A Personal Visit

*Knock... knock... knock...* "Come in." Karen pushed open the door to Diss's study and walked inside. Diss closed the folder that had been spread open before him and watched Karen approach and take a seat. "What is it?" "I just finished a psychological counseling session with Mrs. Seymour." "How did it go?" "Fairly well. She let her emotions out. From here on, it's just a matter of letting time heal her grief and adapting to a new life." "Mm." "However, I learned something from Mrs. Seymour." "Speak." "Mrs. Seymour lives at No. 46 Rhine Street." "A prime location." "The gentleman I met previously at Hughes Crematorium—the one who gave me my first psychological counseling fee of twenty thousand lubi, Mr. Piaget—is her neighbor. He lives at No. 45." "Mm." "Grandfather, I feel this is a bit too coincidental. Mr. Seymour died in the ballroom, and apparently he was on very good terms with Piaget during his life; the two often went fishing together. Meanwhile, Old Darcy personally cremated the remains of Piaget's wife, Linda, not long ago." "Mm, that is a bit coincidental." "More importantly, I personally held Linda's ashes and handed them over to Mr. Piaget. Yet Mrs. Seymour said that this morning, Linda brought her a delicious apple pie." A wife who had already been reduced to ashes had suddenly "come back to life" and was even baking treats. "Are you suggesting that this Mr. Piaget is the killer?" "I don't know." "You don't know? You seemed to hit it off quite well with Inspector Duke earlier." "Grandfather, it's just like certain religious scriptures. We can sit face-to-face and discuss theories all day long—ranging from cosmic truths and the mysteries of the gods to the workings of human society and the goodness of human nature. But once the talking is done, we won't even be able to hail a cab to get home." Criminal psychology appeared grand and sophisticated, but in reality, it was no panacea. Sometimes after a long, eloquent discourse, one realized it had completely missed the mark. Even an outstanding and correct analysis could only provide a general direction. It wasn't as if one could push up one's glasses with a ring finger and announce: *There is only one truth, and that is...* When it came to investigating cases, Karen believed Inspector Duke was far more adept than he was. After all, one should never compare their hobby to someone else's livelihood. Perhaps Inspector Duke had gained considerable inspiration from the conversation, but what Karen could offer was strictly limited to inspiration. In his past life, a friend had once shared a case video with him, hoping he would analyze a case where a husband murdered his wife and concealed her corpse. After watching it, Karen had said bluntly that no analysis was needed at all. When the veteran detective went to question the husband, he was likely already convinced the man was the killer; what followed was merely the tedious process of locating the body and confirming the evidence. And all the pretenses of that husband, who appeared "calm" and "composed" in the eyes of ordinary people, were completely worthless before an experienced detective. "I think I understand what you mean," Diss nodded. Karen smiled. "You're saying that what I usually do is completely pointless." "..." Karen was speechless. Diss picked up his teacup. Karen took the initiative to step forward and lift the thermos flask. Diss said, "It's full." Karen sheepishly set the thermos down. "So, what did you come here for?" "It's like this, Grandfather. After we left home this afternoon, Mr. Piaget came by to visit me and left an invitation, asking me to his home as a guest." "Do you want to go?" "Yes." "Then go." "But I... don't dare." Karen sat there, speaking with complete self-assurance. "I will be rather busy over the next few days with some matters to handle," Diss said, setting down his teacup. "I won't have time to accompany you outside like I did this afternoon." "Then I... won't go." "Mm." Diss nodded. "Grandfather, get some rest early. I'm going to sleep as well." "All right." Karen stood up. Just as he reached the study door, Diss's voice came from behind him again: "If you truly wish to go as a guest..." Karen turned around with a smile. "Are you willing to spare some time to accompany me, Grandfather?" Diss shook his head. "You can have it accompany you." "Who?" "Meow..." Purr leaped down from some unknown corner of the bookshelf and padded over to stand before Karen. The black cat's face carried an unmistakable look of reluctance. Karen had noticed long ago that this black cat possessed a real gift for expressing emotion. While many other pets could only convey simple feelings by baring their teeth, Purr was remarkably delicate—or rather, anthropomorphic. "Grandfather, are you sure?" Karen asked. "I am." Having received that confirmation, Karen said earnestly, "Understood, Grandfather." With that, Karen walked out of the study and closed the door behind him. Standing in the hallway, Karen blinked. He trusted that Diss could give him an adequate sense of security. Even setting aside the bizarre experiences from before, back in the hearse Diss hadn't flinched when Karen peeled the skin from his arm. Add to that the overt urge Diss had displayed at the front door to kill him back then—even if one thought of Diss as a mob enforcer, he remained a powerful guarantee of safety. Ruthless toward himself, willing to kill, and even if he was older... well, his age wasn't an issue either. Karen was certain that in terms of physical fitness, he was no match for Diss. Thus, Grandfather's presence surpassed that of any hired thug out on the streets. However, that cat... "Perhaps this is a cat with a story." Karen looked down and saw that Purr hadn't followed him out. "Time for a bath, then off to sleep." *** "You're mad, completely mad! You're actually making my noble self play detective agency games with a child?! Diss, what on earth are you thinking?! What are you thinking?!" Pacing with feline steps, Purr didn't appear on the desk this time. Instead, it pressed close against the wall, maintaining a substantial distance. "I'm having you watch over him. Just as you said, he is an aberrant demon." Hearing this, Purr cocked its head and retorted: "Then why not simply kill him?" Diss turned his gaze toward Purr in the corner. "*Hiss...*" Purr's tail shot straight up, all four limbs tensing as it hastily added: "Understood! I'll accompany him, I'll keep a good eye on this aberrant demon!" *** Dawn broke. Karen slept all the way until ten in the morning. Too much had happened yesterday, leaving him utterly exhausted. Furthermore, his sleep had not been very peaceful, troubled by several dreams. In them: One moment he was holding a showgirl and dancing in a ballroom, the next he was shoveling ashes beside an incinerator; One moment he was lying inside a coffin in the first-floor mourning hall listening to prayers, and the next he was resting against Mrs. Hughes's bosom, nearly suffocating. Only after washing up did Karen feel his energy return. Coming down to the second floor, Aunt Winnie smiled when she saw him. "I've already prepared lunch." "Thank you, Aunt Winnie." Lunch was noodles. Ever since seeing Karen prepare a rich broth, Aunt Winnie and Aunt Mary had taken great delight in doing the same. The broth was wonderful, garnished with chopped scallions. In addition, a jar of chili oil that Karen had previously made was set on the table. The only slight pity was that the noodles weren't particularly springy, though the flavor was already quite good. He truly had no desire to wake up to another breakfast of bread, fried eggs, and small sausages—there was simply no joy in that. Aunt Mary was down in the basement preparing the remains of two "guests." A patient had passed away at a nearby hospital, and Uncle Mason had already set out with Paul and Ron. Business was always like this: either completely quiet for days on end, or flooded with orders all at once. Naturally, speaking from personal sentiment, most people would never wish for the Inmeles family's business to boom. After finishing his lunch, Karen came down to the ground floor. He first sat on the sofa and flipped through the newspaper. The paper covered yesterday's accident at the Crown Ballroom that had resulted in two deaths and multiple injuries, but there was no mention of any homicide, nor was the death of Old Darcy at Hughes Crematorium reported. With the front page dominated by the incumbent mayor's election campaign declaration, it wasn't hard to guess that this serial murder case had been kept under wraps. After all, the mayoral election was in full swing. If a heinous serial murder case were made public, it would easily cause widespread panic and lead the public to question the old mayor's competence—especially when he had been actively promoting "public security" as his proudest political achievement. "Would you like some coffee?" Aunt Winnie came down carrying a pot of coffee. It was intended for Aunt Mary working in the basement, though Karen was welcome to a cup as well. "No thank you, Aunt Winnie. I'm heading out shortly to have coffee at someone's home. Every bit we can save under our own roof counts." "*Pfft...*" Aunt Winnie chuckled at his words. "You're sounding more and more like your Aunt Mary." Just then, the living room telephone rang. Karen stood up and took the coffee pot from her. "I'll take it down to Aunt Mary." "All right." Aunt Winnie went to answer the call. Heading down into the basement, Karen reached the doorway of Aunt Mary's mortuary workroom and tapped gently on the already open door. *Elf of Rojia* was playing inside to a brisk, cheerful melody. Aunt Mary hummed along to the beat, her back to the entrance. Her slightly voluptuous figure appeared all the more shapely beneath her long dress. This inevitably reminded Karen of Mrs. Seymour stripping off her clothes before him the previous night—she had been far too thin. While judging an elder's figure was improper, it was only a private thought. Even among relatives, one could distinguish what looked pleasant from what did not; the key was maintaining purity of mind. One simply needed to view it with the eye of someone admiring a work of art. *Tsk... admiring art.* Karen suddenly realized that because of that psychopathic serial killer, those words had acquired a slightly warped flavor for him lately. "Oh, my dear Karen, have you come to bring coffee to your beautiful aunt?" "Yes, my remarkably beautiful aunt." It was clear that Aunt Mary was in high spirits; Package B evidently revitalized her far better than Uncle Mason ever could. Aside from family profit distributions, Aunt Mary earned the highest base salary and performance bonuses; the better the family business did, the greater her income. A mortuary cosmetologist's work was far more than casually applying some makeup. For instance, once the police finished processing the crime scene and gathering evidence, Old Darcy would be brought over, and Aunt Mary would have to piece several dozen fragments of him back into a whole. That was a task even the psychopathic killer couldn't accomplish, yet to Aunt Mary, it presented no difficulty whatsoever. Karen poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She sipped it slowly; during work, coffee was merely used to steady one's mood, with no leisure to truly savor it. Karen noticed that she had previously been spray-painting Mr. Seymour's corpse. Yes, spray-painting—as though performing maintenance on a motorcar. Moreover, Mr. Seymour's abdominal muscles... were genuinely bronze. "Looks good, doesn't it?" Holding her coffee cup in one hand, Aunt Mary patted Mr. Seymour's abs with the other and said to Karen: "You can feel them. Mr. Seymour won't mind." "No need, Aunt Mary." He still wasn't accustomed to feeling another man's abs—especially a dead man's. "Mr. Seymour truly had a fine physique. You can tell he enjoyed working out during his life." Hearing that, a thought suddenly crossed Karen's mind. If he could bring Mr. Seymour along to visit Piaget, his safety would certainly be well assured. Although Mr. Seymour had been spray-painted, one could see he was quite burly. If he could stand up and follow along, he would make an excellent bodyguard. Yet immediately afterward, Karen chuckled to himself. What kind of daydream was he having? Mr. Seymour's face was pierced with numerous pins, held taut by silk threads. "Mrs. Seymour said she was captivated by Mr. Seymour's tough-guy image when they were young, so she hopes he can be buried in the most perfect image she remembers. I still need to sculpt some more defined angles onto his face." Karen nodded. No wonder Mr. Seymour's half-"renovated" face had struck him as somewhat resembling Schwarzenegger. "Aunt Mary, I'll head back upstairs. I'm going to visit Mr. Piaget in a little while." "Go ahead, go ahead." Aunt Mary set down her coffee cup and resumed her artistic creation. *** Back in the living room, Karen smoothed his clothes and slipped one thousand lubi into his pocket, planning to buy some pastries or fruit before visiting Mr. Piaget. Purr lay sprawled on the embalming slab, face turned inward, tail completely motionless—as if playing dead could keep Karen from noticing it. Even so, Karen walked over and scooped the cat into his arms. He still placed faith in Diss's words. If Diss wished him dead, there would be no need to go through such convoluted schemes. Carrying the cat, Karen walked out of the living parlor and spotted the golden retriever lying in the flowerbed. He looked down at the cat in his arms, then over at the large golden retriever. Somehow, he felt the big dog provided a far greater sense of security. After a moment's hesitation, Karen walked over and took the retriever on a leash. And so, one person, one cat, and one dog stood outside the gate, waiting for a taxi. Before long, a cab pulled up, and the driver leaned out to say to Karen: "Sir, taking pets requires an extra cleaning fee." "Then please carry on. I won't take your cab." The driver was taken aback, then said, "Then I won't charge it this time. Who doesn't love pets? Please, step inside, sir." "How much to No. 45 Rhine Street?" "Forty-five lubi." "Then please carry on." "Hahaha, how about thirty lubi? Today is my birthday." "Twenty-five lubi." "That's far too low," the driver said, putting on a troubled expression. "Pull over by a pastry shop on the way, and I'll buy you a ten-lubi pastry to celebrate your birthday." "Step right in, sir." *** At one in the afternoon, Karen stood before the gate of No. 45 Rhine Street holding a box of macarons. Beside him sat a cat and a dog. Karen stepped forward and rang the doorbell. Before long, the inner door opened, and a woman dressed in pink loungewear emerged. Walking up to the courtyard gate, she looked at the unfamiliar Karen with some perplexity. "Pardon me, are you Mrs. Adams?" Piaget's full name was Piaget Adams. "Yes, you may call me Linda. And you are?" "I am a friend of your husband's, here by invitation to pay a visit." And also... The one who personally held your ashes in his hands.