13 Minke Street

“The murderer caused this accident?” Chief Duke asked, puzzled.

However, deep down, he was intrigued by another word in Karen’s statement: artwork.

A young man had directly described the victim’s body as an “artwork”. Although Chief Duke knew this was a phrase spoken from the perspective of the killer, he couldn’t help but be surprised by how smoothly and quickly the young man had organized and adopted this descriptive language.

Still, he wanted to hear more from the young man. He promptly inquired, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“It’s obvious that this wasn’t a crime of passion.”

“Hmm.” Chief Duke nodded.

A crime of passion contrasts with premeditated murder. It involves losing control due to provocation or agitation from the victim, resulting in the irrational act of killing someone.

But so much effort has been put into arranging and…adorning this body. This goes beyond a crime of passion. The killer completed a whole series of actions after the murder itself.

Chief Duke adjusted his pipe and said, “How did you come to that conclusion? After all, we haven’t conducted a detailed on-site investigation yet, have we?”

Karen hesitated. “It’s an intuition.”

“Intuition?”

“Yes. The feeling I got when I saw the body.”

“Investigating based on intuition?” Chief Duke raised his hand, then slowly lowered it. “No, I’d like to hear more about your intuition. Can you be more specific?”

“The killer hid the body under the stage…”

Chief Duke interjected, “So, the killer is familiar with the layout of this dance hall. Coupled with what you mentioned earlier—that this accident wasn’t accidental but deliberately orchestrated by the killer—the suspect is either an employee of this dance hall or at the very least, a frequent visitor. Oh, sorry, I interrupted you. Please continue.”

“I’m only following my gut instinct, Chief,” Karen reiterated.

“It’s okay, go on.”

“The dance hall is a lively place. Crowded and noisy. Typically, when a killer commits murder and deals with a body, the primary goal is to destroy evidence. But here, it’s entirely different.

“The reason why the murderer placed the corpse here and performed such complex and meticulous arrangements on it… the purpose should be to present it at some point in the future… precisely today.

“It’s like a painting that the artist covers with a red cloth after completion.  And when all the guests arrive, the red cloth is lifted to reveal the work to everyone.

“Additionally, I think there’s another layer of meaning to placing the body underneath the stage.”

“Another layer of meaning?”

“Though it’s not a crime of passion, the killer obviously harbors an extremely strong hatred.”

“Don’t worry about this,” Chief Duke assured. “After we identify the deceased, we’ll investigate their social network, focusing on those who had conflicts or disagreements with the deceased.”

“No no no, you misunderstand my meaning,” Karen said. “The hatred I speak of isn’t the kind of hatred you understand, Chief.”

“Not the same kind?”

“It likely doesn’t stem from the kind of conflict found in daily life – colleagues, relatives, neighbors, friends – where conflict builds into resentment, ultimately turning into a motive for murder.

“The hatred I’m talking about exists on a different level.

“Look, the killer’s treatment of the victim’s corpse is too focused on details. Not only is there a strong religious implication, but it also has the feel of a sculptor expressing artistic emotions.”

“I can understand the words you’re saying, but when strung together, I’m a bit…” Chief Duke trailed off, looking a little confused.

“Follow me.”

At this moment, Uncle Mason and the others had already carried the seriously injured person out.  Temporarily, only Karen and Chief Duke remained inside.

When the body was discovered in the central hole of the stage, neither Chief Duke nor Karen screamed aloud. Amid the chaotic environment earlier, the others hadn’t even noticed that there was another body here, unrelated to the “accident.”

Karen descended from the stage and walked toward the seating area. The layout of this dance hall was very similar to a theater. In fact, before it was turned into a dance hall, this place was a theater in Roja City.

Therefore, walking from the stage towards the ‘auditorium’, which was the stall area, involved going up the steps. The further back it went, the higher it got, similar to the layout of a colosseum.

Karen continued walking up and stopped midway.

Here, tall coffee tables stood, each capable of holding only a few drinks. There were no accompanying chairs. If you wanted to sit down comfortably, you had to pay extra to get the seats up front.

This area was for placing your drink and chatting with friends. Of course, if you were a girl, you could freely go to the front seats to join tables and drink.

Unlike Uncle Mason, who had stopped coming to this place, Ron was a regular at this dance hall. This section was his preferred spot because there was no minimum spending requirement here.

A song lasted only three minutes, costing 5 lubi. Despite Ron’s decent income, he had various expenses, so he couldn’t indulge in dancing with the performers all the time.

Most of the time he would be holding a beer he bought, constantly wetting his lips, looking left and right, checking out those ‘impoverished’ beauties.

He would wait until the most stunning and desirable woman appeared before inviting her to dance one or two songs. Afterward, he’d promptly pay the dancer and step down from the stage, returning here to savor his beer while leisurely seeking the next dance partner.

These were all things Ron told them about on the ride here. He was proud because he maximized his happiness at the minimum cost.

Karen turned around, finding Chief Duke standing right behind him.

“Chief, please turn around.”

“Okay.” Chief Duke turned around, standing at a half-height position, facing the stage below.

Karen’s voice came from behind him.

“Chief, please use your imagination. This is no longer the dance hall where the stage collapsed just now; now, it’s operating normally.

“Listen, the music is already playing – it’s the lively rhythm of ‘Roja Fairy’.”

This cheerful tune was a favorite of Aunt Mary’s when she worked in her workshop.

“The lights are gradually dimming, the guests have picked their dance partners, and they are walking onto the stage.

“Look, in the middle of the stage, there are hundreds of couples embracing each other and dancing.

“On the outskirts, there are several pairs earnestly dancing to the tune. Although not perfectly executed, it’s still quite good.

“Inside, male customers are pressing up against the dancing girls, hands slipping to inappropriate places, constantly groping and touching.

“Listen, the sound of hormones is ringing out and churning on the stage.

“Look, the scene in front of you is a concentrated manifestation of human lust. Everyone is squeezed together, using each other’s bodies as cover, stripping away pretense, even seeking a kind of public thrill.

“You look up. There’s a glass stage above, another large area of stimulating scenery.

“Morals, ethics, modesty, and so on, have all been discarded off the stage. Money and primal desires bare their fangs. What should have been shameful to show has become gloriously overt, right here on these two levels of the stage, before your very eyes.”

Accompanying Karen’s narration, Chief Duke seemed to really see a similar scene before his eyes. Light and shadows beginning to interweave and transform at this moment.

“Please, once again, direct your gaze toward the stage, its center, and then gradually downward. Take your time, and ultimately, focus on the lowest part of the stage. Now tell me, what do you see?”

“A corpse—a lifeless body with the Berry holy scripture placed upon its chest, arranged in a specific mocking posture,” Chief Duke replied in a daze.

“And now,” Karen continued, “please tell me, what position is the body in?”

“Lying down.”

“Is that so?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Now that you are standing here, please take a closer look. Is he… really lying down?”

Chief Duke’s eyes narrowed. Due to the height, when his perspective shifted, he suddenly exclaimed, “No, he’s not lying down; he’s standing! And those dancers on the stage—they’re the ones lying down!”

Suddenly, Chief Duke clenched his fists tightly.

Because he suddenly realized something.

That is, this position was that of an observer—no, an appreciator.

Chief Duke slowly turned his head to the left. In his ‘sight’, a black figure seemed to appear, standing there, right by his side, with a smile at the corners of his mouth, appreciating the dynamic scene before him.

He…was the murderer!

Instinctively, Chief Duke stretched out his hand to grab him. But as his hand touched the black shadow, it dissipated. The surrounding light and shadows faded, returning to the chaotic reality.

There were no other sounds left, except for his own slightly heavy breathing.

Chief Duke looked back at Karen and said, “He’s someone who takes pleasure in murder. He was appreciating it!”

Things have gotten serious.

Accidents were unpredictable, causing grief among loved ones. But a deranged killer was different; his presence could plunge the entire Roja City into panic.

“He doesn’t actually perceive himself as a killer; he’s creating art. He believes he’s presenting a form of art.”

“The bible of the Berry religion, the flowerpot on the abdomen, the middle fingers, the naked body—these…” Chief Duke frowned slightly. “These seem… seem…”

“Chief, you mean those things seem unimportant now, right?”

“I…do have that feeling.”

“Because the visual impact is enough. No, more precisely, because these arrangements are all just supporting roles to make the picture more stylish.”

“So, whether it’s the flowerpot, the middle finger, or the ‘Song of Soul’, investigating these details may be meaningless. They aren’t deliberate expressions by the killer; they’re merely incidental combinations. And it’s quite possible that the identity of the body, which I still don’t know, isn’t even a follower of the Berry religion?”

Karen nodded, but still reminded, “But Berryism yearns for nature, and nature is instinctive.”

“Indeed, some Berry believers enjoy organizing mass orgies,” Chief Duke nodded. “They consider such behavior a way to connect with nature. Interestingly, this aligns with the scene on the stage.”

“So the killer isn’t a Berry believer, nor does he hate Berryism,” he continued. “His hatred comes from this attitude – no, the thing he hates clashes with what the Berry faith advocates.”

“You’re right, Chief. Art devoid of emotional release is merely an ornate arrangement lacking substance. Hatred can also be a form of pleasure, and pleasure requires immersion.

“This corpse is not being punished here. He is not the target of the murderer’s punishment. Instead, it serves as a vessel for the killer’s projection.

“The killer stands here, observing everything before him. He can project himself into this scene, while the male and female dancers on the two stages—engaged in a grotesque display of movement—are the objects of his hatred and mockery.

“He stands tall, while they lie prostrate. He assumes the role of a god, looking down upon these sordid mortals. It’s a hatred that transcends ordinary understanding.”

Chief Duke nodded, then shook his head. “I seem to have grasped something, yet I lack a clear lead. The concept of projection—between the killer and the deceased—suggests that perhaps there’s no enmity… or even that their relationship was very close, intimate. Only then could the killer…”

Karen smiled and said, “Find that sense of immersion.”

Chief Duke knocked his own head with the tobacco pipe and laughed self-deprecatingly. “Ha… Ha…”

Then, he heaved a long sigh and said, “I feel everything you just said has no basis – it’s pure conjecture and fabrication – yet somehow also makes a lot of sense to me.”

“I’m just fulfilling my duty as a good citizen, upholding the goodness and order of this city.” 

“In the investigation going forward, I will pay close attention to people close to the victim. The closer they were, the more I’ll look into them.”

Karen remained silent.

“Are you from the Inmerales family? What’s your relationship with Mason?”

“I’m his nephew; he’s my uncle.”

“Ah, I knew it. You shouldn’t be one of his hired hands. You’re so handsome; you don’t need to work as a corpse carrier. You could just stand here and wait for the ladies to pay you to dance.”

Having said this, Chief Duke guffawed at his own perceived wittiness.

Karen politely smiled in response. He had grown accustomed to a world where good looks often harbored malice.

“I’m Chief Inspector Duke Marlowe. You can call me Pipe-Smoking Duke.”

“Karen Inmerales.”

“Karen, how old are you this year?”

“Fifteen.”

“Tsk, Mason has a very capable nephew. What just happened is a first for me in all my years of investigation.”

At that moment, other officers began to arrive.

“If there’s progress in the case… no, regardless of whether there’s progress, I’ll come find you again. Minke Street… Number 13, right?”

“Yes, Chief Duke.”

Chief Duke turned to the incoming officer and shouted, “There’s a murder victim under the hole in the center of the stage. Secure the scene, and then contact headquarters for additional reinforcements.”

As he continued walking down the steps, with his back to Karen, he mumbled quietly, “A nephew who can resonate with a psychopathic killer.“

After descending a few steps, Detective Duke abruptly halted and turned back to face Karen. “There’s one more thing.”

“Please go ahead,” Karen said.

“While examining the body just now, I noticed that it had undergone some degree of preservation. Additionally, it’s winter, so decomposition won’t happen as quickly. The killer could continue to enjoy this sense of projection or hatred.

“Why did he choose to present the body in this manner… as an art piece? I understand the desire to showcase something, but I feel he could have played with it a little longer, don’t you think?”

Karen looked at Chief Duke and answered, “Possibly, the killer got bored of it.”

Detective Duke’s pupils contracted. “Are you suggesting that the killer has already set their sights on a new target?”

“No.”

“Phew,” Detective Duke breathed a sigh of relief.

Karen continued, “The killer might already be admiring it right now.”

…

As Karen stepped out of the dance hall and into the open, he noticed two ambulances parked nearby. Several injured individuals were being loaded into the ambulances, and the chaotic scene from earlier had regained some semblance of order.

But what was awkward for Karen was that the Inmerales family’s modified “Nutshell” hearse was gone. Uncle Mason must have been preoccupied with transporting “guests” and hadn’t noticed that his nephew wasn’t in the car!

With no other options, Karen decided to hail a taxi to go home.

The reason he had voluntarily assisted Chief Duke with the criminal psychological profiling was not because of a detective’s obsession, but due to his urgent need for social interaction. Although he couldn’t risk running away from home at the moment, he could still prepare for the future by getting to know more people.

As for hiding his abilities, there was really no need. When you have a grandfather constantly weighing whether or not to kill you, what’s the point of hiding anything?

Just then, a taxi pulled up in front of Karen.

A man got out of the taxi, wearing a duckbill cap, with a hooked nose and sharp chin.

After the man got out, Karen naturally got in. But upon sitting down he realized there was also a woman in a gray dress sleeping with her head against the car window next to his seat.

The taxi driver turned around and shouted, “Ma’am, ma’am, you’ve arrived.”

The woman jolted awake, opened the door on her side, and stepped out, muttering with a hint of annoyance, “Boss is really too much. The police already said it was an accident. How could it possibly be related to a demon? Yet he insisted on coming here to take a look. Ah, boss, wait for me!”

“Sir, where to?”

“Sir, sir?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Karen responded absentmindedly.

“Where are you headed? You need to tell me the destination so I can take you there.”

“Minke Street, Number 13.”

“Got it.”

The taxi started moving.

Karen silently unclenched his left fist and slowly laid it flat, looking at the cross-shaped burn scar on it.

She just said….demon?

At this moment, Karen suddenly felt a wave of unease and an intense sense of uncertainty.

The outside world….didn’t seem to be that wonderful after all.