The time rewinds slightly to the night Sandrone discovered the body and took the box.
A few hours later, the kerosene streetlamps cast dim, yellowish halos through the fog, and simple police tape was strung across the entrance of the alley.
Two uniformed policemen stood guard nearby, yawning.
Inside the alley, the scene was illuminated with a deathly pallor by several bright lanterns.
Squatting by the body and examining it carefully was a high-ranking Detective.
She had short, neat black hair, and her well-tailored dark police uniform outlined her tall, upright figure.
A standard-issue pistol and baton were tucked at her waist; her face was expressionless, and her gaze was as sharp as a blade.
Ellen Joe.
“Time of death was roughly between three and five in the afternoon.
Killed with a single blow.
The murder weapon…
some kind of very sharp instrument, possibly with a curved tip, which pierced directly through the gap in the ribs to precisely destroy the heart.”
She narrated calmly, her black leather-gloved hand pointing vaguely at the shape of the wound.
“The technique is far too clean and efficient; this wasn’t a common street brawl or a robbery-homicide.
The victim’s clothing is expensive, and his wallet and pocket watch are still on him, but the only thing missing is…”
Her gaze swept over the slightly stiff posture of the corpse’s hands and the clear, rectangular indentation in the dust on the ground beside them.
“A box.
About this size.”
She gestured with her hands to match the indentation.
“Clearly, the Murderer, or some passerby, took it.
That is the key.”
The Medical Examiner beside her shrugged.
“Detective Joe, is it possible the Murderer took the valuables and then threw the box elsewhere?
There are plenty of vagrants around here.”
“Possible.”
Ellen stood up and looked around the alley.
“But if it were a vagrant, their first reaction upon seeing a body and blood would usually be to stay far away or call the police.
To have the nerve to step forward and take something clutched in a dead man’s hands…
that takes considerable courage.
And if the Murderer returned to take it, it means that box was more important than his goal of silencing the victim.”
She walked to the wall, looking at several marks that seemed to have been quickly brushed against.
“The Murderer moved fast, with almost no hesitation in their steps.
They might be familiar with this area, or they might simply have excellent psychological fortitude.”
She took the preliminary identification report handed over by her assistant.
“Theodore Wayne, self-proclaimed antique dealer and mechanical art collector.
He had a legal license, but his reputation…
is a bit murky.
It’s said he had dealings with several underground private clubs.
He seemed very anxious recently, telling friends he’d ‘acquired something too hot to handle’ and wanted to sell it as soon as possible to leave the city.”
“Something too hot to handle…”
Ellen chewed on the phrase, her gaze falling once more on that empty indentation.
“A hot item worth killing for.”
A young officer ran over.
“Officer, we’ve questioned the surrounding streets.
There were no particular witnesses during that time in the afternoon.
A Newsboy said he thought he saw a girl carrying a book walking hurriedly past the alley entrance, but he didn’t see her face clearly, and he wasn’t sure if the timing matched.”
“A girl?”
Ellen’s eyebrows rose slightly.
“A student?
This alley isn’t a regular path to the University District.”
She noted this point but didn’t take it too much to heart.
A blurry female figure could be anyone.
“This is the third similar case this month.”
Ellen’s assistant lowered his voice.
“All lone males with a certain social status or grey background, killed in a clean and efficient manner, with a specific item missing from the scene—the first was missing a gem-encrusted pocket watch, the second a notebook said to be written in code, and now this box.
There’s a lot of pressure from above, and the newspapers are already starting to hint that a ‘Gentleman Killer’ or a ‘Collection Hunter’ is active.”
Ellen nodded silently.
The possibility of a serial case was high.
But what was the Murderer’s motive?
Antique watches, coded notebooks…
She felt something was vaguely wrong.
These cases were too clean; the Murderer was like a ghost, leaving no trace and having a clear objective.
Furthermore, while investigating the first two cases, she occasionally felt as though she were being watched.
But when she reported it, her colleagues all thought it was just her imagination.
“Send out a notice to focus on investigating antique boxes, pocket watches, and books that might be circulating on the black market.
Check who this Theodore Wayne has been in contact with recently, especially for leads regarding the sale of special items.”
Ellen issued the orders.
“Also, the University District…
keep an eye on that as well, though the possibility is slim.”
She thought of the blurry description from the Newsboy.
The next morning, while Sandrone was fidgeting restlessly with her ruler and compass in class, a serious-looking police officer appeared at the classroom door.
Her heart instantly leaped into her throat.
When she was taken to a vacant faculty room for questioning, she saw that cold and aloof Detective Lady.
Ellen Joe simply produced her ID, her tone businesslike.
“Miss Sandrone?
I am Detective Ellen Joe.
Don’t be nervous, this is just a routine inquiry.
Where were you yesterday afternoon between three and five?”
Sandrone had already prepared her script.
Her fingers tightened slightly under her skirt, but she tried her best to maintain the nervousness expected of an introverted student.
“I…
I was at the university library all yesterday afternoon, until about four-thirty.
Then…
because of some personal matters, I wasn’t in a good mood, so I took a walk by the river.
I didn’t get back to my lodgings until nearly six.
Did…
did something happen, Detective Lady?”
She showed a perfectly timed hint of worry.
“Which part of the river?”
“It was…
near that abandoned little dock downstream from the Academy Bridge.”
That was a place she had chosen long ago—usually deserted and difficult to find witnesses for.
“Can anyone prove it?”
Sandrone shook her head dejectedly.
“No…
I was alone.”
Ellen’s red eyes watched her quietly, her gaze seeming to pierce through the surface.
Sandrone felt a slight cold sweat break out on her back.
“Do you know a Mr.
Theodore Wayne?
An antique dealer.”
“No, I don’t.” Sandrone shook her head immediately; this time, it was the truth.
“Have you recently purchased or…
come into contact with any special mechanical items?
Like clocks or something similar?”
Ellen’s question was casual, as if asked in passing.
Sandrone’s heart skipped a beat.
She forced herself to think of the box under her bed and her mentor’s warning.
“N-no.
I study mechanics, so I usually deal with classroom models and blueprints.
I can’t afford those antiques.”
She answered softly, her tone carrying the specific embarrassment of a student.
Ellen asked a few more questions about her studies and life, seemingly just chatting.
Sandrone answered each one cautiously.
Most were the truth, with only the timeline being blurred.
Finally, Ellen closed her notebook and stood up.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Sandrone.
If you remember anything unusual or see any suspicious people, please be sure to contact the police.” She handed over a business card.
“Alright, Detective Lady.” Sandrone took the card, her fingertips slightly cold.
Ellen walked to the door, then suddenly turned back and said, seemingly at random, “Oh, right.
You major in precision mechanics, so you must have studied locks quite a bit, right?
If…
I mean if, you happened to encounter a mechanical lock with strange symbols on it, how would you handle it?”
Sandrone’s blood seemed to freeze instantly.
She pinched her palm hard, using the pain to maintain her composure, and a look of confusion appeared on her face.
“Strange symbols?
Then I might need to first determine the origin of the symbol system…
It would probably be best to hand it over to a professional antique dealer or a professor, wouldn’t it?
I…
I probably couldn’t handle it.”
Ellen looked at her for two seconds.
The corner of her mouth seemed to twitch very slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was a smile or something else.
“That makes sense.
Sorry to bother you.”
The Detective left.
Sandrone leaned against the wall in exhaustion for a moment before slowly walking back to the classroom.
She could feel that Detective Ellen didn’t fully believe her; at the very least, she had been placed into some category of ‘people to keep an eye on.’
Her questions were far too targeted.
On the other side, as Ellen Joe walked out of the teaching building, she glanced back at the grey structure.
That female student’s acting was good, but the nervousness was genuine.
Especially when asked that question, the momentary contraction of her pupils and the pause in her breathing had not escaped her eyes.
But she had no evidence, only a vague intuition and that even vaguer description from the Newsboy.
“Locks…
symbols…”
She murmured to herself.
The items lost in the recent cases all seemed to be more or less related to ‘mechanics.’