"Who is it?"
Klein, lost in thoughts about the mysterious suicide of the previous occupant and the potential unknown dangers that awaited him, instinctively pulled open the drawer upon hearing the sudden knock at the door. He retrieved the revolver, eyes brimming with caution as he called out, "Who is it?"
There was a brief silence on the other side of the door before a slightly shrill voice called out in an Ahowan accent, "It's me, Mombaton. Biggie Mombaton."
The voice paused for a moment, then added, "Police."
Biggie Mombaton... The name immediately conjured the image of its owner in Klein's mind. He was one of the officers responsible for patrolling the street where the apartment was located, a rough, uncouth man who relished physical confrontations. Perhaps it was such a man who could instill fear in the drunks, thieves, petty criminals, and thugs. His unique voice was one of his trademarks.
"Alright, I'll be right there!" Klein called back loudly.
He had intended to throw the revolver back into the drawer, but then, recalling that the police might be coming for an unknown reason, possibly even a search, he carefully made his way to the stove, where the fire had already died, and hid the weapon inside.
He then grabbed a small coal basket and sprinkled a few lumps over the gun, placing the kettle on top to conceal everything.
Having done that, he straightened his clothes and quickly approached the door, opening it while mumbling, "Sorry, I was just taking a nap."
Standing outside were four police officers, all dressed in black uniforms with white checks and soft hats adorned with badges. Biggie Mombaton, his brownish-yellow beard well-groomed, cleared his throat and said to Klein, "These three officers have something to ask you."
Officers? Reflexively, Klein glanced at the shoulder epaulets of the other three. Two bore three silver hexagons, and one had two, all appearing to rank higher than Biggie Mombaton, whose epaulet displayed only three V-shaped symbols.
As a history student, Klein was no expert on police ranks but knew that Biggie often boasted of his position as a senior sheriff.
So, these three were inspectors? Influenced by conversations with his seniors Benson and Welch, Klein had picked up a bit of knowledge. He stepped aside and gestured toward the room, saying, "Please, come in. May I ask what this is about?"
The leader of the three officers was a middle-aged man whose piercing gaze seemed as though it could see straight through to one's soul, evoking an involuntary sense of dread. His wrinkled eyes were framed by a hint of brown hair at the edges of his hat. As he surveyed the room, his deep voice cut through the silence. "You know Welch McGowan, don't you?"
"What happened to him?" Klein's heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively asked, his words betraying his unease.
"I'm the one asking the questions," the authoritative middle-aged officer replied, his eyes cold as steel.
The officer standing beside him, wearing three stars on his epaulet, looked at Klein with a calming smile. "No need to worry, we're simply conducting a routine inquiry."
This officer, in his thirties, had a prominent nose and gray eyes that carried an unfathomable depth, like a lake hidden in an ancient, unexplored forest.
Klein took a quiet breath and organized his thoughts before responding, "If you mean Welch McGowan, the graduate of Hoy University from Conston, then yes, I know him. We were classmates and followed the same mentor, Senior Associate Professor Quentin Cohen."
In the Kingdom of Ruen, "professor" was not merely a title, but a position. It was akin to combining the role of professor and department head in Earth's academic system. Essentially, each university could only have one professor per department, and associate professors could only be promoted to full professors once their superiors retired or were ousted by merit.
To retain talent, the Kingdom's higher education commission had, after years of trial and error, introduced the title of "Senior Associate Professor" in the three-tier system of lecturer, associate professor, and professor, granting this title to individuals with either exceptional academic achievements or long-standing service, but who could not be promoted to full professor.
At this point, Klein glanced at the middle-aged officer's eyes, considering for a moment before replying, "To be honest, we got along well. Recently, Welch, Naya, and I have frequently met to interpret and discuss the 'Quaternary' documents he obtained—a notebook. Officer, what happened to him?"
The middle-aged officer did not answer immediately but turned to his gray-eyed companion.
The officer with the soft hat and unremarkable features, whose gray eyes seemed to possess an almost poetic quality, answered gently, "I'm afraid Mr. McGowan has passed away."
"What? How?" Despite his suspicion, Klein couldn't help but voice his astonishment.
Did Welch, like the original occupant, also die mysteriously? That was... unsettling.
"And Naya?" Klein quickly asked.
"Naya passed away too," the gray-eyed officer replied calmly. "They both died at Mr. McGowan's residence."
"Was it a murder?" Klein's mind began to race with grim possibilities. Could it have been suicide?
The gray-eyed officer shook his head. "No, the evidence at the scene suggests it was suicide. Mr. McGowan repeatedly slammed his head against the wall, so much so that the walls were spattered with blood. Miss Naya drowned herself in a washbasin, the kind used for washing faces."
"This is impossible..." Klein felt a chill run down his spine as he imagined the eerie scene.
The girl kneeling by the chair, her face submerged in the washbasin filled with water, her brown hair flowing downward, swaying in the breeze, yet she remained perfectly still; Welch on the floor, his eyes locked on the ceiling, his forehead utterly shattered, blood everywhere, with the wall behind him marked by multiple dents and stains of blood...
The gray-eyed officer's lips twitched slightly. "We too find it difficult to believe, but the autopsy and the scene confirm that there were no signs of drugs or external forces at play. They—Mr. McGowan and Miss Naya—did not resist."
Before Klein could speak again, the officer stepped into the room and casually inquired, "When was the last time you saw Mr. McGowan or Miss Naya?"
As he spoke, he gestured to his companion, who had two silver stars on his epaulet.
The young officer, who looked to be about the same age as Klein, with dark hair and green eyes, and a poet's romantic air, moved toward the desk. Klein, observing out of the corner of his eye, saw him pick up the "notebook," which resembled more of a diary.
Hearing the question, Klein's mind raced as he considered his response.
"It should have been June 26th. We analyzed a new entry in the notebook together, and then I returned home to prepare for my interview on the 30th, the one for the History Department at Tingen University."
Tingen was known as the city of universities, home to both Tingen and Hoy Universities, along with a technical school, law academy, and business college, making it second only to the capital, Bekland.
No sooner had he finished speaking than he noticed, from the corner of his eye, the young officer walking toward the desk and picking up the notebook that looked more like a diary than a scholarly journal.
D*mn! I forgot to hide it! Klein exclaimed in a sharp whisper, "You!"
The young officer flashed him a smile but did not stop flipping through the pages, while the gray-eyed officer calmly explained, "This is a necessary procedure."
At this moment, Biggie Mombaton and the stern middle-aged officer stood off to the side, observing but not intervening or assisting with the search.
Where's your search warrant? Klein had intended to ask, but after a moment of reflection, he realized that the judicial system in the Kingdom of Ruen hadn't yet evolved to include search warrants. At least, he had no knowledge of any existing ones. After all, the police force had only been established for about fifteen or sixteen years.
Back in the day, during the original occupant's childhood, they were still referred to as "sheriffs."
Klein had no choice but to watch as the young officer flipped through "his" notebook. The gray-eyed officer said nothing more.
"What's this strange thing?" The young officer turned to the final page and suddenly spoke up. "And what does this line mean? 'Everyone will die, including me'..."
Isn't it common knowledge that everyone, except the gods, dies? Klein had been prepared to offer a quick retort, but then he suddenly remembered his original plan—to align himself with the police, in case of any potential danger. The problem was, he had no real excuse, no reason to explain.
In less than a second, he made up his mind. He pressed his hand to his forehead, his voice heavy with feigned distress.
"I don't know. I really don't. When I woke up this morning, something felt off. It was as if I'd forgotten something, especially the events of the past few days. I don't even understand why I wrote something like that."
Sometimes, honesty is the best way to solve a problem. Of course, honesty needs to be done with finesse—what to say, what not to say is one thing, and when and how to say it is another.
As a "keyboard" expert, Klein had studied rhetoric a little.
"Absurd! Do you take us for fools?" Biggie Mombaton interrupted angrily, unable to restrain himself any longer.
This lie was so poorly crafted, it was an insult to their intelligence!
If you're going to pretend to be mentally ill, it's better than pretending to have amnesia!
"Really," Klein replied calmly, holding the gaze of both Mombaton and the middle-aged officer.
It couldn't be more genuine.
"Perhaps it is possible," the gray-eyed officer said slowly.
What? They're buying it? Klein was taken aback.
The gray-eyed officer smiled at him and said, "In a couple of days, an expert will arrive. Trust me, she should be able to help you recover your lost memories."
An expert? To help with memory recall? A psychologist? Klein furrowed his brow.
Ugh, what if it digs up memories from Earth? He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his teeth.
The young officer put down the notebook and proceeded to search the desk and the room. Luckily, he focused mainly on the books and did not think to inspect the kettle.
"Alright, Mr. Klein, thank you for your cooperation. In the next few days, you'd better not leave Tingen. If you must, please inform Officer Mombaton. Otherwise, you will be considered a fugitive," the gray-eyed officer reminded him with a final note.
That's it? This is where it ends? No more questions? No further investigation? Or maybe they'll take me to the police station and use force? Klein felt a sense of confusion settle over him.
Nevertheless, he wanted to resolve the strange events surrounding Welch. So, he nodded and said, "No problem."
The officers filed out of the room, and the young one at the end of the line suddenly patted Klein's shoulder.
"Really lucky," he said.
"What?" Klein was utterly confused.
The officer with the poetic air and green eyes smiled faintly and said, "Usually, in situations like this, everyone involved ends up dead. We're quite glad, and lucky, to see you still alive."
With that, he turned and left the room, closing the door politely behind him.
"Everyone ends up dead is the norm?" Klein was left reeling. "Glad I'm still alive? Lucky I'm still alive?"
In the afternoon heat of June, Klein felt a cold chill run through him.