Kiera was in the middle of a lively conversation with a custor at her brothel when her phone lit up once. She saw the na and excused herself.
She frowned when she read the ssage. She had asked for the photos, but Alice encouraged her to co to Mistvale and et the doctor in person.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered.
Then she called her investigator. The call was answered quickly.
"Hello, Madam Kiera. Is sothing wrong? It’s quite late," he asked, yawning several tis.
"Tsk... where is the information I asked for? Why have you been quiet for so long? And... why does your voice sound different?"
She caught the change in the young man’s voice—it sounded deeper than before.
"About the information—I do have it. I just couldn’t deliver it. I caught an infectious disease and was quarantined for two weeks," he said, his voice sounding weak, still rough from recovery.
"Huh? You caught a disease and ended up in quarantine?" Kiera was stunned.
He clearly lacked both the competence and the physical endurance an investigator needed.
"Yes, Madam." He coughed several tis, as if to convince Kiera.
"What a sha," she sighed, pressing her fingers to her temple. This investigator was nothing but trouble.
Then she rembered sothing and asked, "You said Alice leaked the information the other day. Have you taken care of that person?"
"Please forgive ," he said over the line.
"I sent the wrong information... she never leaked anything. I’m really sorry. At that ti, I had already started feeling unwell, and my senses beca dull," he explained, his voice laced with guilt.
"What? Why are you so careless with your work?" She huffed.
He was really getting on her nerves. Both of her hired hands were unreliable.
Now she knew she would have to go to Mistvale herself to trace the information and maybe put a bullet in their heads.
"I’ll be going to Mistvale. Just wait."
She ended the call without waiting for him to speak.
Elsewhere, Stott lowered the phone slowly. It was the investigator’s phone, the one Kiera had sent.
After the attack on Griffin, he had fallen completely silent... far beyond her awareness.
Then he shoved another phone back to Alice after borrowing it to ssage Kiera.
He winked at her. "Thanks."
But then he warned, "If she ssages, call first before replying. Understand?"
"Yes..." she answered faintly.
"Here’s your money... enjoy." He placed thick bundles of cash in front of Alice.
It took a mont for the reality of it to settle. She smiled, and in the end, tears welled up.
"I can finally pay the fees and the dicine," she whispered to herself, sobbing.
She gathered all the money and stuffed it into her bag. The bag grew heavy, and her shoulder slumped as she slung it over.
Stott frowned and shook his head as he watched her.
It was she who requested cash instead of a bank transfer. Stott was only carrying out Dante’s orders.
"Don’t you have a bank account?"
Alice turned her head slightly when Stott asked.
"I did before, but it’s inactive now. Tomorrow I’ll go to the bank and settle everything."
Stott scratched his earlobe before he waved her off. It wasn’t his problem. He waited until Alice left, then closed the door.
He walked into Dante’s study, his steps almost like he was dancing, his lips moving as he humd a faint tune.
He was enjoying himself at the mont. The plan was halfway to success.
Arriving at the door, he knocked, a faint smile on his lips. "All settled. Just wait for that bitch to arrive."
...
A few days later, the villagers on the outskirts of Mistvale were horrified to discover human body parts scattered around an old, abandoned house.
The place lay far from the other hos, its isolation giving it an even more sinister air.
"Shoo!" one of the villagers shouted, waving at a stray dog that had grabbed a chunk of flesh and was trying to drag it away.
From a distance, they could see the grueso scene, with limbs and torsos cruelly severed and littering the yard.
The stench of rotting flesh hung thick in the air, making their stomachs churn.
Not all of them dared to approach. Fear pinned them in place as they waited for the police to arrive, their eyes fixed on the horror.
The wail of police sirens grew louder, red and blue lights flashing, and the villagers crowding the road quickly stepped back to give way.
The village chief approached two officers who had stepped out of the car.
"You the one who reported this?" one officer asked, eyeing the elderly man with a white beard while several villagers stood behind him.
"Of course, I had one of my people call," the chief replied in a slightly gravelly but confident voice.
His eyes blinked slowly, struggling to open as the sagging skin of his eyelids drooped with age.
"Very well," the officer said, following a fellow officer toward the house.
He spun around when he noticed the villagers trailing behind.
"Please, stay back from the scene," he said, his voice rising, firm, and accompanied by a sharp glare.
"We don’t want to contaminate any evidence," he added, then turned and continued walking.
However, several of them refused to back off, prompting the officers to block access and secure the area.
Not long after, another vehicle pulled up, its body clearly marked with a forensic logo, drawing the attention of the villagers, who instinctively stepped back.
The team climbed out quickly, carrying equipnt cases and wearing gloves and protective suits.
They tried to mark the evidence and carefully collected the scattered remains.
The officers continued to keep the crowd at a safe distance, ensuring nothing was disturbed during the process.
One of the forensic team mbers shouted, "I can’t find the head."
"Tsk..." he muttered, his jaw tightening as he surveyed the scene.
Another mber stepped closer, holding a gloved hand over his mouth to block the stench, and reported.
"Both wrists are missing as well. It looks like the killer deliberately did this to make identification harder."
He nodded, frowning, but refused to jump to conclusions. "Expand the search area," he ordered.
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