughes's embrace, nearly suffocating.

Only after washing up

did Karen feel his spirit finally return to him.

Ascending to the second floor, he was greeted by Aunt Winnie, who smiled warmly upon seeing him. "I have prepared lunch."

"Thank you, Auntie."

Lunch consisted of noodles;

ever since witnessing Karen boil a rich broth, Aunt Winnie and Aunt Mary had taken to it with boundless enthusiasm.

The broth was excellent, finely garnished with chopped scallions.

In addition, a jar of the chili oil Karen had previously prepared sat upon the table.

The only pity was that the noodles lacked a certain chewiness, though the flavor was entirely acceptable.

He truly had no desire to face the standard morning arrangement of bread, fried eggs, and sausages anymore; it held no joy.

Down in the basement, Aunt Mary was preparing the visages of two "guests";

a patient had passed away at a nearby hospital, and Uncle Mason, along with Paul and Ron, had already departed for it;

such was the nature of the business—either entirely quiet for days on end, or inundated with orders all at once.

Naturally, from an emotional standpoint, most people did not wish for the Inmeles family business to thrive.

Having finished his lunch, Karen made his way to the first floor.

He settled onto the sofa first, unfurling the newspaper.

The pages carried news of the accident at the Crown Ballroom yesterday, which had resulted in two deaths and several injuries, yet there was no mention of a homicide, nor did Old Darcy’s passing at the Hughes Crematorium make the prints.

Given that the front page was dominated by the campaign manifesto of the old mayor of Luojia City, it was not difficult to deduce that the serial murders had been suppressed; after all, the mayoral election was in full swing.

Should a vicious string of serial killings come to light, it would easily incite public panic, leading people to question the old mayor’s competence—especially since he had been campaigning on "public safety" as his most prideful achievement.

"Would you like some coffee?" Aunt Winnie came down carrying a pot; it was intended for Aunt Mary, who was hard at work in the basement, though Karen was welcome to a cup.

"No need, Auntie. I’m heading out shortly and will be having coffee at someone else's house. At home, we should save wherever we can."

"Pfft..."

Aunt Winnie let out a soft laugh at his words, remarking:

"You sound more and more like your Aunt Mary just now."

Just then, the telephone in the living room rang.

Karen stood up and took the coffee pot from his aunt's hand. "I'll take this down to Auntie."

"Alright."

Aunt Winnie moved to answer the call.

Stepping into the basement and approaching the door of Aunt Mary’s workshop, Karen knocked gently on the already open frame.

The strains of "The Elves of Luojia" floated from the room, its melody light and brisk, and Aunt Mary was humming along to the beat. Her back was to the door, her slightly plump figure appearing all the more shapely beneath her long gown.

This unbiddenly reminded Karen of Mrs. Seymour, who had stripped before him the previous night; she had been far too thin.

Though judging the figure of one's elder was an improper act, it remained strictly within his thoughts; even among relatives, one could discern beauty from its lack, the crucial matter being to maintain a pure and lucid mind.

One ought to view it simply with the appreciative eye reserved for a work of art.

Tsk... appreciating a work of art.

Karen suddenly realized that, owing to that psychotic serial killer, those few words had taken on a rather twisted connotation for him lately.

"Oh, my Karen, have you come to bring coffee to your beautiful aunt?"

"Yes, my beautiful and charming aunt."

One could easily tell that Aunt Mary was in an exceptionally grand mood; Plan B was clearly far more nourishing to her than Uncle Mason ever could be.

After all, aside from the family members' onboarding bonuses, Aunt Mary received the highest base salary and performance bonuses, meaning the better the family business fared, the greater her income became.

A mortuary cosmetician's work was far from merely slapping on some makeup.

Take old Darcy, for instance, who would be sent over in a few days once the police finished processing the case or gathering evidence.

Aunt Mary would have to piece dozens of fragments of old Darcy back into a whole.

This was a task even that perverted killer could not accomplish, yet to Aunt Mary, it posed absolutely no issue.

Karen poured a cup of coffee and handed it to his aunt, who sipped it mouth by mouth;

During work, coffee was merely used to regulate her mood, as she had no time at all to truly savor it.

Karen noticed that his aunt had previously been spray-painting Mr. Seymour's corpse.

Yes, spray-painting, as if she were performing maintenance on an automobile.

Furthermore, Mr. Seymour's abdominal muscles... they truly possessed a bronze hue.

"Does it look good?"

Aunt Mary held her coffee cup with one hand while the other traced Mr. Seymour's abs, saying to Karen:

"You can give it a feel, Mr. Seymour won't mind."

"No need, Auntie."

He was still unaccustomed to touching a man's abdominal muscles, and a dead man's at that.

"Mr. Seymour's physique is indeed quite splendid; one can tell he was someone who favored exercise during his lifetime."

Hearing this, a notion suddenly sprang up in Karen's mind;

If he could bring Mr. Seymour along to visit Piaget, his safety would seem guaranteed.

Though Mr. Seymour had been spray-painted, one could discern that he was actually quite robust; if he could stand up and walk behind him, he would make an excellent bodyguard.

But soon after, Karen smiled to himself again,

What kind of dream was he dreaming.

Mr. Seymour's face was pierced with many pins, while silk threads propped it up right there;

"Mrs. Seymour mentioned that she was attracted to Mr. Seymour's tough-guy image when she was young, so she hopes Mr. Seymour can be buried in his most perfect form in her heart. I must sculpt a few more sharp angles into his face."

Karen nodded, no wonder when he glanced at Mr. Seymour's already half-"renovated" face just now, it felt somewhat reminiscent of Schwarzenegger.

"Auntie, I'll head upstairs first. I have to visit Mr. Piaget in a while."

"Go on, go on."

Aunt Mary set down her coffee cup and resumed her artistic creation.

...

Returning to the living room, Karen first tidied his clothes while placing one thousand lubes into his pocket; he planned to buy some pastries or fruit to bring over before visiting Mr. Piaget.

Pu'er crawled on the morgue table, face turned inward and tail completely motionless, as if "playing dead" could keep her from being seen by Karen.

But Karen walked forward anyway, scooping her up.

He still placed his faith in Dis's words, because if Dis wished to harm him, there would be absolutely no need to utilize such convoluted means.

Cradling the cat, Karen spotted the golden retriever crouching in the flowerbed as he walked out of the living room.

He looked at the cat in his arms,

Then looked at that large golden retriever,

And somehow felt that this large dog could provide him with a greater sense of security.

Hesitating for a brief moment,

Karen walked over and took the golden retriever by its leash.

Just like that,

One man, one cat, one dog,

Stood outside the door, waiting for a taxi.

Before long, a taxi pulled to a halt, the driver poking his head out to say to Karen:

"Sir, bringing pets requires an extra cleaning fee."

"Then please drive on, I won't take your cab."

The driver froze for a moment, then said: "Then I won't charge it this time, who tells me to love pets as well? Please get in."

"To 45 Rhine Street, how much?"

"45 lubes."

"Then please drive on after all."

"Hahaha, how about 30 lubes? Today is my birthday."

"25 lubes."

"That is far too low." The driver's face showed signs of difficulty.

"Stop when we pass a pastry shop, and I'll treat you to a small ten-lube cake to celebrate your birthday."

"Get in."

...

One o'clock in the afternoon;

Karen held a box of macarons, standing before the entrance of 45 Rhine Street.

Beside him sat a cat and a dog.

Karen stepped forward and rang the doorbell.

Not long after,

The inner door opened, and a woman dressed in pink loungewear walked out; arriving before the courtyard gate, she looked at Karen, a stranger, with a hint of perplexity.

"Excuse me, are you Mrs. Adams?"

Piaget's full name was: Piaget Adams.

"Yes, you may call me Linda. And you are?"

"I am invited to visit, by a friend of your husband's."

And also,

The person who once carried your ashes in his own hands.