13 Minke Street

Knock, knock, knock…

“Come in.”

Karen pushed open the door to Diss’ study and walked in. Diss closed the folder that was spread out in front of him and watched Karen walk up to him and sit down.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just finished a counseling session with Mrs. Seymour.”

“How did it go?”

“It went okay. She was able to express her emotions and work through her grief. With time, her wounds will gradually heal and she’ll adjust to her new life.”

“Hmm.”

“However, I learned something from Mrs. Seymour.”

“Speak.”

“Mrs. Seymour lives at 46 Rhine Street.”

“Good location.”

“Mr. Piaget, whom I met at Hughes Crematorium last time and who gave me my first psychological counseling fee of 20,000 lubi, is a neighbor of the Seymours. He lives at number 45.”

“I see.”

“Grandpa, I feel like this is too much of a coincidence. Mr. Seymour died in the dancing hall at Crown Ballroom, and it is said that he had a very good relationship with Mr. Piaget during his lifetime. They often went fishing together.

“And Old Darcy recently cremated Mr. Piaget’s wife Linda’s remains.”

“Mm, it does seem too coincidental.”

“What’s more important is that I personally handed Mr. Piaget the ashes of his wife Linda, but Mrs. Seymour said that Linda gave her a very delicious apple pie this morning.”

The wife, who had already turned to ashes, suddenly ‘resurrected’ and is even cooking.

“Are you suggesting that Mr. Piaget is the murderer?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? I’ve noticed you and Chief Duke chatting quite amicably.”

“Grandfather, it’s like some religious texts. We can sit face-to-face and discuss theories all day long. From the cosmic truths to the mysteries of the gods, down to the workings of human society and the complexities of human nature.

“But after all that talk, we wouldn’t even be able to get a taxi to go home.”

Criminal psychology seems like a very sophisticated field, but in reality it is not a cure-all to every problem. Sometimes after a long discussion, you find you’ve been talking at cross-purposes. Even if it’s an excellent and correct analysis, it can only provide a general direction.

It’s not like pushing up one’s glasses and declaring: There is only one truth, which is…

When it comes to investigating cases, Karen believed that Chief Duke was more proficient than himself. After all, one should never compare their hobbies with someone else’s livelihood.

Perhaps Chief Duke can get a lot of inspiration here, but what Karen can provide is limited to inspiration.

In his previous life, a friend once sent him a video of a case, hoping that he would analyze it. It was a case of a husband killing his wife and hiding the body.

After Karen watched it, he said directly that there was no need to analyze it at all.

When the old detective went to question the husband, he probably had already determined in his heart that the husband was the murderer. The next step was the boring process of finding the body and confirming the evidence.

And that seemingly ‘calm’ and ‘composed’ husband, who appeared ordinary to most people, had all his disguises rendered insignificant in front of the seasoned detective.

“I think I understand what you mean.” Diss nodded.

Karen smiled.

“What you mean is that I’ve been engaged in meaningless deeds all this time.”

“……” Karen.

Diss picked up his teacup. Karen stepped forward to lift the hot water pot.

Diss said, “It’s full.”

Karen awkwardly set the hot water pot back down.

“So what did you come here for?”

“It’s like this, Grandfather. After we left home this afternoon, Mr. Piaget came by looking for me and left me an invitation to visit him at his home.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Yes.”

“Then go ahead.”

“But I…don’t dare to.” Karen sat there and said it very righteously.

“I’ll be quite busy the next few days, I have some things to deal with.” Diss put down his teacup. “I don’t have time to accompany you out like I did this afternoon.”

“Then…I won’t go.”

“Mm.” Diss nodded.

“Grandfather, you should rest early. I’m going to sleep too.”

“Alright.”

As Karen reached the study door, Diss’ voice sounded again behind him: “If you really want to go visiting…”

Karen turned around, smiling, “Would Grandpa be willing to squeeze out some time to accompany me?”

Diss shook his head. “You can have it accompany you.”

“Who?”

“Meow…” Pu’er jumped down from some corner of the bookshelf and walked up to Karen. Dissatisfaction was clearly visible on the black cat’s face.

Karen had noticed long ago that the black cat in the house was very talented at expressing emotions. Most other pets could only express a single emotion by baring teeth, but Pu’er was very nuanced, almost anthropomorphic.

“Are you sure, Grandpa?” Karen asked.

“I’m sure.”

Having received an affirmative reply, Karen said very seriously, “I understand, Grandpa.”

After ending the conversation, Karen walked out of the study and closed the door for Grandpa.

Standing at the door, Karen blinked.

He believed that Diss can provide him with enough security.

Even if we exclude the bizarre incidents from before, like when Diss calmly asked me to peel the skin off his arm in the hearse, without even a furrowed brow. Not to mention the clear killing intent he had toward me in front of out house last time.

Even if you imagine Diss as a gangster, he was also a powerful security guarantee.

He is ruthless to himself.

He dares to kill.

Even if he is older… well, age is not a problem either. I believe that if we compare physical fitness, I will definitely not be Diss’ opponent.

So, Grandfather’s presence surpasses that of any street thug out there.

But, that cat…

“Perhaps it’s a cat with stories of it’s own.”

Karen looked down at his feet and found that Pu’er had not followed him out.

“Let’s go take a bath and go to bed first.”

…

“You’re mad, mad! You actually want the noble me to go play detective games with a child!? Diss, what were you thinking, what are you thinking!?”

Pacing around with all its feline grace, Pu’er didn’t appear on the desk this time, but was sticking to the wall, maintaining considerable distance.

“I’m having you go watch over him. Just as you said, he might be a demon.”

Pu’er heard this, tilted her cat face, and asked back: “Then why not just kill him directly?”

Diss’s gaze turned to Pu’er in the corner.

“Hiss…”

Pu’er’s tail immediately perked up, her limbs tensed, and she quickly said:

“I understand, I’ll go with him! I’ll keep an eye on this demon.”

…

It was daylight.

Karen had slept until 10 in the morning this time, probably because too much happened yesterday, leaving him overly exhausted.

In addition, his sleep quality was not very good last night. He had several dreams.

In the dream:

At one moment, he was dancing with a woman in a dancing hall, and at another he was shoveling ashes by the cremator.

At one moment, he was lying in the coffin in the funeral hall on the first floor of his house, listening to the prayers. And at another he was lying in Mrs. Hughes’ arms, almost suffocating in her embrace.

After washing up, Karen finally felt refreshed.

When he came to the second floor, Aunt Winnie saw Karen come down and smiled, “I have prepared lunch.”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

Lunch was noodles. Ever since they saw Karen making the broth, Aunt Winnie and Aunt Mary have been enjoying it. Sprinkled with green onions, the noodle soup was quite good.

In addition, there was a can of chili oil that Karen had made earlier, which was also placed on the table.

The only pity was that the noodles were not so chewy, but the taste was decent.

He really didn’t want to see the combination of bread, fried eggs and sausages when he got up in the morning. There was no happiness in that.

Aunt Mary was downstairs tidying up the “guests”.

A patient died in a nearby hospital, and Uncle Mason went with Paul and Ron.

That’s how business is, either you’re free for many days in a row, or you get all the orders at once.

Of course, emotionally, most people wouldn’t hope for the Inmerales’ business to be booming.

After finishing lunch, Karen went downstairs.

He first sat on the sofa and picked up a newspaper.

There was news of the previous day’s accident at the Crown Ballroom, resulting in two deaths and multiple injuries. However, there was no murder case mentioned, nor was the death of Old Darcy at Hughes Crematorium reported.

The front page headline was the reelection campaign announcement of the old mayor of Roja City. It wasn’t hard to guess that news of this serial murder had been suppressed. After all, the mayoral election was in full swing.

If news about a vicious serial murder broke out, it could result in widespread panic, and people would also question the old mayor’s capabilities. After all, he touted ‘public safety’ as his most prided political achievement in his promotions.

“Would you like coffee?” Aunt Winnie came downstairs with a pot of coffee, prepared for Aunt Mary working in the basement. Of course, Karen could have some too.

“No need, Auntie. I’m heading out for a bit. I’ll be having coffee at their place. When it comes to my own home, I try to save where I can.”

“Pfft…” Hearing this, Aunt Winnie burst out laughing. “You’re starting to sound more and more like your Aunt Mary.”

Just then, the phone in the living room rang.

Karen stood up, taking the coffee from Aunt Winnie’s hands. “I’ll take it down to Aunt Mary.”

“Sure.”

Aunt Winnie went to answer the phone.

Karen walked down to the basement and arrived at Aunt Mary’s studio door. He gently knocked, even though the door was already open.

The radio in the workroom was playing ‘Roja Fairy’, the melody light and cheerful. Aunt Mary was also humming along to the beat, her back to the door. Her somewhat plump figure was more shapely under the cover of her long dress.

This made Karen think of Mrs. Seymour undressing in front of him last night. She was too thin.

Although it’s considered unethical to judge an elder’s appearance, even among relatives, one can still discern what looks good or not, albeit silently. The key is to maintain a clear mind.

Just look upon it with the gaze of appreciating art.

Tsk… appreciate art…

Karen suddenly realized that because of that serial murderer, these words had taken on new meaning for him recently.

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

“Yes, my gorgeous, charming Auntie.”

It was obvious Aunt Mary was in an excellent mood. The B package was clearly more nourishing to her than Uncle Mason.

Because, apart from the family members’ share of the profits, Aunt Mary had the highest basic salary and performance bonus. The better the business, the more she earned.

A mortician is not just someone who puts on makeup.

For example, Old Darcy, who would be sent here after the police have processed the case or collected evidence, would have to be pieced back together by Aunt Mary.

This was a task that even that deranged killer could not complete, but it was no problem at all for Aunt Mary.

Karen poured a cup of coffee and handed it to his aunt, who took a sip at a time.

At work, coffee was just something to regulate her mood, and she didn’t have time to savor the taste.

Karen saw that his aunt had been spray-painting Mr. Seymour’s body earlier.

Yes, spray painting, like doing maintenance on a car.

And, Mr. Seymour’s abs… they were really bronze.

“Good-looking, no?” Aunt Mary held the coffee cup in one hand and felt Mr. Seymour’s abs with the other, saying to Karen, “You can feel them, Mr. Seymour won’t mind.”

“No need, Auntie.”

He wasn’t used to touching a man’s abs, especially one who’s dead.

“Mr. Seymour have a pretty decent body. You can tell he was someone who liked working out when he was alive.”

Hearing this, a thought suddenly popped into Karen’s mind:

What if I can take Mr. Seymour along to visit Piaget? It seem like that would provide me an added layer of security.

Although Mr. Seymour has been spray-painted, you can that tell he is quite sturdy. If he can stand up and walk with me, he’ll make a decent bodyguard.

Then, Karen chuckled inwardly.

What kind of dream was he entertaining?

Mr. Seymour’s face was pinned with numerous pins, and threads held them together

“Mrs. Seymour said that she was attracted by Mr. Seymour’s rugged image when she was young, so she hopes that Mr. Seymour can be buried in the most perfect image in her heart. I have to add some more edges to his face.”

Karen nodded. No wonder he noticed the half-renovated face of Mr. Seymour earlier, which reminded him somewhat of Schwarzenegger.

“I’m going back upstairs, Auntie. I’m going to visit Mr. Piaget later.”

“Go on, go on.”

Aunt Mary put down her coffee and continued with her work.

…

Back in the living room, Karen tidied up his clothes and put a thousand lubi in his pocket. He planned to buy some snacks or fruit to bring with him when he visited Mr. Piaget.

Pu’er lay prostrate on the mortuary table, its face facing inwards, its tail motionless, as if it could ‘play dead’ and not be seen by Karen.

But Karen still walked over and picked it up.

He still believed Diss’ words. If Diss wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble.

As he walked out of the living room with the cat in his arms, Karen saw the golden retriever sprawled in the flower bed.

Looking at the cat in his arms, then at the big golden retriever, he felt the big dog would make him feel safer.

After hesitating for a moment, Karen went over and leashed the golden retriever.

One person, one cat, one dog. 

Standing outside the door, waiting for a taxi.

Soon, a taxi stopped, and the driver stuck out his head and said to Karen:

“Sir, there is an extra fee for bringing pets.”

“Then be on your way, I won’t take your car.”

The driver was taken aback and said, “I’ll waive it this time, I’m also fond of pets. Please get in.”

“45 Rhine Street, how much?”

“45 lubi.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to leave after all.”

“Hahaha, how about 30 lubi? It’s my birthday today.”

“25 lubi.”

“That’s too low.” The driver looked troubled.

“Stop by a bakery on the way, I’ll buy you a 10-lubi cake to celebrate your birthday.”

“Get in.”

…

1:00 PM.

Karen held a box of macarons, standing at 45 Rhine Street. Beside him sat a cat and a dog.

Karen walked up and rang the doorbell.

Soon, the front door opened, and a woman in a pink housedress stepped out, looking puzzled at this stranger when she reached the yard gate.

“Excuse me, are you Mrs. Adams?”

Piaget’s full name was Piaget Adams.

“Yes, you can call me Linda. May I ask who you are?”

“I’m a friend of your husband. He invited me to visit.”

Also, I’m the guy who once held your ashes in my hands.