“I hate this place. I really don't want to go in.”
Gazing at the unassuming little courtyard not far away, Officer Natalie came to a halt. Leaning against a roadside tree, she spoke with a sullen expression.
This was the border between the King District and the gray fog zone—a weathered courtyard where a plaque bearing the name Rhine City Investigator hung on the exterior wall.
The sharp scent of printing ink mixed with heavy soot was palpable even from a distance. Beneath billowing plumes of steam, the deafening mechanical roar of the printing plant reverberated through the air as bundles of newspapers were rolled out one after another.
“Completely understandable. No civil servant likes the media,” Lynch shrugged, silently adding in his mind: that holds true in any era.
“Those press people always fixate on every little detail of our actions as if we were the thugs, ready to blow any minor incident completely out of proportion at a moment's notice. No matter what the case is, once they get involved, everything becomes an absolute nightmare.”
The lady officer moodily kicked a pebble, sending it flying straight into the picket gate with a crisp clatter.
Yet that strike seemed to startle something inside. A flurry of disorganized footsteps echoed from the courtyard, and four men bolted out through the gate, rushing straight toward Natalie and Lynch.
Lynch frowned slightly, his hand already reaching into his coat, only to be held back by Officer Natalie.
Moments later, the group brushed past without casting them a single glance, bellowing loudly, “Hurry! Quick! Green Wheat District, Mole Street—a bloody incident!”
“Enforcement of the land enclosure order hits a wall! Two farming households refused to sell their land, and the blue uniforms resorted to violence! That’s how we write it later—hurry, hurry, where’s the carriage?!”
The chaotic, noisy sprint concluded as a carriage caught up from behind. Waving away the dust swirling before him, Lynch shrugged. “Annoying indeed, but having them keep watch might not be the best idea, yet it's certainly not a bad one either.”
“Hmph,” Officer Natalie muttered sulkily. “No use trying to convince me. They look at us like we’re the enemy; they’ll never give us straight answers. Paying a direct visit feels like a total waste of time. Didn't you also think we needed another approach earlier?”
“Circumstances have changed. Now that we’ve confirmed Donnie Narton was a reporter here, we're investigating the death of one of their employees. With such solid grounds, they won't dare obstruct our investigation.”
The lady officer bit her lower lip, pondering. “Still, is it truly necessary for us to look into their cause of death right now?”
Lynch smiled, not even bothering to take out his notebook, reciting swiftly from memory: “On May 11, Maya and Donnie went missing. On May 13, a female journalist suspected to be Maya had Martha deliver a bag of photographs heavy with mysterious filth to Donnie. On May 15, Donnie died while seeking help at Bessie's magic prop shop. I believe there's ample reason to suspect Donnie died because of those photos. And since they disappeared on the eleventh while the photos first surfaced on the thirteenth, it's just as reasonable to suspect their disappearance is connected to those photos.”
The lady officer nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Every action leaves a trace. Even yesterday’s mystery relic could have its trajectory tracked using Madam Bessie’s special method, let alone these photos,” Lynch said in a low voice. “They became linked to those photos just two days after vanishing—the timeline is extremely tight. It’s highly probable whatever they were doing prior to their disappearance was connected to this, and those affairs are very likely to have left clues at their workplace.”
“Even so, that will only help us investigate their deaths. It might not necessarily be related to the Square Massacre or the Bester Tunnel case.”
“On May 14, I heard a newsboy shouting about cases related to the Bester Tunnel. Normally, that paper would have been printed on the thirteenth. Given the turnaround time of daily papers, submitted drafts wouldn't be backlogged for long. In all likelihood, they submitted their manuscript on the eleventh and disappeared right after. Which means their final assignment before vanishing was…”
The lady officer's eyes lit up as she lowered her voice: “Investigating the tunnel incident and drafting the article. I see... You... you can actually piece all of this together.”
“I picked it up from odd sources. It's merely simple deduction and hypothesis—at best offering one possibility,” Lynch said, shaking his head. “There isn't any concrete proof. Perhaps it's all just a chronological coincidence.”
“Lynch, I told you before—don't think I was just talking casually,” the lady officer said, staring earnestly at him. “In the world of mystery, causality is distorted by the power of the Dreamlands. Behind every seemingly coincidental event, warped causality might be pulling the strings. Anyone who chooses to believe in coincidences might as well prepare their funeral in advance.”
Lynch recalled hearing Officer Natalie express similar sentiments the day before yesterday; without firsthand experience, however, it had slipped his mind the moment he turned around.
“I understand. Rest assured, now that I've stepped into this world, I'll keep it firmly in mind this time.”
The lady officer stared into Lynch's eyes. Seeing he wasn't merely paying lip service, she finally smiled with satisfaction. “Besides, evidence won't just fall from the gods as a divine gift—we have to find it ourselves. Hmph, in we go. We'll make them hand it over.”
With that, she pushed open the newspaper agency's picket gate and headed straight for the four-story building in the depths of the courtyard.
“Out of the way, out of the way! The Flying Whale has lost contact, forty-eight crew members missing, suspected to have encountered an abnormal storm!”
“Madam Lanna and Mr. Billy appeared together at Golden Beach! Intimate conduct suggests their affair has been exposed!”
“A mild earthquake occurred in the Carlos Mountain Range; no casualties reported as of yet!”
The moment they stepped into the lobby on the ground floor, several groups of people rushed past shouting, sprinting toward the roaring printing workshop on the other side.
Looking around, everyone in the lobby was moving at a brisk jog. The hurried patter of footsteps mingled with the rhythmic clatter and ding of typewriters, saturating the hall with a tense, hurried atmosphere.
Fortunately, the young woman at the reception desk wasn't running around. The moment Officer Natalie flashed her badge, without even inquiring about their business, the receptionist ushered them into a first-floor parlor and poured them black tea. Before long, she led a bald, middle-aged man cloaked in gray into the room.
The middle-aged man looked utterly perplexed. He reluctantly shook their hands, not even sitting down as he remained standing to ask, “I am Donald, editor-in-chief of the Investigator. Are you officers looking for me?”
“Donnie Narton is one of your employees, correct?” The lady officer signaled Lynch with a glance to take the lead. Lynch nodded and spoke up, “I'm not sure if you've received the news yet, but he met with a fatal accident yesterday and has passed away. We currently suspect his death is linked to an important case and need to search his workspace. We hope you will cooperate by leading us there and answering a few questions.”
Lynch was very polite, yet the confusion on Editor-in-Chief Donald's face only deepened:
“Donnie is indeed our employee, and taking you there is no problem, but... aren't your colleagues already searching it? They're upstairs right now. Why are you doing it all over again?”
Huh?
Rate on N.U.
