"What was there to ask? You killed him, that was all. I hope you burn in Hell for ten thousand years after you die! You artless mutant freak—do you know you personally killed an artist who could have gone down in history, you bastard?" Whoreson cursed at him without restraint, utterly unconcerned about his current predicament.
He suppressed his emotions and said calmly, "Never mind whether I'll go to Hell. If I do, then you'll definitely be there too, and much earlier than me, Whoreson."
"Now, let's talk about Cronin Gregory."
"No-Door. I'm telling you, you white-haired bastard with cat eyes, did your mother fuck a cat to make you, huh? You—"
Geralt had no interest in listening to any more abuse. The Axii Sign flashed and vanished, and Alphonse's face went blank. Geralt asked, "Did you send someone to kill Cronin Gregory?"
"Not me."
"Do you know who did?"
"Councilman Cale Vincent."
"Why?"
Only numbness remained in Whoreson's eyes. Like a machine made for answering questions, he simply responded to the Witcher. "Cronin was playing with fire. He wanted Novigrad's councilmen removed from office. He thought that would improve things for the poor. Most of the councilmen didn't say anything because of his family, and because he could never succeed anyway. But his undisguised actions still angered Cale Vincent. I turned back his threats several times. I didn't want Cronin to die. He was a painter with a promising future..."
How ironic.
The Witcher sighed softly. He had seen countless strange things during his long life, but if he ever made a list, this affair would surely rank near the top.
A councilman who ought to have given the citizens better lives wanted to kill an innocent young man, while a gang boss drenched in blood and guilty of