V: Donna asked me to tell you that the Association has sent over a new Breach of Veil case. It's a ghoul.
H: I just got off the plane! Are they trying to work me to death?
V: This one is close to Melbourne. The last pair of exorcists took too long to find it, that's why they gave it to us, though those two didn't realize it.
H: Fine, then. I'll stop by the office later. Can you look up the target's information online and leave it on my desk?
V: What about Sudeiri's resignation?
H: You already know about that?
V: He handed in his resignation letter yesterday.
H: Damn it.
V: Need to find a new assistant?
H: I have to get in touch with Donna, see if she can help me with that.
Outside Tullamarine Airport, in a white Uber, Harvey turned off his phone and watched the car head east toward the city...
...
Halfway through the evening, dragging his exhausted body up the stairs, Ethan held his jacket under one arm. He had just gone to the CBD again, running around all day. At least this time, he didn't come back empty-handed. Thinking of that string of numbers, he couldn't help but smile.
He lived in a shabby student apartment on Latrobe Street—cheap and rundown. The wallpaper got soaked during rainy days, and ants always nested under the windowsill, but it was affordable! Just $360 a week, cheaper than some suburbs, and only one tram stops away from school.
It was small, but it had everything he needed: a private bathroom, wardrobe, air conditioning, study desk, fridge, microwave. In the three years he'd lived here, he never once complained to anyone.
Pushing open the door—ah! Home! Sweet home! The smell of carpets hit him. He tossed his keys and jacket onto the desk, switched on the floor lamp, bent down, pulled a cold Coke from the fridge, nudged the door shut with his hip, and walked toward the whiteboard plastered with photos and sticky notes.
Indeed, under the gentle glow, the apartment looked like a detective's office—evidence boards, photocopied maps, stacks of documents. This was the result of his month-long efforts.
He took a big gulp of Coke, eyes fixed on the most prominent photo on the board—a girl with unnaturally pale skin and unusually red lips, her body thin and frail. Her hair, smeared with a soap-like grease, shone a deep magenta in the sunlight. Although she was sixteen, she looked more like thirteen.
Hex Salvador, 16, a student at Haileybury. Tuition fees paid up front. Damn... what a rich kid. St. Andrew's was far worse, but Ethan still had to rely on a scholarship to attend. Tests and exams had never been a problem for him. He had a photographic memory—able to remember anything after seeing it just once.
He was also talented at analysis and numbers, which was why he'd been able to help those two find this girl.
Ahem... Anyway, Hex was just an ordinary student until March this year. On March 16th, her parents reported her missing. Ethan found all this in the missing persons database and managed to get a copy of the police's internal report through an online friend.
On March 15th, she left school at 3:45 PM, caught a bus to Glen Waverley Station, and took a train home. According to the owner of the boba tea shop opposite the station, she seemed calm and unthreatened at 5:15 PM.
The last sighting of Hex was at 5:30 PM, caught by the station's CCTV, as she got off at Burnley—her usual route. After that... nothing. She didn't return home that night and never came back. The police narrowed it down to the few hundred meters from the station to 34 Adam Street, but found nothing, eventually closing the case as a runaway.
This month, Ethan went out of his way to speak with her parents, schoolmates, and even her ballet coach. The conclusion was: "Hex was a very quiet child, average grades, rarely did anything unusual." In other words—no friends, not talkative, average grade, and very timid.
There were no obvious conflicts at home. In fact, she barely spoke except for the occasional polite comment. Running away seemed unlikely.
In the file those two gave him, it mentioned that the photo was taken outside a night club called "Shanghai Lounge" near the Crown Casino south of King Street, across the Yarra River on August 27th—nearly five months later. She hadn't left the city yet also hadn't sought out her parents. Ethan first thought she might have found a job, but his friend couldn't find her name in any businesses that hired high school part-timers.
So, a 16-year-old was wandering the city alone for almost half a year, without any help or income, and she knew she could go back to her parents whenever she wanted. Either she truly hated them, or there was something else going on. Ethan leaned toward the latter.
In addition to the August 27th photo, the file also detailed three similar murder cases, mainly concentrated around the south bank of the Yarra and near the Melbourne Port, occurring precisely every two months. Strangely, someone matching Hex's description was always spotted at the scenes.
Clearly, whoever those two were, they suspected Hex as the culprit.
When he investigated those three murders, he found that the "culprits" had all confessed. Three culprits, three murders. But something felt off to him, deep in his gut.
Unexpectedly, today he had run into one of the suspects. Just describing Hex's appearance made the guy wet himself, and he spat out a string of numbers.
That's the number Ethan was now dialing into his phone.
Beep, beep, beep... After a few rings, someone picked up...
"Hello, I'd like to talk to you about Hex Salvador," Ethan began. There was a burst of background noise, followed by quickened breathing, then the call was abruptly disconnected... Wow... Looks like he hit the jackpot.
He finished his Coke, threw his phone onto the bed, stood up, and crossed his arms, staring at the evidence board covered with photos—images of Hex from prep to year 10. She was definitely still alive and almost definitely connected to those murders... Frankly, it only raised more questions, not answers.
He was now 80% sure that the person on the other end of the phone was Miss Salvador, and if the pattern of the murders held, she'd strike again soon, assuming she was indeed responsible.
No, he couldn't tell those two just yet. This girl is worth $25,000! What if he was wrong? The faint call of "Bouncer!" in the background echoed in his mind. Considering the most recent photo was taken outside the Shanghai Lounge, could she still be there?
He needed to investigate personally, to make sure those twenty-five grands were coming his way...