A personal visit

"Knock... knock... knock..."

"Come in."

Kallen pushed open the door to Dis's study and walked in.

Dis closed the folder lying open before him and watched Kallen approach and sit down.

"What is it?"

"I just provided Mrs. Seymour with psychological counseling."

"How did it go?"

"Fairly well. She got her feelings out. Now she needs time to gradually heal and adjust to her new life."

"Mm."

"But I learned something from Mrs. Seymour."

"Go on."

"Mrs. Seymour lives at 46 Rhine Street."

"A good neighborhood."

"Mr. Piaget, whom I met at the Hughes Crematorium last time, the man who paid me my first counseling fee of twenty thousand Lu Coins, is the Seymours' neighbor. He lives at number forty-five."

"Mm."

"Grandpa, it feels like too much of a coincidence. Mr. Seymour died in the ballroom, and apparently he and Piaget were close. They often went fishing together.

"And not long ago, Old Darcy personally cremated the body of Piaget's wife, Linda."

"Yes, that is a little coincidental."

"More importantly, I personally handed Linda's ashes to Mr. Piaget. But Mrs. Seymour said Linda brought her a delicious apple pie this morning."

A wife who had already been reduced to ashes had suddenly "come back to life," and was even cooking.

"Are you saying this Mr. Piaget is the killer?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? You seemed to get along very well with Chief Duke."

"Grandpa, it's like certain religious scriptures. We can sit face-to-face and discuss theory all day, from the truths governing the universe and the mysteries of the gods to the workings of human society and the truth, goodness, and beauty of human nature.

"But once we're done talking, we can't even get a taxi home."

Criminal psychology sounded impressive, but it was no cure-all. Sometimes, after an eloquent discussion, the conclusions turned out to be entirely beside the point. Even genuinely sound, insightful analysis could only offer a general direction.

It was hardly a matter of pushing up one's glasses with a ring finger and declaring, There is only one truth, and it is...

When it came to investigating crimes, Kallen trusted Chief Duke to be far more proficient than he was. After all, you should never compare your hobby to someone else's livelihood.

Chief Duke might gain considerable inspiration from their discussions, but inspiration was all Kallen could offer.

In his previous life, a friend had once sent him a video about a case and asked him to analyze it. A husband had murdered his wife and hidden her body.

After watching it, Kallen had simply said there was nothing to analyze.

When the veteran detective visited the husband to question him, he had probably already been certain that the husband was the killer. All that remained was the tedious process of finding the body and securing evidence.

To an ordinary viewer, the murderous husband might have seemed "calm" and "composed," but none of his pretense amounted to anything before that veteran detective.

"I think I understand what you mean." Dis nodded.

Kallen smiled.

"You're saying that I spend my days doing utterly meaningless things."

Kallen was speechless.

Dis picked up his teacup.

Kallen stepped forward to lift the thermos.

Dis said,

"It's full."

Kallen sheepishly set the thermos down.

"So, what did you come here for?"

"Well, Grandpa, Mr. Piaget came by to see me this afternoon after we left the house. He left me an invitation to visit his home."

"You want to go?"

"Yes."

"Then go."

"But I... don't dare."

Kallen sat there and said it with perfect confidence.

"I'll be fairly busy over the next few days. I have things to attend to." Dis set down his teacup. "I won't have time to accompany you like I did this afternoon."

"Then I... won't go."

"Mm." Dis nodded.

"Get some rest, Grandpa. I'll go to bed too."

"All right."

Kallen stood up. As he reached the study door, Dis spoke again behind him.

"If you really want to visit him..."

Kallen turned around with a smile. "Would you make time to come with me, Grandpa?"

Dis shook his head. "You can have her accompany you."

"Who?"

"Meow..."

Puer jumped down from some hidden corner of the bookshelf and walked up to Kallen. Clear reluctance showed on the black cat's face.

Kallen had long since noticed that the family's black cat had a gift for expressing emotions. Other pets could often only convey simple feelings by baring their teeth, but Puer's expressions were remarkably subtle, almost human.

"Grandpa, are you sure?"

Kallen asked.

"Yes."

Having received that confirmation, Kallen said solemnly,

"I understand, Grandpa."

With that, Kallen left the study and closed the door for his grandfather.

Standing outside the door,

Kallen blinked.

He trusted Dis to keep him safe.

Even setting aside all the bizarre things he had experienced,

there was the way Dis had told him to peel the skin off his arm in the hearse without so much as a frown, along with the unmistakable urge to kill Kallen he had shown at the doorway that day.

Even if he imagined Dis as nothing more than a gangster, he would still be a formidable source of protection.

Ruthless with himself,

unafraid to kill,

and even if he was a little old... well, his age wasn't really an issue. Kallen believed he would be no match for Dis in terms of physical fitness.

So his grandfather was already a cut above the hired thugs outside.

But,

that cat...

"Maybe she's a cat with a story."

Kallen looked down and found that Puer hadn't followed him out.

"Time for a shower, then bed."

"You're mad, mad! You're actually making someone as noble as me accompany a child while he plays detective? Dis, what on earth are you thinking? What are you thinking?"

This time, Puer paced along the wall rather than appearing on the desk, keeping a considerable distance from him.

"I'm asking you to watch him. As you said, he's an otherworldly demon."

Hearing that,

Puer tilted her head

and countered,

"Then why not simply kill him?"

Dis turned his gaze toward Puer in the corner.

"Hiss..."

Puer's tail shot up and her limbs went rigid. She immediately said,

"I understand. I'll go with him. I'll keep a close eye on this otherworldly demon."

Morning came.

Kallen slept until ten. There had probably been so much happening yesterday that he had exhausted himself.

Besides, he hadn't slept well last night and had had several dreams.

In his dreams,

one moment he was dancing with a dance hostess in his arms, and the next he was shoveling ashes beside a cremation furnace.

One moment he was lying in a coffin in the downstairs mourning hall, listening to prayers,

and the next he was lying in Mrs. Hughes's embrace, nearly suffocating.

Only after washing up

did Kallen feel refreshed.

When he reached the second floor, Aunt Winnie smiled at him. "I've already made lunch."

"Thank you, Aunt Winnie."

Lunch was noodles.

Ever since watching Kallen make stock, Aunt Winnie and Aunt Mary had taken to it with endless enthusiasm.

The broth was quite good, with chopped scallions sprinkled on top.

A jar of chili oil Kallen had made earlier had also been placed on the table.

The only pity was that the noodles weren't particularly springy, but the flavor was good enough.

He really didn't want to wake up to bread, fried eggs, and little sausages anymore. There was no joy in that.

Aunt Mary was in the basement, preparing two "guests" for viewing.

A patient had died at a nearby hospital, and Uncle Mason had already headed over with Paul and Ron.

That was how business went: either days of quiet, or a sudden rush of orders.

Of course, emotionally speaking, most people didn't wish for the Immerlis Family's business to boom.

After lunch, Kallen went downstairs.

He first sat on the sofa and opened the newspaper.

There was a report on yesterday's accident at the Crown Ballroom, which had left two dead and many injured, but no mention of any murders. Old Darcy's death at the Hughes Crematorium hadn't been reported either.

The front page featured the incumbent mayor of Rojia City's campaign statement. It wasn't hard to guess that news of the serial killings had been suppressed. After all, the mayoral election was in full swing.

If news of a vicious serial killer got out, it could easily spark panic and make people question the incumbent mayor's competence. "Public safety," after all, was the achievement he had been touting most proudly.

"Would you like some coffee?" Aunt Winnie came downstairs carrying a pot. It was meant for Aunt Mary, who was working in the basement, but Kallen could certainly have a cup too.

"No, thank you, Aunt Winnie. I'm going out shortly to have coffee at someone else's house. We might as well save what we can at home."

"Pfft..."

Aunt Winnie laughed at that and said,

"You're starting to sound more and more like your Aunt Mary."

Just then, the telephone in the living room rang.

Kallen stood and took the coffee from his aunt. "I'll bring this down to Aunt Mary."

"All right."

Aunt Winnie went to answer the phone.

Kallen entered the basement and gently knocked on the already-open door to Aunt Mary's workroom.

"Rojia Sprite" was playing inside, its melody lively, and Aunt Mary was humming along. Her back was to the door, and her long dress accentuated her slightly voluptuous figure.

It reminded Kallen of Mrs. Seymour taking off her clothes in front of him last night. She was far too thin.

Judging an elder's figure might be improper, but he was only doing it in his head. Even relatives could recognize beauty or its absence. What mattered was keeping one's mind clear.

He only needed to look with the appreciation one gave a work of art.

Tsk... appreciation. Works of art.

Kallen suddenly realized that, thanks to that deranged serial killer, those words had recently taken on a rather different flavor for him.

"Oh, my Kallen, have you come to bring your beautiful aunt some coffee?"

"Yes, my lovely, beautiful aunt."

Aunt Mary was clearly in an excellent mood. Package B obviously did more to nourish her than Uncle Mason did.

Apart from the profit shares that family members received for joining the business, Aunt Mary earned the highest base salary and performance bonuses. The better the family's business did, the more she made.

A mortuary cosmetologist did far more than simply apply a little makeup.

Take Old Darcy, who would be delivered once the police had finished investigating or gathering evidence.

Aunt Mary would have to piece dozens of fragments of Old Darcy back into a whole.

It was a task even that deranged killer couldn't accomplish, but for Aunt Mary, it was no problem at all.

Kallen poured a cup of coffee and handed it to his aunt, who drank it sip by sip.

While working, she used coffee only to adjust her mood. She had no time to savor it.

Kallen saw that his aunt had been spray-painting Mr. Seymour's body.

Yes, spray-painting it, as though she were servicing a car.

Besides, Mr. Seymour's abs... really were bronze-colored.

"Nice, aren't they?"

Aunt Mary held her coffee cup in one hand and ran the other over Mr. Seymour's abs, then said to Kallen:

"You can touch them. Mr. Seymour won't mind."

"No, thank you, Aunt Mary."

He still wasn't comfortable touching another man's abs, especially a dead man's.

"Mr. Seymour certainly had a good physique. You can tell he enjoyed working out when he was alive."

At those words, a thought suddenly occurred to Kallen;

If I could take Mr. Seymour along to visit Piaget, that ought to keep me safe.

Although Mr. Seymour had been spray-painted, Kallen could still tell he was quite muscular. If he could stand up and follow him around, he would make a decent bodyguard.

But then Kallen laughed inwardly.

What am I dreaming about?

Mr. Seymour's face had a great many pins stuck into it, with threads holding it in place as well;

"Mrs. Seymour said she was attracted to Mr. Seymour's rugged looks when they were young, so she wants him buried looking as perfect as he does in her heart. I need to give his face a little more definition."

Kallen nodded. No wonder Mr. Seymour's half-"renovated" face had reminded him a little of Schwarzenegger.

"Aunt Mary, I'll head upstairs now. I'm going to visit Mr. Piaget in a bit."

"Go on, then."

Aunt Mary set down her coffee cup and resumed her artistic work.

Back in the living room, Kallen first straightened his clothes and put a thousand Lu Coins in his pocket. He planned to buy some pastries or fruit to take along before visiting Mr. Piaget.

Puer lay flat on the mortuary table, facing inward, her tail completely still, as though "playing dead" would keep Kallen from seeing her.

But Kallen walked over and picked her up anyway.

He still trusted what Dis had told him, because if Dis wanted him dead, he wouldn't need to go to all this trouble.

As he left the living room with the cat in his arms, Kallen spotted the golden retriever lying in the flower bed.

He looked at the cat in his arms,

then at the big golden retriever.

No matter how he looked at it, the big dog seemed more likely to give him a sense of security.

After a moment's hesitation,

Kallen walked over and took the golden retriever by the leash.

And so,

a man, a cat, and a dog

stood outside the gate, waiting for a taxi.

Before long, a taxi pulled up. The driver leaned his head out and said to Kallen:

"Sir, there's an extra cleaning fee for bringing pets."

"Then please go ahead. I won't be taking your taxi."

The driver paused, then said, "I'll waive it this time. What can I say? I like pets too. Please get in."

"How much to 45 Rhine Street?"

"Forty-five Lu Coins."

"Then please go ahead after all."

"Hahaha, how about thirty Lu Coins? It's my birthday today."

"Twenty-five Lu Coins."

"That's far too low." The driver looked troubled.

"Stop when we pass a pastry shop. I'll buy you a little cake worth ten Lu Coins to celebrate your birthday."

"Please get in."

At one in the afternoon;

Kallen stood outside 45 Rhine Street with a box of macarons in his hands.

Beside him sat a cat and a dog.

Kallen stepped forward and rang the doorbell.

A short while later,

the door to the house opened, and a woman in pink loungewear came out. When she reached the courtyard gate, she looked at Kallen, a stranger, with some confusion.

"Excuse me, are you Mrs. Adams?"

Piaget's full name was Piaget Adams.

"Yes. You can call me Linda. And you are?"

"I'm a friend of your husband's. He invited me over."

And also,

the person who once held your ashes in his own hands.