"Who is it?"
Klein had been thinking about the original owner's mysterious suicide and the unknown dangers he might encounter. At the sudden knock, he instinctively pulled open the drawer, took out the revolver, and called out warily.
There were two seconds of silence outside before a slightly shrill voice called out in an Ahowa accent:
"Me, Mountbatten. Bic Mountbatten."
The voice paused, then added:
"The police."
Bic Mountbatten... As the name reached his ears, Klein immediately recalled its owner.
He was one of the policemen responsible for the block where the apartment stood, a crude, violent man who loved using his fists. But perhaps only someone like him could keep the drunkards, thieves, part-time thieves, thugs, and hooligans in line.
His distinctive voice was one of his trademarks.
"All right, I'll be right there!" Klein called back.
He had intended to toss the revolver back into the drawer, but he did not know why the police had come. They might conduct a search or something similar, so he carefully hurried to the stove, whose embers had long since died, and placed the gun inside.
Then he picked up the small coal basket, shook a few pieces into the stove to cover the gun, and finally set the kettle on top, concealing everything.
Once that was done, he straightened his clothes and quickly approached the door, mumbling as he opened it:
"Sorry, I was taking a nap."
Four policemen stood outside, wearing black uniforms with white checks and soft caps bearing badges. Bic Mountbatten, who sported a tawny full beard, coughed and said to Klein:
"These three officers have some questions for you."
Officers? Klein reflexively glanced at the other three men's epaulets. Two had three silver six-pointed stars, while the other had two. They all seemed to outrank Bic Mountbatten, who had only three V-shaped markings.
As a history student, Klein had never studied police ranks and epaulets. He only knew that Bic Mountbatten often boasted of being a senior sergeant.
So these three are inspectors? Having picked up a little general knowledge from conversations with his elder brother Benson and classmates such as Welch, Klein stepped aside and gestured into the room.
"Please come in. What is this about?"
The leader of the three was a middle-aged man whose gaze was so sharp that it seemed capable of seeing into one's soul, inspiring an involuntary fear. He had pronounced wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and light brown hair showed beneath the edge of his cap. Looking around the room without waiting for permission, he asked in a deep voice:
"You know Welch McGovern, correct?"
"What happened to him?" Klein's heart jolted, and the question escaped his lips.
"I'm the one asking the questions." The imposing middle-aged officer's gaze was cold.
Beside him, the other officer with three stars on his epaulets looked at Klein and smiled gently.
"Don't be nervous. These are just routine questions."
The officer was about thirty, with a high nose bridge. His gray eyes held an indescribable depth, like a seldom-visited lake in an ancient forest.
Klein quietly drew a breath and gathered his words.
"If you mean Welch McGovern from Constant, a graduate of Hoy University, then yes, I certainly know him. We were classmates under the same mentor, Senior Associate Professor Quentin Cohen."
In the Kingdom of Loen, "professor" was not merely an academic title but also a position, much like a combination of professor and department head on Earth. In other words, a university department could have only one professor. For an associate professor to become a full professor, they had to wait for their immediate superior to retire or displace them through their own abilities.
To retain talent, after years of experimentation, the Kingdom Higher Education Committee had added senior associate professor to the three-tier system of lecturer, associate professor, and professor, granting the title to men and women with outstanding academic achievements or sufficient seniority who were nevertheless unable to become professors.
At this point, Klein glanced into the middle-aged officer's eyes, considered for a second, and said:
"To be honest, we were fairly close. Lately, he, Naya, and I have been meeting often to decipher and discuss a Fourth Epoch document he obtained-a notebook. Officer, what happened to him?"
The middle-aged officer did not answer. Instead, he turned to look at his gray-eyed colleague.
The gray-eyed officer, whose features were ordinary beneath his badged soft cap, answered gently:
"I'm very sorry. Mr. Welch has passed away."
"How could that happen?" Despite having a vague premonition, Klein could not keep himself from exclaiming in shock.
Welch died too, just like this body's original owner?
This was getting a little terrifying!
"What about Naya?" Klein hastily asked.
"Ms. Naya has also passed away," the gray-eyed officer said quite calmly. "They both died in Mr. Welch's residence."
"Were they murdered?" Klein had a vague suspicion.
Perhaps it was suicide...
The gray-eyed officer shook his head.
"No. Judging by the evidence at the scene, they killed themselves. Mr. Welch struck his head against the wall, over and over, until the wall was covered in blood. Ms. Naya drowned herself in a basin. Yes, the kind used for washing your face."
"That's impossible..." Klein's hair stood on end as he listened. He seemed able to picture that eerie scene.
The girl knelt on a chair, her face buried in a washbasin filled with water. Her brown hair hung smoothly down, swaying in the breeze, while her body remained motionless; Welch lay on the floor, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his forehead completely shattered and smeared with blood, while the wall bore one impact mark after another, dripping with blood...
The corner of the gray-eyed officer's mouth moved.
"We thought so too, but the autopsy results and the circumstances at the scene ruled out drugs, external force, and other such factors. They-I mean Mr. Welch and Ms. Naya-showed no signs of resistance."
Before Klein could speak again, he stepped into the room and asked with feigned casualness:
"When did you last see Mr. Welch or Ms. Naya?"
As he spoke, he signaled with his eyes to his colleague with two silver stars.
He was a young officer who looked about Klein's age, with black hair at his temples, green eyes, good looks, and a poet's romantic air.
At the question, Klein's thoughts raced as he considered his answer.
"It should have been June 26. We deciphered a new passage from the notebook together. Afterward, I came home to prepare for my interview on the 30th. Yes, the interview with Tingen University's history department."
Tingen City was known as the city of universities. It had two universities, Tingen and Hoy, as well as a technical school, a barristers' college, and a business school, second only to the capital, Backlund.
Just as he finished speaking, he saw out of the corner of his eye that the young officer had walked to the desk and picked up the "notebook," which looked more like a diary.
Damn! I forgot to hide it! Klein cried sharply, "You!"
The young officer smiled back at him but did not stop leafing through the notebook, while the gray-eyed officer explained:
"This is a necessary procedure."
Throughout this, Bic Mountbatten and the imposing middle-aged officer merely watched from the side, neither interrupting nor helping with the search.
Where's your search warrant? Klein had intended to challenge them, but after thinking it over, he realized that the Kingdom of Loen's judicial system did not seem to have developed such a thing as a search warrant yet. At least, he did not know whether one existed. After all, even the police force had only been established fifteen or sixteen years ago.
When the original owner was little, they had still been called constables.
Unable to stop him, Klein watched helplessly as the young officer rapidly flipped through "his notebook." The gray-eyed officer asked no further questions either.
"What strange stuff is this?" the young officer suddenly asked upon reaching the end. "And what does this sentence mean? 'Everyone will die, including me'..."
Isn't it common knowledge that everyone except the deities will die? Klein had been about to offer that excuse when it suddenly occurred to him that he had intended to establish contact with the police to guard against the dangers he might encounter. He had merely lacked a reason or an excuse.
In less than a second, he made his decision. Covering his forehead with his hand, he answered in a pained voice:
"I don't know. I really don't know... After waking up this morning, I felt that something wasn't quite right with me, as though I'd forgotten some things, especially parts of the last few days. I don't even know why I wrote a sentence like that."
Sometimes, honesty was the best way to solve a problem. Of course, being honest required skill. What could and could not be said was one aspect; what to say first, what to say later, and how to say it was another.
As a "keyboard" expert, Klein had also studied a little conversational technique.
"Ridiculous! Do you take us for fools?" Bic Mountbatten cut in angrily, unable to hold back any longer.
This lie was far too clumsy. It was practically an insult to their intelligence!
Even pretending to be mentally ill would be better than pretending to have amnesia!
"It's true." Klein calmly met Mountbatten's and the middle-aged officer's gazes.
This could not have been more true.
"It might indeed be possible," the gray-eyed officer said slowly just then.
What? He believed it just like that? Even Klein himself was astonished.
The gray-eyed officer looked at him with a smile.
"An expert will arrive in a couple of days. Trust me, she should be able to help you recover your lost memories."
An expert? To help me remember? Someone in psychology? Klein frowned.
Hiss, what if she brings out my memories of Earth? He suddenly felt his teeth ache.
The young officer put down the notebook and searched the desk and the room. Fortunately, he focused on the books and did not lift the kettle to look underneath.
"All right, Mr. Klein. Thank you for your cooperation. You'd best not leave Tingen over the next few days. If you must, please inform Officer Mountbatten. Otherwise, you'll become a fugitive," the gray-eyed officer instructed before leaving.
That's it? We're done for today? No more questions or investigation? Or taking me back to the police station to torture me? Klein was bewildered.
Still, he also wanted to resolve the strange affair Welch had brought about, so he nodded.
"No problem."
The officers filed out of the room. The young man at the rear suddenly patted Klein on the shoulder.
"This is good. Very fortunate."
"What?" Klein looked confused.
The green-eyed officer with the air of a poet smiled slightly.
"Generally speaking, when something like this happens, the norm is for everyone involved to die."
"We're very glad, and very fortunate, to see you still alive."
With that, he left the room, politely closing the door behind him.
Everyone dying was the norm? They were glad I was still alive? Fortunate I was still alive?
On that June afternoon, Klein felt cold all over.