Ch.284The Eighth Entanglement – Law, Order, and Capriccio (13)

The detective would be under suspicion a bit longer, but the case was essentially over. He knew how to handle suspicion, and his opponent wasn’t particularly patient.

Rose wrote an article about a criminal she’d never met but had personally arranged a lawyer for. Inspector Semangelof had allowed her to cover the story directly, making it another exclusive.

The exclusive-making machine of Golden Age Press had produced another scoop today. This article was quite combative. Since her confrontation with Charles Clichy, Rose Leafman’s writing seemed to stand on completely different ground.

With proper framing, Inspector Semangelof, who could have been portrayed as a policeman who identified a criminal through momentary intuition, instead became an angel who cornered a suspect without evidence. It would be hurtful, but she willingly inflicted that hurt.

The headline “Did the God-President lend wartime powers to that angel?” was enough to catch the attention of people looking to alleviate their boredom on their commute, and enough to make them angry.

Those who sided with the workers fumed at the suggestion that a factory worker would kill someone from the Industrial Spirit, while those on the opposite side fumed that the angels had betrayed their trust in law and democracy.

Though the anger would eventually dissipate, Rose’s writing was enough to make people angry. Paulina saw that newspaper and the reactions of those who read it, and something occurred to her.

After Inspector Semangelof filed his report, a grand jury would be convened to determine whether to indict. Twice as many people would gather as for a petit jury that selects twelve jurors.

But what if it wasn’t just twice as many? To begin with, Inspector Semangelof had brought Rose the journalist into places she shouldn’t have been allowed, just to wrap up the case quickly. He hadn’t even imposed an embargo.

Paulina thought about increasing the grand jury from twice twelve to five hundred thousand times that number. She stood up, tossing aside precedents of murder cases where workers had been framed.

Rose, who was reclining in a chair listening to radio news while on a day’s leave due to the article’s aftermath, looked up questioningly when Paulina appeared.

Paulina wore an expression like someone casting a gambling hand. It wasn’t an expression she wore often. After all, she wasn’t someone who enjoyed gambling.

“Rose, so… Inspector Semangelof took you to the interrogation room to cover the questioning, right? He also handed over evidence as if it was nothing special.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right? I think he originally intended to just give me a few pieces of information from the file because of Michael’s journalist connections, but that didn’t go as planned. Why?”

Paulina listed the evidence Inspector Semangelof had fabricated. The banner he deliberately failed to secure, the piece of clothing with what looked like dwarf blood applied by dropper… and the hastily constructed alibi.

The rest weren’t physical evidence. The fact that he hadn’t even collected the banner could lead to accusations that the lawyer had removed it, and the alibi was merely speculation, but not the bloodstains.

“So, I’m pretty sure that angel gave you some photos, right? Photos of evidence. Wasn’t there a photo of clothing with bloodstains on it?”

Rose rummaged through her collection of evidence photos and soon pulled out a picture of clothing with unnaturally round bloodstains. There had been no place to use it while introducing the case.

Can she prove that Inspector Semangelof personally handed it over? The detective had been beside Rose throughout the interrogation room observation. If he provided just one statement, it wouldn’t be difficult to prove.

And that man was a constant. He was someone who would testify for anyone as long as sufficient compensation was provided. Thanks to that, situations where his very existence became a variable were familiar.

“Let’s publish it in the newspaper. Under the guise of follow-up reporting on the previous article, we’ll display that photo alongside photos we take ourselves of fabric with red dye or whatever dropped on it, and ask if it looks natural. The grand jury that decides whether to indict a suspect typically uses twice as many jurors as the petit jury Rose is thinking of… but what if it’s not twice, but five hundred thousand times?”

While a trial by law was predictable, a trial by public gaze and whispers could be guided. Rose was someone capable of that. And it wasn’t even a lie.

Rose scratched her cheek while her ear tips twitched. Somehow, it felt similar to when she fought against the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn. It felt like before she fell out with her father.

“That seems like something that would make that angel inspector extremely angry… I mean, it completely overturns his plan, right?”

“If it comes to that, we could always contact Madam Ysil. It’s funny to say that while your ear tips are twitching as if you think it’s a good idea.”

Only then did Rose cover her long ear tips with her hand. Paulina always had her eyes covered, but she saw ahead better than anyone. Rose nodded while covering her ear tips.

“That can’t be helped! Ah, are there any other problems? Like being accused of stealing evidence. Honestly, we should worry about that too, right?”

Now Rose could see a bit of the bad side too. She knew well enough that every obsolete regulation only briefly revives when someone tries to speak the truth. It was a solution Paulina could handle.

“There won’t be. Inspector Semangelof gave the materials directly to Rose, the detective was watching beside you… and that man wouldn’t refuse to work if paid. Before they can hold us responsible, that angel will be called to internal affairs to realize how sloppy this whole thing was. And are you worried even with me by your side?”

Though she wasn’t wearing her shield at the moment, Paulina lightly tapped her sleeve. To Rose, that gesture looked as reassuring as if she were wearing her shield.

She was surrounded by reliable people. Rose always had numerous safety nets. If she fell feet first, Paulina would catch her; if she fell head first, the detective would grab her midway and roll on the ground in her place—an ambiguous trust. She had many people in ambiguous relationships between exploitation and employment.

But it was always her job to throw herself off the cliff where those safety nets waited. It would be fair to say she was closer to an acrobat than a journalist.

She decided to throw herself again this time. She decided to publish the article under her own name, not the names of those outside the stage.

Rose herself knew how quickly things progressed once a decision was made. Within an hour, an investigator from Petrov & Volkov arrived at her home with a bundle of experimental tools.

He dissolved a dye that resembled blood in water, then took out several droppers to compare sizes before selecting one and dropping the mixture onto workers’ uniform fabric. It looked almost identical to the photo.

Rose gathered mana at her fingertips. She injected mana into the camera. She took pictures with a camera that resembled this era, where most components were in a “just use magic” state for the sake of being lightweight.

While the film soaked in the makeshift darkroom she had set up by sacrificing one of only two rooms in her small house, Rose began writing her article. She would write about evidence that could be created within an hour.

The newspaper needed to sell. It had to be written to sell viciously well. Selling meant being read, and writing wasn’t created when it was written, but when it was read.

So Rose brought out the same kind of blatant criticism and mockery she had written before. A murder made in five minutes proven in five minutes. She rather liked the headline.

Rose held no ill feelings toward Inspector Semangelof. She only harbored the same kind of hatred the detective seemed to have for the fact that if she had listened to him, she might have written lies in print.

She didn’t harbor too much of it. She gave Inspector Semangelof a moment to catch his breath. After cornering someone with nowhere to escape, she had to open her arms for an embrace.

She lightened the inspector’s responsibility by suggesting that this kind of slapdash administration resulted from trying to fill trust lost elsewhere with empty phrases like “100% arrest rate.”

This was something she learned from the detective. To trust willingly, and if betrayed, to willingly cut off that trust and seek revenge as if they were lifelong enemies.

Rose’s strategy differed slightly from his. She could forgive one betrayal. But only once. A second time might be stupidity.

The draft was finished within two hours. After checking it once, she headed straight to Golden Age Press with Paulina. After showing it to the editor-in-chief and receiving advice to supplement the content a bit more, it would be complete.

In Rose’s editor’s view, the article was quite inflammatory. It looked like a denunciation posted in the middle of town, as if typed with hatred instead of ink. But the writing was flawless.

Ultimately, that hatred stemmed from resistance to a policeman named Semangelof who invited a journalist and expected the article to be written to his taste, and from witnessing an innocent person being made into a murderer.

She looked like a different person from the Rose Leafman who had tried to publish an article criticizing dwarves after seeing a dwarf beating a goblin on the street. Her father was reflected in her.

No, it’s natural for a father to be reflected in his child. It might not be a bad thing that she was wielding the lightning that man once had according to her own will, without being controlled by shadows.

So the editor-in-chief directly called several people he consulted when writing police-related articles. He called them to the company and showed them Rose’s article.

Most opinions were that there would be no problem if the angel had indeed handed over the photos. Yet there was a caveat… but the editor knew that too. This was an act of stabbing with a knife received as a gift.

Would Golden Age Press be okay? No, he worried about Rose first. If there was an opinion to indict despite such false evidence, an assassination warrant might come.

Although Rose’s lawyer was quite capable, he wasn’t as good as the prosecutors. He wasn’t at a level to face people wielding two swords inscribed with the God-President’s words.

Nevertheless, the editor didn’t ask Rose. He just nodded after letting out a sigh that sounded like he was suffocating.

“This… should go in the evening edition. This kind of writing is better read at dusk, Reporter Rose. I wonder if I gave you a month’s vacation instead of a day, would I see your bright articles again…”

The editor spoke with a voice tinged with unease. There’s an inexplicable discomfort in the heart of someone watching a poet become a fighter. Even though it’s a world where fighters survive better.

But Rose was as much a person who revealed Rose Leafman as she was someone in whom Charles Clichy was reflected. She smiled brightly.

“I might write a bright article even if you told me to come to work tomorrow! You know what kind of person I am! I haven’t completely become a New Yorker to the bone!”

“I’m quite old, Miss Rose. Constantly making my heart jump like that can’t be good for my health. I certainly thought you’d become a good journalist… but I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly, or in this way, so I’m a bit worried. I’m not usually this kind of person, but I’m being overprotective like a father…”

Rose saw her father in him. Though it might be disrespectful now that the name Charles Clichy had become synonymous with the Forest’s Firstborn, to Rose, her father was still her father.

A person who had both love and hatred in excess… Only the good parts of her father, whom she could neither forgive, hate, nor love, were visible in the editor-in-chief. Perhaps because he too was a father.

To be more cynical, perhaps he was dreaming of something similar to a father-daughter relationship between a twenty-year-old woman whose father had disappeared and a father whose twenty-year-old daughter had disappeared. But she decided not to be cynical.

There was no particular reason. Just… the editor-in-chief’s words touched her heart compared to the unconditional pardons her family used to send. Rose twisted her hair that no longer floated.

“Ah, well, it’s probably just because I don’t come to the company much. Even these days, I feel my inadequacy three times a day and my self-esteem drops, but then people around me lift me up and I come back. I won’t say ‘don’t worry’… but, well… thank you for worrying about me. Yes, that’s right.”

For someone raised to not be stingy with gratitude and apologies, it was quite an awkward statement. Rose thus planted a razor blade in Golden Age Press that would deliver a major blow to Inspector Semangelof.

But Inspector Semangelof was in a tighter spot than Rose had thought. The report he submitted came back unchanged. It contained only a single opinion stating that there would be no indictment due to insufficient evidence.

Inspector Semangelof flew straight to the New York City prosecutor. With each beat of his heavy golden wings, the building’s wind added force. Angels could fly, but doors were only on the first floor.

Whether using the roof or the ground floor, they always had to enter through doors. He’d heard it was a measure to prevent the directly created angels from becoming arrogant, but right now, Inspector Semangelof felt like breaking the glass.

He went directly to the prosecutor who had declined to indict his case. He expected some nobody who had barely removed their assistant prosecutor badge, but instead found an ordinary middle-aged prosecutor with graying hair slicked to one side.

Inspector Semangelof asked, hiding his emotions. He hadn’t come all this way to throw a tantrum. He only wanted the transfer to proceed smoothly.

“The opinion stating that there is insufficient evidence to prove the charges came without a single letter of explanation, Prosecutor. I hope you’re not still being cautious because of those two anarchists. Aren’t law and justice in our hands? From motive to eyewitness accounts to the time of arrest, doesn’t everything fall perfectly into place?”

Noticing that the angel’s voice wasn’t threatening, the prosecutor drew a sword from his waist. The God-President’s words glowed white upon it. The prosecutor asked leisurely.

“The statement looked more like my mother’s patchwork tablecloth than a testimony. Even if I believe the testimony, the evidence is too flimsy. Both the orc and dwarf died bleeding profusely on the floor, but all you found on the suspect’s sleeve was blood from one human, and a drop of dwarf blood on the forearm is insufficient. Unless there’s more.”

His words subtly implied that if he had attached his reasoning, Inspector Semangelof would already be under investigation by internal affairs. He questioned the inspector who had ignored his courtesy by raising his sword tip.

He raised his sword with the God-President’s words burning white, as if challenging him to prove otherwise. It was an object given to serve and protect. It was an object engraved with the God-President’s power, far more sacred than any ritual.

The suspect Inspector Semangelof had caught would have lost a chunk of flesh if their chin touched that blade, but now he was in the same position. The omniscient God-President’s power made no distinctions or exceptions.

A story that had jumped between formats—one layer of romance, a murder mystery, and perhaps a tale about the courtroom—was about to evaporate. It was fading away without even becoming a flame.