"Him?"
Her eyes widened when they saw the picture, shock spreading across her face. Although the boy in the picture was much younger, there was no mistaking those sharp eyes she constantly found herself being targeted by.
"Do you know him?"
This time, it was Sigerson who was confused.
"I… I met him at the orphanage."
"What?"
Just then, the bedroom door flew open and in stepped Rose, who was, to say the least, a little alarmed at hearing Sigerson raised voice.
"Dinner's ready," she said meekly, stealing glances at Evelyn as if trying to get her to explain what they were doing.
Sigerson left quickly, but Evelyn, staying behind for a few minutes, reached for the folder she'd retrieved, opened it, and took out its contents.
From an outsider's view, it might have seemed like a couple of newspaper snippets but to her, these little cut-outs formed the heart of the mystery. Every single article contained a story in which a child was found dead. Accidents (were they really accidents?) seemed to be the main cause of death, according to the news with the sole exception of a chilling double suicide involving a pair of twins.
She gazed at the drawn portrait of Levi Arestor then at the happy photograph pasted into the severely contrasting newspaper.
An entry was scrawled across the diary corresponding with time of the deaths:
Now, everything has gone quiet.
To think that those bright faces were forcibly molded by Blight's hands…
Pondering on this, she left the room for dinner after putting away the folders, leaving everything exactly the same as her cousin did.
---
"There have been another two murders," announced Mr Mansell, slumping onto the chair and eating moodily." "It's absolute chaos in the office, don't you agree, Harvey?"
The boy agreed but did not elaborate.
"And one of the victims is an important ally to us, no less!" he added indignantly.
At the sound of 'ally', Sigerson asked, "Do you mean Paulos?"
"Yes, yes, that's right, Annabelle Paulos."
"Huh?"
"She's the youngest sibling from the Paulos family. I'm sure you know her two brothers, so I won't need to explain further."
"You said 'another two murders', meaning there have been three murders in rapid succession?"
Mr Mansell gave him a knowing look and replied, "I know what you're thinking, Will, but as far as the police can see, there isn't a connection between the three. All three of the victims were killed by three different murderers, so there's no doubt they're unrelated."
"Even so, three murders in two days is pretty unusual here, isn't it?"
Especially when one of the victims is Annabelle Paulos, who's also part of the thin thread holding Ecclesia and Sardis together… By eliminating her, Blight would be one step closer to severing the alliance, prolonging the war he wants…
Noticing the troubled feelings on her cousin's face, Evelyn proposed, "Why don't we go and have a look at the scene of the crime, Will?"
Sigerson glanced at Mr Mansell as if asking for permission to go. The weary man sighed and told them, "You can go tomorrow morning; in fact, I'll take you there myself. Go and have a good night's sleep, you two—you'll need it for tomorrow."
---
Even with the snow partially melted into wet slush, the weather still turned its cold back on the pair as they left for a quick visit to each of the three crime scenes, which Sigerson claimed confidently would be enough for him to solve them. While they were making their way to the first house, Mr Mansell warned them gravely, "Now I know you're eager to rush in and do everything your way, William, but I'm afraid the Enforcers will pick up on that rather easily. You'll have to keep a low profile, alright you two?"
Evelyn, this time disguised as a solemn-faced detective from another part of the country, nodded, while Sigerson exhaled slowly and said, "Alright. I'll be acting as your assistant, right Evie?"
"Yup," she replied, hardly able to contain her grin.
"Here we are," announced Mr Mansell. "Our first stop."
It really was just a rapid scan through the room; within minutes, Sigerson had noted down every detail before proceeding to the next scene with the pompous air of a proud peacock.
"The victim is Graham Foster, twenty nine years old. Died from a clean cut to the carotid artery and most likely from a precise slice from a professional," he recited while pacing around the room.
The melancholic air combined with the gentle burning of the candles gave off a drowsy atmospheric feeling, drowning out some of his thoughts.
"There are traces of two objects here, placed side by side, with one of them being a flat piece of paper. The first object, according to the victim's housekeeper, was the stolen item, which was also related to some significant event ten years ago."
"What event?" asked Evelyn, overhearing Sigerson's muttered monologue.
"If I knew, this case would be solved already," he replied irritably. "I'll have to look into that later. The housekeeper did also mention that Foster's behaviour changed dramatically ten years ago as well, so I'm sure he was connected to some scandal or something. Well, we'd better get moving onto the next scene already; there's nothing much to see here."
The second scene was much messier than the first, with blood violently splattered around like bright scarlet confetti thrown all over the place. A dead man laid in the centre of the crimson-smeared room, his glasses crushed beside him and multiple bullet holes riddled across his body. Glass, shattered into infinite pieces, scattered in front of a half broken window, shimmering like distorted fish scales.
"Is this the room where Mr Jules Colley kept his valuables?" asked Evelyn under the disguise, Sigerson bobbing his head in approval behind her.
"That's right," said Mrs Colley, the victim's widow.
She wiped away the fat tears off her wet aquiline face.
"It's normally locked, isn't it? The door to this room, I mean."
"Yes, and only my husband and I had the key."
"Well, uh, this room is certainly very messy."
Shelves were upturned, drawers thrown onto the floor, and books displaced from their positions.
"Someone must've searched here but found nothing," said Evelyn, opening the door from the inside to see a chain of footsteps leading out, where much was also displaced but not as serious as the room they were in.
"Do you think the robber who entered had already known that Mr Colley was away? According to the wife's testimony, he was not in the house for some time."
"It's possible," replied Sigerson thoughtfully, "but not definite. There are many strange points here. Why would the robber enter through this window, which is situated two floors higher than the main door? It would've been much easier to pick the lock of the main door than climb all the way up here to enter by window."
Evelyn sank into reverie at this statement, unaware of everything else around her.
"Oh, I just remembered something," commented Mrs Colley suddenly, causing Evelyn to jump. "One of my husband's friends visited him just before he left. When I returned, he asked me to put the big box up onto that shelf over there to protect it against thieves and the like. Still, I don't think it made much of a difference, since it got taken anyways."
A visible smirk dawned across the detective's composed face.
"What was in there?" asked Evelyn, using her friendliest tone to coax out the answer.
"Nothing much; only a few trinkets and a few newspaper clippings."
"Were the newspaper clippings around for about ten years ago?"
"Why, yes; how in the world did you know?"
Evelyn gave no reply but merely smiled warmly.
"Thank you for your time," she said to the confused lady as they bade her farewell and exited.
"There's the connection," said Evelyn confidently, turning around to her cousin. Sigerson, however, looked quite serious.
"I don't believe this has nothing to do with Levi Arestor," he muttered stubbornly.
"We'll see after this final house, I guess."
The 'house' in question was more like a fortress; its massive beige brick walls rising up to the skies, appearing to touch the clouds from their perspectives. Massive clear glass windows excavated themselves into the walls, replacing huge chunks of brick at a time.
The moment the two arrived at the Paulos' villa, the atmosphere rapidly shifted; a heavy hand pressed down on them, suffocating those who entered.
"This is very different…" murmured Evelyn. "Can you also feel it, Will?"
Sigerson inclined his head solemnly.
"The first murder was clean and emotionless; most likely the work of a trained professional. The second was desperate and slightly hesitant, as if he never intended to kill in the first place. This one…"
He paused for a moment to have a better view of the scene. So far, they were only in the hallway, but there was already a deep sense of dread embedded in their hearts, causing the hairs on their necks to stand upright.
High velocity bloodstains were left on the carpet, dripping across the hall—these were the very few marks left behind on the near perfect scene.
When they entered the main room, nothing much had changed, save for an overturned table and some faded red smudges. However, the usually spotless bedroom was the source of trepidation. A pale woman, her face and body retaining some of her youth in her appearance, laid sprawled across the light brown bedsheet, the blood splatters hardly visible. Her thick voluminous hair swirled around in the coagulating liquid weakly like an octopus, emerging from the depths of a monstrous crimson chasm. Lacerated across her face was a hideous smile, distorting her handsome features, while on her arm, a faint line of a quick slash ran over.
"She must've been absolutely terrified before her death," commented Sigerson, examining those lifeless eyes.
"This place…" mumbled Evelyn, striding around the room, her eyebrows furrowed. "It tells a story… of how the scene played out."
She hurried back to the corridor and began there.
"First, the door bell rang," muttered the eager detective wannabe, scanning the environment for missed signs or marks. "Miss Paulos walked up with uncertain steps. It was a most inconvenient time for a visitor to come while she was having dinner by herself. Then, the moment she opened the door, the killer's blade slashed her arm, causing a brief moment of confusion. When she came back to her wits, flight was the first thought that came into her mind. She tried to crawl underneath the table but found that her killer was still close at hand, so she ran into the bedroom."
Using her slim fingers, Evelyn traced the ground where the table was overturned. During all this time, she'd been playing the scene out in her mind like a film, capturing not only the actions but also the sounds and emotions that were so rich and prevalent in this scene.
"The culprit was calm and remorseless, watching her go in with confidence. Paulos slammed the door, her heartbeats rising to a crescendo. The steady feeling of terror rose within her, the dreadful feeling of certain death."
Increasingly violent blood stains were gushed over the threshold of the bedroom door, corresponding with the maiden's flight.
"The hinges are battered, yet they show no signs of being worn out—this means the killer burst in with one great rush and finally killed her in a single stroke. These vivid spots on the victim's neck; they're fingerprints, aren't they, Will?"
"Yes, they are," replied the unmoved detective, his arms folded. "He must've forcibly held her down while killing her. Not a pretty sight, is it?"
He grimaced at the corpse again before exiting the rooms to reenter the cab waiting for them, a firm but unsatisfied expression lurking on his face.
"So did you find anything?" was Mr Mansell's expectant question.
"Just a moment before I answer, if you will, Mr Mansell. Did the police preserve the crime scene or were there a few minor alterations?"
"There shouldn't be anything altered there; I personally gave the orders for the men to stop working on the case."
"Well then," said Sigerson, rubbing his hands. "I can say with confidence that I am on the verge of breaking through this curious conundrum; I will, however, require more information to come to a final conclusion."
While the cab was rolling past various streets, the scenery outside the window hardly changing from the mournful shade of grey, both Sigerson and Evelyn were deep in their thoughts, eyes misty and chin tucked to their chests, although the latter had a more competitive spirit with her than the former.
Three murders. Three different methods with completely different styles and absolutely zero tangible connection other than some event ten years ago…