Chapter 19: The Murderer!

Chapter 19: The Murderer!

"Look, this is the very timepiece."

Mrs. Seymour produced a black velvet box, within which rested a "Mifflit" gold watch.

Not long ago, Mrs. Hughes had gifted him a "Monroe" valued at two thousand lubis, yet this piece of Mrs. Seymour’s commanded a market price ten times that amount—twenty thousand lubis.

Next door, Piaget had handed over twenty thousand lubis for a single consultation without blinking, and now Mrs. Seymour was directly presenting a watch worth the exact same fortune.

One could only conclude that the residents of this particular street were extraordinarily affluent.

The hard-earned annual income of an ordinary citizen, before even accounting for net savings, was to the truly wealthy nothing more than a casual, trifling expenditure.

"It is beautiful, an exquisitely crafted watch," Karen remarked.

"I am glad it pleases you," Mrs. Seymour replied with a smile.

"No, Madam, it is far too precious. I cannot possibly accept it."

Karen was not merely putting on an act of polite hesitation; he genuinely had no intention of taking it.

In his past life, he had climbed from the ranks of ordinary boys through sheer industrious effort to gradually achieve material abundance, and in this life, beneath the roof of the Inmeles family, he wanted for neither food nor drink. Consequently, his perspective on money remained remarkably steady.

Bargaining with the taxi driver had not been born of a reluctance to part with the fare, but rather from a distaste for being fleeced like a helpless lamb.

Wealth was certainly desirable, but he could hardly be said to crave it with desperate urgency.

Had the Inmeles family been a common household, with so many souls crowded into a tenement house, he would likely have accepted the watch with a grateful smile.

To put it plainly, he was simply not poor enough.

Mrs. Seymour initially assumed Karen was merely being bashful, urging him several times, until she realized that he truly did not desire the gift.

"Let us do this, then. I understand that psychiatrists can be retained for a full course of treatment, is that not so?"

"Presently, I only attend to the guests of my family's establishment. However, if you require it, Madam, I am entirely at your service."

"Then let this watch serve as an advance payment for the coming year's consultation fees, shall we?

Once a month, you shall pay me a home visit. Alternatively, when things are quiet at your house, I may come to you for psychological counseling."

"Even under those terms, this is far too much."

"I believe it is worth every coin. Do you know how much I expended in total upon my husband's funeral?"

Karen opened his mouth to speak,

He knew it was the grand 'Package B' that had thrown Aunt Mary into such a state of excitement,

Yet he could not bring himself to state the price directly.

For the prices upon the family menu were highly inflated, intended to be discounted in accordance with the reactions of the clientele.

Karen knew the baseline price—the actual cost—but he remained ignorant of the final sum the family had settled upon for Mrs. Seymour.

If he guessed too low, would he not make Mrs. Seymour instantly realize she had been utterly fleeced?

Business was business, with profit margins fluctuating by mutual consent, a reality Karen understood perfectly well; and regardless of the circumstances, there was no reason for him to undermine his own family's livelihood.

"Two hundred thousand lubis."

Mrs. Seymour held up two fingers.

Whew...

Karen exhaled a quiet breath of relief. His uncle and aunt had not been overly rapacious; the sum remained within the bounds of reason.

This amount was sufficient to allow Mr. Mosang and Jeff to be cremated back and forth another twenty times.

"So you see, I was willing to expend two hundred thousand lubis on a funeral for that dead ghost of a man. What does gifting you a watch matter by comparison?"

Though Mrs. Seymour's demeanor had grown calm, her resentment toward Mr. Seymour had never truly vanished.

"I do not fear your mockery, but I am simply afraid—afraid that hereafter, I shall be terribly lonely."

As Mrs. Seymour spoke these words, there was no glimmer of passion or desire in her eyes; the statement carried no hidden invitation.

She had grown accustomed to being a virtuous wife, only for her husband, on the brink of death, to deal a shattering blow to her entire world.

"I understand, Madam. I am willing to provide you with psychological services. Should you have need of me, you may call upon me directly," Karen said.

"That is wonderful indeed. Come, let me fasten this watch upon your wrist myself."

The timepiece was secured,

Mrs. Seymour stepped back a few paces, studying him intently before she spoke:

"What a handsome young man you are."

...

Stepping out of the Seymour residence, Karen waved farewell to the warmly departing Mrs. Seymour and walked toward the end of the street, where it was easier to hail a cab. As he walked, he unfastened the watch from his wrist and put it away.

The golden retriever bounded along with great delight; lately, no one in the Inmeles household had been willing to take it for a proper long walk.

Purr, meanwhile, had been placed by Karen upon his own shoulder. This cat was not given to bolting excitedly at the sight of stray felines, so there was no fear of her wandering off.

Standing by the intersection, Karen signaled to a passing taxi.

"Number 13, Mink Street."

"Very well, sir."

Seated within the carriage, Karen kept his eyes closed throughout the journey.

The first image to drift through his mind was the state of affairs within Piaget's house.

Could Piaget, driven by a fractured mind, truly have begun murdering people for amusement?

No matter how he considered it, the notion seemed implausible.

Granted, the voice over the telephone could be altered—turning a male voice into a female one, or a female voice into a male one required no special device, for the telephone lines of this era possessed a naturally heavy, metallic timbre.

Yet Piaget did not fit the psychological profile he had constructed for that twisted murderer. He might be somewhat naive in his interpersonal relations, but a man capable of deliberately inducing a "split personality" within himself could never be accused of stupidity.

Which meant,

Could those paintings he had glimpsed in the wife’s studio be mere coincidence?

Yet it did not feel like a genuine coincidence.

Karen felt a dull ache rising in his head, and he could not help but reach up to gently massage his temples;

That sensation of nausea and vertigo had never entirely faded since the moment he looked upon that third painting depicting the judgment of the Church of Order.

"Are you suffering from motion sickness, sir?" The driver observed Karen through the rearview mirror. "I can slow our pace."

"No, it is nothing. Please, press on quickly."

"Understood."

The taxi pulled up to the curb, and Karen settled the fare before stepping down.

It suddenly occurred to him that he might well look into obtaining a driver's license and purchasing a vehicle of his own.

The license was not difficult to acquire, and a secondhand motorcar would not be excessively dear; most importantly, hailing cabs in the city of Rodia was not only inconvenient but remarkably costly.

Karen walked into the parlor and found Aunt Mary seated upon the sofa alongside Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Hughes's eyes were rimmed with red as she dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief, while Aunt Mary offered words of comfort by her side.

It being too late last night, Mrs. Hughes had not come inside, but today she had returned seeking the comfort of her dearest friend.

"Rest assured, I shall present old Darcy beautifully and arrange a most dignified funeral for him. Alas, the killer is utterly monstrous. Poor, poor Darcy."

Overhearing Aunt Mary speaking these words to Mrs. Hughes, Karen could not help but step forward to offer a reminder:

"Indeed, although the killer cruelly dismembered old Darcy into dozens of pieces, with Aunt's skill, it will certainly pose no trouble."

"Damn that old Darcy!"

The words slipped from Aunt Mary's mouth before she could think;

She truly had only just learned that old Darcy had been multiplied into several old Darcys.

Having blurted out the curse, Aunt quickly amended her words:

"That damned killer, to treat old Darcy in such a manner."

Immediately following this,

Aunt could no longer trouble herself with comforting Mrs. Hughes;

She pulled out a tissue of her own and began to wipe away her falling tears.

"Whatever is the matter?" Mrs. Hughes looked toward Aunt Mary. Weren't you supposed to be comforting me?

Aunt Mary spoke with a slight sob in her throat:

"My heart aches so for old Darcy. He truly... met such a wretched end."

Mrs. Hughes lifted her head and looked at Karen standing nearby, forcing a faint, polite smile. "Karen, your aunt and I intend to have some roast meat tonight. Why don't you join us? It is a very famous establishment."

"I think I shall decline," Karen demurred.

Aunt Mary raised her head, her eyes rimmed with red by now, and said, "Go. I wish to drink tonight, and you are the only adult male in the house suited to accompany us."

Karen suggested, "I could call for Uncle."

Aunt Mary roared with a vehemence that bordered on emotional collapse: "I would never give him the opportunity to carry the both of us, dead drunk, into bed together!"

"Very well, I will go."

"Wait for me a moment then. I shall go downstairs first to finish up with those few guests."

"Alright, Mary."

Aunt Mary stood up, wiping her tears with her tissue as she walked toward the basement. Even after she vanished down the ramp, a loud shout echoed from below:

"Son of a bitch, poor old Darcy!!!"

On the sofa, Mrs. Hughes exhaled a long sigh of relief and even gave Karen a playful wink, saying:

"Mary will have her work cut out for her. By the way, Karen, what about that watch I gave you? Why aren't you wearing it? Do you not like it?"

Mrs. Hughes had noticed that Karen's wrist was bare.

"I like the watch you gave me very much, ma'am, but I have not yet formed the habit of wearing one. I simply forgot when I got out of bed this morning. Perhaps I shall grow used to it in time."

"That is good to hear. I was afraid you looked down on that Monroe I gifted you."

"How could I? It is the most valuable present I have ever received outside of my own family."

Just then, the telephone rang.

Karen walked over and picked up the receiver.

"Hello, is this the Immels residence? I am looking for Karen." Chief Duke's voice came through the line.

"Hello, Chief Duke. This is Karen."

"We have identified the body found beneath the stage of the Crown Ballroom. His name was Cole, a native of the neighboring city who came to Roja three months ago looking for work. This is the information returned to us by the neighboring city's police department.

I have already dispatched my officers to canvas the neighborhoods he used to frequent. We should have concrete news very soon, such as where he worked and what sort of people he associated with."

"If it were put in the newspapers, it would likely be much easier to find out," Karen said.

"I submitted an application for that, but it was rejected. The reason given to me was that the gruesome condition of the deceased would cause public panic and provoke protests from the Berry Church.

I truly wish I could use my leather boots to kick those politicians hard enough to give their backsides a second hole!

They are merely busy with the election, so they are desperate to suppress the matter, aren't they? If we could have published it in the papers immediately and released the victim's photograph, we might not even have needed the help of the neighboring city's police. We would have already uncovered his local network by now.

Now, I can only pray we can move a bit faster.

On my end, I have already mapped out old Darcy's social circle clearly. We are just waiting on that poor bastard Cole. As you said, if the two social circles overlap, we can narrow down the scope of the killer, right?"

"Yes."

"I still want to ask you once more, Karen, is the killer truly that stupid? Deliberately targeting people close to him—isn't that just asking to be discovered quickly?"

"My intuition and experience tell me that is exactly the case. And the reality is, you have not discovered him yet."

"Haha, are you implying that it is only because our police force is so foolish that the killer appears clever by contrast?"

"I did not say that."

"Sigh..." Chief Duke let out a heavy sigh over the line, followed by the scraping sound of a match. He was likely lighting his pipe. "You mentioned before that the fellow would soon kill another person to complete that piece of shit artistic creation of his. I hope we can find him and catch him before he takes another life."

"I hope so too."

"Alright, I'll hang up now. I will notify you the moment there is news. I don't know why, but I have a premonition that your judgment is correct."

"Thank you."

Hanging up the phone, Karen offered Mrs. Hughes a polite smile and gestured toward the basement:

"Ma'am, I shall go downstairs first to assist my aunt."

"Very well."

Karen arrived at the underground workshop. Three bodies lay within the room—two from the Crown Ballroom, one of whom was Mr. Seymour, and the other a deceased individual delivered from the hospital.

All three corpses had been beautifully tended to; they looked entirely natural, as though wrapped in deep sleep.

Aunt Mary was currently seated on a round stool, her legs crossed, holding a cigarette between her fingers and smoking with a tense, angry vigor.

However, this posture had inadvertently caught the hem of her skirt between her thighs, leaving nearly the entirety of one leg exposed right up to the hip.

Karen closed his eyes,

And cleared his throat.

When he opened his eyes again, Aunt Mary had already shifted her posture, smoothing down her skirt.

"Karen, you knew all along that old Darcy had been turned into dozens of pieces, didn't you?"

"Yes," Karen admitted.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to piece dozens of human fragments back into one? I have to dig through a basin as large as a bathtub, rummaging piece by piece, matching them piece by piece, and then sewing them together piece by piece.

I would rather play with Rent's jigsaw puzzles than do this!"

"I know it is difficult, Aunt, but only you can achieve it."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? Do you know how much money a job like this would fetch if it were negotiated beforehand? I just promised her that this order would be calculated at the charity rate!

Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

Aunt Mary clutched at her own hair,

I cannot fulfill this request.

"Can't you take a taxi? Oh no, taxis aren't safe."

A drunken woman, taking a taxi home alone late at night, was truly cause for anxiety.

"The car belongs to Mrs. Hughes anyway. After I drop her off, I'll leave the car at her house and take a taxi back myself."

"Alright, if it's hard to catch a ride then, call back and I'll have Mason pick you up."

"Okay, Auntie."

Karen stepped out of the house and returned to the vehicle.

In the back seat, Mrs. Hughes was already sprawled out, her skirt completely bunched up over her torso.

Karen took a glance, shook his head with a faint smile, and restarted the engine.

...

The Roga City Police Department;

Chief Inspector Duke lay back in his chair, dozing with a pipe clenched between his teeth.

He had been running himself ragged for days without a wink of sleep, forced to steal moments of rest in his office whenever he could.

"Ring-ring... Ring-ring..."

Chief Inspector Duke snapped his eyes open instantly and reached for the receiver:

"Hello, Duke speaking."

"Chief, we found it, we found a lead."

"Out with it, quickly!"

"Cole used to work at a local winery here called 'Friday'. The place also serves food. Cole worked there as a waiter for a month before resigning."

"Resigned?"

"Yes, according to his colleagues, Cole boasted that he had hooked up with a wealthy widow who frequently drank and dined there, and she was willing to keep him as her lover."

"Did you find out who that lady is?"

"It's the owner of the Hughes Crematory, Mrs. Hughes."

Chief Inspector Duke bolted to his feet,

Cole... Old Darcy...

One was her lover,

The other was her long-time employee,

The killer really was striking exclusively at those closest to her.

Chief Inspector Duke gripped the receiver tightly, his face a mask of utter disbelief:

Karen was absolutely right,

This murderer,

Really was that stupid!

——

More tonight.