In the interrogation room, Henry's butler Dulm behaved like a sponge, squeezing out as much water as the pressure used, but at least he had no intention of keeping his mouth shut. It was like interrogating a habitual thief with a weak heart.
"Were those weapons in the basement an 'inheritance'?" Jorgen said.
"The master... no, one of Henry's ancestors was once very wealthy. He wanted to establish a private army to protect his property, so he spent a lot of money making those weapons. They were all specially designed, even with the family crest on them." Dulm stared uneasily at Jorgen and Hennessy. "Gentlemen, you're not going to send me to jail, are you?"
Hennessy exchanged glances helplessly with Jorgen. Dulm did not have the composure and courtesy of a wealthy merchant's butler.
"That's not something you need to worry about right now," Hennessy said. "But the less information you provide us, the less hope you can have for your next life. Continue."
"Yes, sir. Where was I...? Right, after that ancestor made the equipment, he began recruiting villagers to form his own private security force. Some bandits took the opportunity to infiltrate, gained his trust and killed him, taking away his fortune. But they did not find the weapons hidden in the secret chamber. The family has declined ever since, until Henry's generation. He did not travel to make money, but to find this inheritance - and eventually he succeeded."
"Then did he sell them all to the Syndicate?"
"No, not at all, Mr. Hennessy. Henry was smart, he knew that would be too hasty and might end up losing both money and goods. He took it slowly, starting with a sword, a musket. He would tell those buyers 'I have a thing or two', and those who buy scattered weapons are usually just small crooks, without the guts to kill the supplier. He accumulated wealth among small buyers like this until he gained enough respect in the business to dare deal with the Syndicate. In the underworld, no one dares kill a widely respected supplier. That would not be fun."
"How do you know all this? He only hired you after becoming rich, why reveal his past to you?"
"It's simple," Dulm showed a strange pride. "In fact, I was one of his earliest customers. My relationship with him is closer than you two gentlemen imagine."
Jorgen couldn't help thinking: Yeah, no wonder the Henry family has a tradition of trusting criminals and harming themselves. How farsighted.
"The first thing he did after getting rich was to buy the land where the underground chamber was located and build a residence on top of it. That's when he hired me to manage the finances - you know, the part that deals specifically with the arms business. Nominally a butler, I've never carried a single dish. But six months after taking the job, I realized - Henry's business wouldn't last long. The inventory was almost depleted. I advised him to take the opportunity to launder himself and stick to the fabric business properly. But he was preparing for one last deal. "
"With no goods, what did he intend to deal with?"
"He knew the names of all the customers. You won't find any names in the accounts he gave me to manage, the recipients were all replaced with A1, C3, K6, etc. - the names were all in his head. He planned to, uh, blackmail these people. Most of them were Syndicate people, if you want to know why he was assassinated, I dare say this is the reason. "
"Why did you go to the basement today?"
"It was just a coincidence, I assure you. Although I had previously inquired about Mr. Jorgen's name and knew that you two were working together on this case. But I went to the basement today just to take the opportunity to grab something valuable while the key was still in my hand..."
"To loot something worth money and run away?"
"I admit I had the idea, Mr. Hennessy. But I really had no other intention, and I have no ambition, as you can see, as soon as you told me to leave the key, I immediately gave up this last thought. Now I've said everything I know, can you let me go...? I promise to leave Southshore immediately and never come back, gentlemen. "
Jorgen spoke before Hennessy: "Thank you very much for your cooperation. However, we now have to detain you on charges of attempted theft and unlawful purchase of weapons."
"What? Wait, ... Mr. Hennessy, this is your territory, right? Only what you say counts, how can you let this outsider ... Mr. Jorgen, I mean no disrespect, but..."
Hennessy waved his hand to summon two soldiers to escort the panic-stricken Dulm away.
"Jorgen, what do you think?"
"Further interrogation is needed. But not today. If everything he said is true, the matter is not over yet."
"I don't quite understand what you mean."
"Killing only one person who might reveal information about his accomplices doesn't end it, it sounds more like a righteous act in the underworld, not what an organized and aggressive organization like the Syndicate would do. We need more information and enough waiting."
"It sounds like I should find a way to recruit more volunteers."
"You should."
"So... David Langston, can I release him?"
Jorgen was silent for a moment.
"No. Don't release him, but don't put too much pressure on him either."
"Do you think he's still a murder suspect? Or is he also a member of the Syndicate? To be honest, Jorgen, seeing him look like he wouldn't even dare to kill a mosquito..."
"I didn't say that. But it's not time to release him yet. Don't pressure him, don't beat him, but don't give him any preferential treatment either."
Am I too lacking in my own views? Hennessy thought. But he understood that without Jorgen, understanding of the case might never have reached this point. So he said, "Then do it that way."
Jorgen spent the following time in the security forces' archives, trying to find patterned series crime data. Later that evening, he returned to his temporary residence in Southshore, not expecting the doorman to say, "Someone is waiting for you outside your room," and was immediately on alert, even less expecting the person squatting outside his room to be Shelley.
"How did you know I lived here?" Jorgen said.
"My brother told me yesterday."
"Your brother? Who?"
"Hennessy, Hennessy Mareb. Haven't you been working with him since you got here?"
The Mareb siblings. Shelley Mareb and Hennessy Mareb. Why hadn't I noticed this coincidence of surnames before? Just because it was irrelevant to the work at hand? An image suddenly appeared in Jorgen's mind of Hennessy, the security officer, complaining to his sister after being ordered around by this outsider investigator all day.
"So ... what are you here for?"
"Don't you want to invite me in for a chat or something?"
"Uh, this is a temporary cheap place. Filthy. I think we'd better not," seeing Shelley's disappointment, Jorgen quickly added, "Why don't we go for a walk instead?"
"That's fine too."
Jorgen reached out and pulled Shelley up, who had been squatting. She didn't look as thin and frail as four years ago. This thought popped into Jorgen's mind the moment he touched her knuckles, as natural as a pre-rehearsed line.
"I want to apologize first. I seemed too excited that day."
"It's okay. My job does make people suspicious."
"I asked David later. He said you didn't hit him, just asked him some questions. That's your job, I shouldn't have..."
"Forget it. Let's not talk about that."
They walked down the street. There was no rain today, but the ground was still full of mud. When carriages were about to pass, they would get out of the way early. There were no beggars in Southshore, only people playing simple fiddle or juggling, and even if you didn't throw them a copper coin as you passed by, they wouldn't complain, but continued to play with their business, occasionally smiling. Before reuniting with Shelley, they were the only people in Southshore that Jorgen felt good about.
They did not say much. The most important information Jorgen learned was that after he left Menethil, Shelley immediately returned to Southshore. She now makes a living weaving and mending fishing nets. She goes to her family's fish shop three times a week to help out. Last year she took fourth place in the town harvest dance.
Jorgen had nothing to say about himself, and Shelley did not deliberately ask, especially about his experiences after joining Military Intelligence Section 7. He wanted to take a good look at Shelley, gaze into her eyes, like a man who knows he's about to go blind and wants to capture every sight before him in his heart. But he didn't dare.
Compared to four years ago, she had not changed at all. All the changes were simply natural maturation. But since joining Military Intelligence Section 7, something in him had really changed. He was afraid she would see it. Sometimes a single gaze was enough.
This situation continued until Shelley suddenly said:
"Can't you let Hennessy release David? Hennessy said he has no more suspicion, you proved it together."
Jorgen had a sudden feeling of being drowned. Did she come to see me just to make this request? Did she come to see me for David's sake?
"No," Jorgen said. "Not yet."
What he feared happened. Shelley looked into his eyes. Her eyes showed confusion, disappointment, and something inexplicable. This was not an idle gaze, but the kind that appears when searching for the secrets deep within you.
"I see."
Jorgen did not know what she saw.
"Well, I'm leaving. Thank you for accompanying me."
Where are you going?
After Shelley left, Jorgen stood there for a while, then returned to his temporary residence. He opened the door and entered the actually very tidy room. The key reason for the tidiness was that there was almost nothing in the room. A bed, under which was his gray suitcase containing some utensils, some key information and two daggers; also a bedside table and a chair.
On the table was a four-inch square little picture frame. Inside was Shelley's portrait from four years ago. This was the reason he had refused to let her into the room. He could well imagine how embarrassed he would be if Shelley saw this picture become the only decoration in the room.
It was drawn by him four years ago. He remembered that they had argued over whether or not to draw Shelley's freckles.