2 Daffodil Street, Tingen City.
Klein left the note, locked the door, and strode towards Leonard Mitchell, who was waiting by the roadside.
Leonard's short black hair was a bit longer than last month and looked very messy due to neglect.
Even so, with his good looks, emerald eyes, and poetic temperament, he still possesses a unique kind of beauty.
Sure enough, any hairstyle depends on your face... Klein subconsciously muttered, pointing towards Iron Cross Street:
"Is Frye waiting for us over there?"
"Yes." Leonard straightened his shirt, which wasn't tucked in, and asked casually, "Did you find any clues in the files?"
Klein, holding his cane in his left hand, walked along the edge of the street.
"No, I can't find a pattern in either the manner or the timing of the death. You know, rituals involving evil gods or Devil must be performed at specific times or in special ways."
Leonard touched the specially made revolver hidden at his waist, beneath his shirt, and chuckled softly:
"That's not absolute. In my experience, some evil gods or Devil are very easily satisfied, as long as they have a strong interest in what's to come."
"Moreover, a significant portion of these deaths must be normal; they must be eliminated to arrive at the correct answer."
Klein glanced at him and said:
"That's why the captain had us re-investigate and rule out any normal events."
" Leonard, your tone and description tell me you have plenty of experience in this area, yet you've been Nighthawks for less than four years, averaging no more than two supernatural cases per month, and most of them are simple and easy to solve."
He always felt that his teammate Leonard Mitchell was strange and mysterious, not only constantly doubting himself and thinking he was special, but also being eccentric, arrogant, frivolous, and profound at times.
Could he have also had a miraculous encounter? An encounter that made him feel like the protagonist of a drama? Klein, drawing on his extensive knowledge of movies, novels, and TV series, made a rough guess.
Hearing his question, Leonard smiled and said:
"That's because you haven't officially entered the state of Nighthawks yet; you're still in the training phase."
"Every six months, the Holy Cathedral compiles the extraordinary cases encountered by each diocese and church into a book, and makes certain deletions to different versions according to different levels of confidentiality, before distributing them to the respective members."
"Outside of your occult studies, you can ask the captain for permission to enter Chanis Gate and borrow books from previous cases."
Klein nodded in realization and said:
"The captain never reminded me of this."
He still hasn't had the chance to enter Chanis Gate.
Leonard chuckled and said:
"I thought you were used to the captain's style, but I didn't expect you to still naively expect him to remind you."
At this point, he added meaningfully, "If one day the captain remembers everything and forgets nothing, then we'll need to be more vigilant."
Does this mean things are out of control? Klein nodded solemnly, then asked:
"Is this the captain's unique style? I thought it was a problem inherent to the ' Sleepless ' Sequence..."
Staying up late can cause memory loss, etc...
"To be precise, it's the unique style of ' Nightmare,' where reality and dreams intertwine, often making it difficult to distinguish what's real and what needs to be remembered, and what's fake and doesn't need to be kept in mind..." Leonard wanted to say something more, but the two had already entered Iron Cross Street and saw " Corpse Collector " Frye waiting at the tram stop.
Frye wore a black round-brimmed felt hat and a matching thin trench coat, carrying a leather suitcase. His pale complexion made one wonder if he might suddenly fall ill and collapse at any moment, while his cold and gloomy demeanor caused the people waiting for the bus to keep their distance from him.
After nodding to each other, the three of them met in silence without speaking, and together they passed " Slin Bakery " and turned onto the Lower Street Iron Cross Street.
The hustle and bustle immediately hit you, with street vendors shouting themselves hoarse as they hawked oyster soup, pan-fried fish and meat, ginger beer, and fruit, causing passersby to involuntarily slow down.
It was a little past five o'clock, and many people had returned to Iron Cross Street. The streets were becoming crowded, with some children mixed in, watching everything indifferently and staring at all the pockets.
Klein often came here to buy cheap prepared foods, and used to live in a nearby apartment, so he was quite familiar with the area. He then offered a word of advice:
Beware of thieves.
Leonard smiled and said, "Don't worry about it."
He pulled up his shirt, adjusted his holster, and exposed the revolver at his waist.
Suddenly, all eyes turned away from him, and pedestrians around him unconsciously made way for him.
Klein paused for a moment, then quickly caught up with Leonard and Frye, lowering his head to avoid being noticed by anyone he knew.
Benson and Melissa still maintain contact with some of their former neighbors, since they haven't moved far enough.
After passing through the area teeming with street vendors, the three of them entered the true Lower Street of Iron Cross Street.
The passersby here were all dressed in old and tattered clothes, and they were both wary and Greed at the appearance of strangers who were dressed in fine clothes, like vultures eyeing carrion, ready to attack at any moment. But Leonard's revolver effectively prevented all accidents from happening.
"Let's start our investigation with last night's death, beginning with Mrs. Louwise, who made the matchboxes." Leonard flipped through the files and pointed to a spot not far away, "Number 134, first floor..."
As the three walked on, one after another, ragged children playing quickly hid by the roadside, watching them with bewildered, curious, and frightened eyes.
"Look at their arms and legs, they're as thin as matchsticks," Leonard remarked, before entering the three-story apartment 134.
A mixture of smells immediately filled Klein's nostrils; he could vaguely distinguish the stench of urine, the odor of sweat, the musty smell of dampness, and the aroma of burning coal and wood.
Unable to resist raising his hand to cover his nose, Klein saw Bic Mountbatten waiting there.
The sheriff in charge of the surrounding neighborhood, with his brownish-yellow beard, was full of obsequiousness towards Leonard, who revealed his inspector status.
"Sir, I've already had Louwise waiting in the room," Bic Mountbatten said with a laugh in his distinctive, slightly high-pitched voice.
He clearly didn't recognize the much more energetic and presentable Klein, and was only concerned with ingratiating himself with the three officers, leading them into the Louwise home on the first floor.
This is a single room. At the innermost part, there is a two-story bunk bed. To the right is a table with glue, cardboard, and other items on it. In the corner, there is a basket full of matchboxes. To the left is a dilapidated cabinet that is used to store clothes and tableware.
On either side of the door were a stove, a toilet, and a small amount of coal and wood. In the center were two dirty makeshift beds, where a man was fast asleep wrapped in a tattered quilt with holes in it, making it almost impossible to step on.
On the lower bunk of the bunk bed, a woman lay there, her skin cold and pale, clearly having lost all life.
Beside the corpse sat a man in his thirties with greasy, disheveled hair. He looked listless, and his eyes had lost their sparkle.
" Louwise, these three officers are here to examine the body and ask you some questions," Bic Mountbatten shouted, completely disregarding the fact that someone was still sleeping on the floor.
The listless man weakly raised his head and asked in surprise:
"Didn't we check and ask questions this morning?"
He was wearing a gray-blue work uniform, which had many patches on it.
"Just answer when I tell you to! Why so many questions!" Bic Mountbatten reprimanded the man sharply, then smiled at Leonard, Klein, and Frye, "Sir, that's Louwise. The woman in bed is his wife, the deceased. Our initial examination indicates she died from a sudden illness."
Klein and the others tiptoed through the gaps between the makeshift beds to the bedside.
With his high nose, thin lips, and icy demeanor, Frye didn't speak, but gently patted Louwise, signaling him to move aside so he could examine the body.
Klein glanced at the man sleeping on the ground and asked in confusion:
Who is this?
"I, my tenant," Louwise scratched his head. "This room costs 3 Soli and 10 pence a week. I'm just a dockworker. My wife makes 2 and a quarter pence for a basket of matchboxes. A basket, yes, more than 130 boxes, I guess. We, we have children. I can only rent out the spare space. A floor mat only costs 1 Soli a week..."
"I have a tenant who helps with set construction at the theater. He doesn't rest until 10 p. m., so I sold him the daytime use of his sleeping quarters. This gentleman is the one who guards the theater door at night. Um, he only has to pay 6 pence a week..."
Listening to the other person's rambling introduction, Klein couldn't help but glance at the basket in the corner.
One basket of 130 or more only earns 2.25 pence, roughly the price of two pounds of black bread... How many baskets can one bake in a day? (Note 1)
Leonard looked around and asked:
Was there anything unusual about your wife in the period leading up to her death?
Having answered similar questions before, Louwise pointed to his left chest and said, "Since last week, well, maybe the week before last, she's been saying that it feels stuffy here, like she can't breathe."
"A warning sign of heart disease? A normal death?" Klein interjected.
Did you witness her death?
Louwise recalled:
"After the Sun went down, she stopped working. Candles and kerosene were much more expensive than matchboxes... She said she was very tired and asked me to talk to the two children while she rested. When I looked at her again, she had already stopped breathing."
At this point, Louwise's grief and pain could no longer be concealed.
Klein and Leonard asked a few more questions, but neither could find anything unnatural or abnormal.
After exchanging a glance, Leonard spoke:
"Mr. Louwise, please wait outside for a few minutes. We will be conducting a thorough examination of the body. I don't think you'd want to see what happens next."
"Okay, okay." Louwise hurriedly stood up.
Bic Mountbatten walked over, kicked the tenant sleeping on the floor awake, roughly kicked him out, and then wisely closed the door and stood guard outside.
"How is it?" Leonard then looked at Frye.
"Died of heart disease," Frye said definitively, withdrawing his hands.
Klein thought for a moment, then took out a half-penny copper coin, intending to make a quick judgment.
"' Mrs. Louwise's heart disease was influenced by extraordinary factors'? No, that's too narrow, the answer is misleading... Hmm, ' Mrs. Louwise's death was influenced by extraordinary factors'... That's it!" He murmured silently as if deep in thought, quickly settling on the Divination statement.
Silently, Klein approached Mrs. Louwise's body, his eyes darkening, and flicked a coin upwards.
The echo of the clang reverberated as the brass coin tumbled and fell, landing steadily in his palm.
This time, the king's portrait is facing upwards.
This suggests that Mrs. Louwise's death was indeed influenced by extraordinary factors!
Note 1: In the late Victorian era, a basket contained 144 matchboxes and cost 2.25 pence. The maximum a woman could work from morning till night was 7 baskets.