Iron Cross Lower Street near dusk was bustling with voices, the noisy atmosphere of the marketplace hitting them head-on. Street vendors selling fresh produce and cooked food were shouting themselves hoarse, making passing pedestrians unconsciously slow down and approach them.
On this chaotic street, the carriage would be unable to move an inch. The Nighthawks had to stop the hired carriage at the street entrance and walk on foot to the target location.
Klein had recovered some strength in the carriage and was now alertly watching passing pedestrians. Before moving to Daffodil Street, he had lived in a nearby apartment, and even now with improved housing conditions, he often came here to buy some cheap cooked food, maintaining proper wariness toward the poor, chaotic Iron Cross Lower Street.
"Be careful of pickpockets."
He quietly reminded Angel and Leonard who were traveling with him.
"Don't worry."
Leonard was unconcerned. He pulled open one side of his windbreaker, revealing the gun holster at his waist. The brass frame and exquisite guard of the revolver were exposed, with the police badge highly recognizable.
In an instant, gazes full of greed, confusion, and alertness all moved away from him. The looks targeting the three well-dressed outsiders reduced by half.
"You should also pay attention..."
Klein looked toward Angel who was still unaware, until she suddenly understood, fastening her windbreaker's hood, blocking the remaining gazes.
But soon those gazes shifted toward Klein, making him worry whether any of them recognized him as "the young man from the Moretti family."
You don't know me, you don't know me...
He silently recited in his heart, lowering his head, following Leonard who was leading and Angel who followed closely, passing between street vendors and pedestrians, praying not to be seen by anyone he knew.
Fortunately, the busy street section wasn't long. They soon arrived in front of a three-story house.
"This is the one, 2nd floor, left side."
Leonard stopped, confirming the materials in his hand once more before entering this apartment building through the open stairway entrance.
Klein entered the stairway last. He looked around and found this apartment was even worse than the one he had previously rented. The corridor had no gas lamps, relying only on sunlight from the entrance for illumination; the wall paint was mottled and peeling, revealing cracked bricks underneath; the wooden stairs creaked and groaned, seeming ready to break at any moment and drop people to the lower floor.
Stepping on the swaying stairs to the second floor, going around the unwashed communal washroom, the three stood beside the left room's door.
"Knock knock—"
Angel knocked on the door.
"No one there?"
After a long time with no response, Klein asked.
Seemingly not expecting this situation, Leonard frowned and knocked again on the tightly closed wooden door.
This time the door was opened from inside.
"Who are you?"
Behind the door was a short woman. She wore a simple linen dress with an apron over it, brown curly hair bound behind her head with a headband, both hands wet with soap suds, seeming to have just been washing clothes.
Seeing three well-dressed, serious-faced men and women outside the door, surprise and a trace of unease appeared on her face.
"I am Inspector Mitchell from Tingen City Police Headquarters. We're here to investigate the death case of Val Ellison. The local police sergeant is late, so we three can only conduct the investigation first."
Leonard took out the inspector's badge he had removed before entering Iron Cross Lower Street, re-hanging it on the outside of his windbreaker, speaking with a serious expression.
"Sergeant Beech Mombaton, you know him, right?"
Klein supplemented from the side.
"Yes... yes, this is Ellison's home. Please come in, officers. I am... Miss Granger. How is it you?"
The brown-haired woman, hearing the name of the notorious sergeant from this street district who liked to punch and kick suspects at the slightest disagreement, became visibly panicked. She hurriedly stepped aside from the doorway, letting Leonard at the front enter the room.
But then she saw Angel following behind and cried out in surprise.
"You know her?"
Klein looked curiously at Angel, asking.
"She's called Tromi, a hired odd-job woman worker my cousin Cole previously employed, also washing clothes on the side. Didn't expect she lived here and knew..."
Angel said halfway, her eyes widening.
"Val Ellison is your father?"
Her gaze turned toward the brown-haired woman called Tromi.
"...Yes, I live with father and brother. He was already, already buried ten days ago."
Tromi's face showed a trace of sadness, but was quickly replaced by confusion and unease, seeming more worried about the intentions of these police officers and her future life than her relative's death.
"Buried..." Leonard pondered, turning to look at Klein behind him. Seeing the other give an imperceptible nod, he continued: "No problem. We'll look at where he died. Please show us the way."
Wiping the soap water from her hands on her apron, Tromi silently nodded, passing through the living room with old furniture and messy but lively tables and chairs, coming to the outer of two bedrooms.
The bedroom had two single beds on either side, one made with bedding, the other bed empty.
Without needing Tromi's introduction, the three Nighthawks gathered around the empty bed.
The deceased has already been buried, and it's been over ten days. The divination effect will probably be very poor...
Klein frowned looking at the empty bed board, thinking about how to obtain useful information.
"Brother goes to the bar as a guard every afternoon, not returning until dawn. That day as soon as he got home he found father clutching his chest lying on the bed... He used to often have chest pains, but last month we saved some money to let him buy medicine. It had gotten much better. Didn't expect..."
Tromi spoke softly from the side.
"Did he leave anything behind? Things he used often, clothing, or bedding?"
Leonard suddenly interrupted Tromi's words.
"What? Ah... sorry, his sheets and blankets are still here, but no clothes were left."
"Please bring them and re-make the bed as it was then. We need to... hmm, review the scene again."
Tromi opened her mouth as if to say something, but seeing the inspector's badge on Leonard's chest, she pressed her lips together, went to the wardrobe in the room's corner, taking out folded bedding and re-making Val's bed.
After bringing Tromi back to the living room and speaking quietly for a few sentences, Angel returned alone to the bedroom, closed the door, and looked toward Klein.
"Are these items sufficient?"
"Too much time has passed, and the bedding has been washed. I'll try my best."
If I went to the gray fog space for divination, the effect would definitely be better, but it's impossible to do it in front of these two people, especially Angel, the "Queen" of the Tarot Club...
Klein hesitated for a moment, still deciding to attempt dream divination.
Angel took out a dagger, using a simplified ritual to sanctify and construct a spiritual wall enclosing the bedroom. Klein sat on the other bed that should belong to Tromi's brother, half-leaning against the headboard, outlining light spheres, quickly entering the dream realm.
In the blurry mist, scenes surrounding a middle-aged man appeared.
He gritted his teeth moving cargo, frequently clutching his chest and gasping.
He argued red-faced with a fish vendor over prices at the fish-selling stall.
He looked with full worry at his early-leaving, late-returning daughter and late-leaving, early-returning son.
He was patted on the back by a slender hand reaching from behind while queuing to receive wages.
Under crimson moonlight, he painfully clutched his chest, trying to open his mouth to call for help, but finally closed his eyes.