Chapter Five - Stingrove District

  With our agreements made, we decided to pay a visit to the celebrity, Linda Miller, who lived in an opulent part of Misult City titled Stingrove. This lady is suspected of being at the scene of the crime for whatever reason she might have. After explaining my theory of the affair to Sylphie, who appeared to be listening with only one ear, I concluded that Linda is part of an affair with Howard Ritter. The question we need to answer is if she is a witness, and why she disappeared after the murder. A clear goal in mind, we headed onwards to Stingrove by car.

  “Sylphie thinks your car smells terrible, Detective,” she pointed out after minutes of silent driving.

  As for this rascal in my backseat, I still have no solid opinion on her. She possesses no qualities of a detective, yet she serves such an important role? It is perplexing, to say the least. This day will not only serve as investigation, but also proving if Sylphie is a real detective. Her conduct is haphazard and rash – I can only doubt her with how little I know.

  Stingrove is what one would describe as paradise. For me, it is more of a dystopian housing block for millionaires. Each and every house, in this case, the villas, are painfully boring. They all follow the same trend of lazy modernism, draining the neighborhood of identity. The colorless concrete rectangles that they like to call luxury getaways are for the common person the complete opposite. However, not everything here is terrible, the gardens tend to have more effort put into them. There is always at least one unique and exotic plant in the front yard, showing at least some sense of natural beauty. The roads are pristine, and the sidewalks are devoid of flaws. If every single person had the means to afford an expensive life such as this one, maybe we would not have murderers running about.

  That got me thinking, I have seen many killers during my years as a detective. They are always the same – they only kill, bringing down not only others, but also themselves. They lead an empty life full of despair for the sake of nothing. Most of them also followed the same theme of spiraling downwards after a minute crime, then later on resort to serial murder. In other words, they probably did not want to lead a life of crime. In my line of work, there is a distinction between two types of detectives – the peace preachers and the executioners. The former prefers to feed the criminals sympathy, trying to understand them rather than deliver their punishment. On the other hand, the latter sees them as less than human, something akin to bugs crawling around on the floor. I think it goes without saying that I prefer the second approach – murderers deserve no second chance.

  After passing another dozen of soulless concrete boxes, we have finally reached our destination. To my surprise, our Linda Miller has an actual taste for luxury. The villa before us resembled more of a French king’s chateau, rather than a cheap roof with a plastered sign saying “Rich” over it. The first impression is indisputably positive, as she managed to distinguish herself from the rest of her kind. Not only did the house look stunning, but her garden was also surrounded by a high hedgerow that was perfectly trimmed. Not a single slight branch stood out from it, the gardener must be being paid a whole fortune for such work.

  Sylphie’s first reaction after getting out of the car was gasping for fresh air, as if the car was actually putrid as she claimed. Needless to say, I will be paying close attention to her. I doubt that she has any malicious intent, but being careful goes a long way when done right.

  Leaving the young detective to her overexaggerated respiration, I continued towards the front gate, hoping she would catch up later on. As expected, the entry won’t be easy – the gate is closed and can only be opened by someone on the inside. I would have to ring the doorbell and cling onto the hope that they will fall for the detective act. Truth is, people do not have to consent to our visits unless we get a warrant from the police. Nine times out of ten, the person eagerly lets us in, and I was banking on the fact that this will happen here as well.

  I approach the doorbell and press it before I could form any doubts about my plan. I wait for a while before a voice of some man, presumably a butler, answers my call.

  “Miller Residence, how may I help you?”

  “We are the from the Detective Precinct Department. An individual residing here is being called upon as a potential witness.”

  The voice on the other side remained unresponsive for a moment. I sensed a tinge of hesitation from this behavior, as if they were hoping a detective would not show up. Totaling about fifteen seconds, the voice resumes our conversation.

  “I see, come on in. I will have to see your badge, if you don’t mind.”

  With that concluding sentence, the voice cut out, and the gate began opening. It appears that we are welcome. Once the gate opened to a reasonable degree, I headed inside the premises of Linda Miller, and Sylphie followed a few steps behind as well. With the view from the inner side of the property, I noticed that the garden is enormous. Traversing the tiled walkways gave me and Sylphie enough time to talk about a few things I was curious about.

  “So, Sylphie, how far did you get in MC-13 with the other detectives?”

  “Sylphie only wrote things down for them. There was no need to spare effort for those who barely knew anything.”

  “Basically, you got nowhere, right?”

  “The detectives did, I knew more than them,” she claimed.

  “That is strange. Wouldn’t it be in your best interest to help your partners?”

  “Sylphie hates working for others, Detective.”

  This was an excellent start to a colleague relationship. I could feel the bonds forming in real time.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  “You should know that I’m not letting you decide on your own in this case.”

  “Sylphie does not care about your opinions,” she said in a much more serious tone.

  When I heard that, I definitely felt a few nerves tearing apart. This girl was not willing to cooperate with me regardless of how much I tried. From the sound of it, she does not contribute to the case. Unless there is something I am missing, I would say that Sylphie is, simply put, a bitch.

  She then followed up. “However, Detective, Sylphie only wants you to prove yourself. Make it so that Sylphie is willing to help.”

  What is she thinking? I am the person of authority here, yet she acts and behaves as if I was her dog. If my air of authority did not have any effect on her, then I could only hope that she is not kidding about the “proving yourself” part.

  “Is being the best detective out there not enough for little missy?”

  “It is sub-par at best.”

  “Okay, got it, thanks. Look, there’s the damn door,” I point over to the entrance, upset at her response.

  Upon closer inspection, this villa is massive, spanning about four floors and at least fifty meters in diameter. If the person who opened the door for us is planning on making us find him in that maze, then we are as good as gone.

  Luckily, a man unlocked the door before we could reach it. From his formal attire of a family butler, I could tell that his voice probably matches the one I heard earlier. His expression was a bit worn, seemingly distrusting of us.

  The butler looked over to us. “Welcome, before you proceed to ask any questions, I will have to see your badge… er, badges,” he followed up with a quick glance at Sylphie.

  Both of us showed him our badges, to my surprise. I did not expect Sylphie to have the decency to carry her badge around, knowing how disengaged she is. But the badge was real, and my doubts about her identity were shattered. Seeing the connection of words ‘Detective Sylphie Moore’ seemed almost unreal after having seen her conduct. An additional note – our badges are featured with a simple ranking system. Every detective is assigned to a certain grade, ranging from D, C, B, A, and the ultimate S, depending on their performance. I am a holder of one of the few S-tier detective badges, showing my status as the best in yet another way. This system exists in order to accurately gauge the necessity of cases, allowing detectives to take charge of cases they can handle.

  What took me by surprise even more than Sylphie having a badge was her grade. Not in a million years would I consider this girl to be an A-tier detective as the badge claims. How is it that I have never even heard of her? Most detectives only reach grade B at most, leaving the upper grades for the bravest and most capable. In comparison, the only three detectives bearing the ‘S’ on their badge is me, Detective Nagel, and Detective Debrief. The second one is on his last legs, well on his way to retirement. Amidst these, how is it that Sylphie is comparable?

  Rather than comparable, beneficiary is the better word. There is only one thing that separates the A-tiers from the S-tiers, something that required a grade higher than A in the first place. One of the requirements needed in order to become an S-tier is to solve a case that we now grade as S-tier, correspondingly. However, in the past, we dubbed these most strenuous and mentally taxing cases as the Superseding Cases, named after the simple fact of them changing your entire worldview in order to allow you to solve them.

  Looking at that puzzling badge of hers, it brought me nostalgic memories. More specifically, it brought me back to the moment I solved the first Superseding Case. It was one of the ones announced by Watkins during the ceremony, the Wig Killer. An incredibly complex case revolving around the victims losing their hair, a requirement for the culprit to further his business against the competition. Shortly after that case was finally solved, the grading system we use now became commonplace. Both detectives and cases were given their ranks, and since then, we never looked back. What A-tier means in Sylphie’s case, however, is that she solved an A-tier case – something that cannot be called a small feat in the slightest. Simply put, anything above B-tier is a significant undertaking, not something to casually do as a pastime. I know a good chunk of detectives in her grade, and I can tell that she lacks something they have. Regardless of how she obtained the badge, I will not believe it until she shows her skills in front of me.

  Where does MC-13 stand in the ranking system? That is a question the board could not determine an answer to for a long time. It was considered to be a Superseding Case at first, but as the unrest grew from its incompletion, a debate began to place it even higher, to heights never seen before. With how little I was accustomed to MC-13 prior to my involvement, the title of the case file made me shiver.

  “Murder Case no. 13 – SS-tier complexity”

  I knew what I was getting into when I initially saw that. Comparing the trials and tribulations I encountered with the Wig Killer, I am expecting on running into similar problems, only difference being the magnitude of convolution being ten times as high. With that taken into account, Sylphie being the one assigned makes more sense, but not as much as if it was one of the S-tiers. Detective Debrief is busy with menial cases to boost his record, and Detective Nagel is struggling to stand on his legs. The board probably took a look at these circumstances and picked the next best choice.

  The butler spoke out to us. “Very well, then, you may do as you wish.”

  “Thank you, sir, it will only be a moment,” I replied, still hazy from my train of thought.

  “Sylphie will not take much time, sir,” the assistant chimed in.

  The butler led us inside the lavish spaces of the villa, which looked even more splendid on the inside. A wide array of statues and busts decorated the halls along with exquisite pieces of art and furniture. Sylphie was just as amazed as I was, which was also the first time she didn’t look like an absolute airhead. Both of us basked in the succor the villa provided as we traversed the corridors, looking around at the various portraits of ancestors and picturesque scenery. It was clear that I would not be able to afford any of this on a detective’s salary.

  I clarified to the butler that I needed to talk with Linda Miller specifically because of her involvement with the Trelton Hotel incident. I know for a fact that she was there at one point or another – what matters more is why she left, or when she left. It is possible that she was there completely unrelated to Howard Ritter, maybe as a previous host. In that case, there would be no point in interrogating her. As for the butler’s reaction, he seemed a bit hesitant in letting us near her, but obliged under some pressure.

  We were led all the way to some kind of conference room with a large elliptic table in the center. The butler told us that Linda will arrive in a moment, leaving to go fetch her and telling us to sit down. However, it didn’t sit right with me. Signals in my brain were telling me that this is some kind of ploy in order to make us unable to talk to her, given the behavior of the butler before.

  “Sylphie, this butler is– “

  “Avoidant. Sylphie and Detective should go after him,” she cut me off with the rest of my thought.

  The way she asserted herself was very different from her laid-back manner from before. She is much less a nuisance in the face of actual detective work, it seems. It is not something I am complaining about, rather, it is more welcoming that we are finally on the same page.