Chapter Four - Reconciliation

  The evening spent at Trelton Hotel was hectic. It was the first time I came in contact with the happenings of MC-13. Many things were discovered, and many clues were found. The overarching lead is undoubtedly the identity of the criminal, the method of their doing is also a priority. A further analysis of the security footage revealed that the culprit, who was dressed in a formal suit and the mask which I have dubbed as the Face, is a young female at around 160 centimeters with silver hair. They paid mind to their identity being revealed, the purpose of the aforementioned mask. However, what contrasts this statement is the behavior observed in the footage. The crime seemed to be laughably simple for the culprit to perform. The security was passed through with no effort, and they were also not met with any resistance.

  The hints found at the scene of the crime were the following. A strand of long, blonde hair extracted from the floor of the penthouse. It was taken into testing for the examination of Howard Ritter’s whereabouts. The security footage depicting the presence of the culprit, which served as proof of the killer’s identity and crime.

  The police reviewed the rest of the hotel’s security footage. Luckily, the cameras captured the exact moment the suspicious person entered and left the hotel. Unluckily, however, they managed to get all the way to the top of the complex with the mask on, and no one even batted an eye. My frustration was rising, and what made it worse was the fact that Trelton Hotel was responsible for a lot of these problem I am facing right now. The killer left the scene on foot, leaving nothing to look for.

  And that is all. As short as the list is, it revealed a significant portion of the case already. The process of investigating is going swimmingly. A few hiccups here and there, but overall, I am going further and further.

  Bah, who am I kidding? There is nothing that can be proven. The hair could belong to literally anyone, someone completely unrelated to the victim, rendering the item useless. As for the footage, nothing was proven – only the fact that the murderer exists, and that the Trelton Hotel has a sad excuse for security. It is a sickening thought to realize that no actual progress has been made. The identity is by itself worthless, as there is nothing to connect it to. The only plausible progress, and my only lead, is the surroundings of the victim. And even that is a mere rabbit hole to sink into.

  Another notion came up. The self-opening door, that is. That one little factoid makes this incident tremendously complicated. It adds in the condition of multiple accomplices, digging the hole further. What if the murderer, the one with the mask, was not even the mastermind behind MC-13? What if it was only a goon to do their bidding? That would make even the footage useless, to say the least.

  In the middle of my seclusion, my phone beeped with a notification from Faust.

  “The DNA testing is done. Come see me ASAP.”

  That certainly brought a tiny smile on my face. When you are only met with failure after failure, even a small success is monumental. As for where I am supposed to come and see her, that would be the Crime Lab. One would even dare call it her domain, since she barely leaves her station even when on break. A person like Faust is usually quite the nuisance to be around, but when dealing with a tremendous task like MC-13, a genius of her caliber is necessary. Her lab is located in the detective precinct in another section of the building, allowing easy access and exchange of information between the forensics team and the detective force.

  That would be my first destination of today – the Crime Lab. There is nothing to be gained from Trelton Hotel anymore, and waiting around for another victim to be shanked is not my forté, to say the least. My sole choice is to confront Faust about her findings, and only from there can I further my understanding of MC-13.

  Normally, the scientists over at the lab don’t provide the information themselves in person. They merely collect the data, write down a lousy report, and send it on its merry way to us detectives. However, Faust has a more direct approach. She prefers to meet face-to-face in order to give us in-depth understanding of her findings. Out of all the big brains at the lab, she is definitely the brightest one.

  The corridors of the ‘lab’ part of the building are a lot more vivacious than the boring ‘detective’ part. The walls that are normally dull grey are clean and pristine white. The occasional plastic chairs dotted about are replaced with cushioned sofa seats. It is clear as day that the budget is going to the correct places, it seems. Every once in a while, there is a big window providing view into the labs where the lab coats can be seen thinking and crunching the numbers as they always do. Some of them became distracted upon seeing me here. They probably thought that my detective outfit is unsanitary, or something like that. It would truthfully be wrong to assume they were glad to see me – their faces were not on the positive side of the spectrum.

  Finally, after passing several rooms filled with high-IQ individuals, I managed to reach a space quite unlike the others. A large glass sliding door granted access to the highest priority lab, and also the location of Faust’s workaholism problem. I approach the sliding door and quickly turn my expression into one of disappointment. The door is locked, yet the people are casually working there. Perhaps they are ignoring me in order to focus on their work, showing a degree of professionalism the other guys lacked. Or maybe they were just simply too engrossed in the research, but I prefer the latter over being ignored on purpose.

  The most I could do is flimsily tap on the glass door like a lost kitten. I had no joy in doing that, though, and thought of it as disrespectful. In what world is it right to treat your superiors like this? To invite me to your premises, only to close the doors in front of me, that is diabolical from you, Faust.

  Almost as if it was on cue, Faust finally noticed me and swiftly hopped over to the door. Knowing her, she probably did it on purpose just to piss me off. But what is more important right now is what she found out from the supplied evidence. The opaque barrier between us opened, allowing us to finally converse.

  “Good to see you, Faust,” I greeted her in a friendly tone.

  “It’s Doctor Faust, I’ve already told you that,” she dodged the greeting in her characteristically cold manner.

  “Yeah, yeah. So, what did you find out?”

  “No attempt at small talk today. Is the impact of MC-13 finally humbling you down?”

  “As I said – what did you find out?”

  “Well then, I was thoroughly dissatisfied with the lack of evidence you and the team provided. But I must admit you fared better than them, as they were unable to find anything of value. On the other hand, you found a strand of hair. Immaculate.”

  “In our line of work, that is a job well done.”

  “In my line of work, that is a task done in ten minutes.”

  “Alright. Tell me what you found in your ten minutes of time, please and thank you.”

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  “Simply put, I discovered the identity of the holder of this hair. A brief report for you, here,” she handed me a file.

  “I’ve seen these ‘scientific reports’ time and time again. Just tell me the necessary details so I don’t have to flip through tens of pages for a single name and address.”

  “So needy,” she bit back in a sharp tone, “the registered individual under this DNA is a famous celebrity going by the name Linda Miller, a prodigy in the film industry.”

  “So you’re saying that this Linda Miller was at the scene of the crime?”

  That was a stupid question, the camera footage I watched yesterday evening did not capture any sight of her, nor was her corpse in the room. She was just as aware of my mistake as I was, and her deathly glare only made that more apparent.

  “Needy, and also inane to boot,” she mocked me.

  Although the question was absolutely pointless, it made me reconsider the circumstances that Howard Miller found himself in. According to his profile, the politician had a wife and kids, and the wife was certainly not named Linda Miller. I am convinced that the old geezer was having an affair with a Hollywood star during that very evening. If that assumption is true, then it means that this Linda is a possible witness to what happened. Maybe she even saw it happen, I never saw the whole footage because of time constraints.

  I pose a theory to Faust. “Do you think that Linda had an encounter with the killer?”

  “That is your job to figure out. As for my input, I think she was there at some point. The hair did not walk there on its own.”

  “Incredible deduction! Now where does our celebrity live?” I praised her with clapping, sarcastically.

  “The report,” she scoffed while pointing at the file in my hands.

  I only sighed in response, knowing she would not provide me with anything else, and that I would have to filter through paragraphs upon paragraphs of needless text just to find a single point of interest. As I was leaving, Faust said something unusual.

  “Also, put some discipline into your assistant, she waltzed in here like it belonged to her, took a copy of the file, and left without a word.”

  An assistant? I didn’t order an assistant – I did get one assigned, however. When I took over this case from the previous detective, I also inherited the assistant. I have yet to see them in person, but it seems that they are already in motion, either to catch up to me or surpass me. The only thing I know about their existence is the name that was stated in the case file.

  “Assistant Detective: Sylphie Moore”

  It was a name I have never heard of before, but apparently, they are someone who has had hold of this case for at least a few years now, according to the records. It was surprising to hear that this person is operating on their own without my consent, but not unwelcome. It would be wise to find where this Sylphie is as soon as possible, as she could prove to be useful even today.

  “Thanks, Faust. Do you know where she went?” I enquire about Sylphie’s whereabouts.

  “Down that corridor you came from, now leave,“ Faust shut me down, slamming the door in my face – or rather, she pressed a button that made it close at a snail’s pace, killing the impact of her words.

  I was left with no answer. Faust left me to figure it out on my own as she always does, but this time it felt especially undesirable. My only course of action is to head back to the detective precinct. I can only hope that this Sylphie will show up eventually, but I cannot just let them roam free. The killer of MC-13 has proven to be a wicked individual, and if she walked into that danger, it would be my responsibility.

  I decided to head to my office to read the report on Linda Miller. The plan was to spend half the day analyzing the file and the records kept. However, that notion was quickly thwarted by an unknown person sitting on my chair. Did someone mistake my office for theirs? No, that happens a lot in here, but not to me, my door is especially different from any other office door. Before I could come to a conclusion, the person spins around in my office chair to face me.

  “Sylphie says ‘hello’, Detective.”

  What a surprise – my Assistant Detective is a short young girl with a rampant illeism problem. There was nothing to doubt. Her mannerisms match the description, and Faust’s report is strewn atop the whole table, covering even the keyboard for the computer. She looks quite ordinary – some Asian undertones and orderly black hair with freckles covering the middle of her face. The question I should be asking is – how did she get in here?

  “The door was unlocked, so Sylphie let herself in,” she somehow answered my inner monologue.

  Did I really leave the door open? I must be getting old.

  “You’re my assistant, I take it?”

  “Perhaps,” Sylphie gave an inconclusive answer.

  “What do you mean ‘perhaps’? You’re Sylphie Moore, correct? Why are you even in my office in the first place?”

  She seemed sweet when you only consider her appearance, but this girl is a menace already. Not only was she not present during the investigation, but she even appears where she shouldn’t be.

  “Perhaps,” she repeated, not answering any of my questions.

  “Good lord. How did you become a detective in the first place? Whatever. You are my assistant, but I don’t want you to take action by yourself.”

  ”Sylphie needed to straighten the facts, Detective.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Where were you when I needed you yesterday?”

  “Sylphie was not called upon. At the precinct, she stayed.”

  Her words puzzled me. “How was I supposed to call upon you when I didn’t even know who you are?”

  This time, I did not even receive a ‘perhaps’. Nothing about her speaks of good things. Truth be told, I don’t even know if I can trust or rely on her. Even the surroundings of MC-13 are quite vexing. The case was assigned to me in an unusual and unorthodox manner, the same goes for Sylphie. Regardless, she seems to have a connection with this case, given her history. The least she could do is provide me with information from previous counts of murder of MC-13.

  “Sylphie.”

  She hummed in response, showing her eagerness to listen.

  “Can you tell me anything about your findings on this case?”

  The assistant girl thought for a while with two fingers on her cheek, looking into a random corner of the ceiling. In truth, she did not seem like much of a thinker. But I could only rely on her, or nothing. The stated fact is that Sylphie Moore is a detective connected to this case through a long history of being an assistant. Despite her carefree appearance, there is no doubt that she knows more than she lets on.

  “Hmm, the killer is a man with an edge for professionalism, I suppose.”

  Huh? Was the culprit not seen to be the Face? A small-statured woman with short silver hair? Does she not know of the person present at Trelton Hotel? No, she must know of the Face, the case report is strewn over the whole surface of the table along with Faust’s file.

  “So there are multiple.”

  “Mhm,” she hummed a positive reply.

  “There is no doubt about it – the hotel incident featured a completely different identity.”

  “Sylphie thinks that the case has many people behind it, or perhaps more than one.”

  If what she said is true, then finding the mastermind might be more difficult than initially assumed. In the scenario where there is a leader ordering this series of murders to happen, how would I go about finding them? The only known figures as of right now are the Face and their unknown associate. The whole case is strange, and I hardly believe that a petite young lady is responsible for killing so many people – especially Howard Ritter, who is far from thin and small.

  “Where do you think we should begin, Sylphie?”

  “Sylphie read the reports, Linda Miller is a potential witness,” she exclaimed,

  “Our thoughts are at least a tad bit aligned, it seems. I had the same thought.”