Ch.310If… the Rat Catcher Was Right? (1)

Another terrible morning. A terrible yet ordinary morning where the only consolation seems to be not remembering my dreams.

I get up clutching my throbbing head and throw three empty boxes of sleeping pills—with warnings that overdose could lead to death—into the trash can.

Despite taking so many, there don’t seem to be any side effects besides the headache. My body functions normally. I go straight to the bathroom and pour cold water over myself, which somewhat alleviates the headache.

Still, I’ll use the headache as an excuse to rest today. I throw myself onto the relatively comfortable office chair, wearing just enough clothes. Everything feels like such a fragmented action.

I turn on the radio. The last station must have been a news channel as I hear a stiff voice, but I don’t change the frequency.

“…For those who may have forgotten who he is, he’s the man who deported the anarchist Emma Goldman who was disrupting American society in 1919. Having already experienced protecting society once…”

Tedious political talk. I was planning to ignore it and use the noise from the radio as background sound for a nap while burying myself in the chair, but then breaking news comes in.

“Ah, we’ve just received breaking news at our studio. A murder has reportedly occurred on Fifth Avenue in New York just moments ago.”

Fifth Avenue, huh? That’s in Yehoel’s jurisdiction. Besides, I wanted to forget something by working anyway, so it might be better to hear what kind of incident it was.

I slowly get up. I turn up the volume on the radio and listen carefully. The radio news anchor kindly provides the explanation I want.

“The victim appears to be a New York City official who was staying on the seventh floor of the Divine State Hotel. According to hotel staff testimony, the suspect was a human male with brown hair and blue eyes, approximately 6 feet tall. He reportedly fled quickly outside the hotel, so if you encounter a man matching this description on Fifth Avenue, please don’t approach him and report to the police.”

A New York City official would have a home and office in New York, so why would such a person be in a hotel room on a weekday afternoon? The first thing that comes to mind is a crime of passion.

Some high-ranking official might have been secretly meeting someone behind his wife’s back during the day and got shot by his wife who hired a private detective specializing in infidelity investigations. If the wife was more thorough, she might have even hired a hitman.

But the suspect’s description was too detailed for a proper cleaner. Even I could enter and leave such a hotel unnoticed without much difficulty.

Yet the job was too clean to think it was done by someone unskilled. Someone with excellent ability to kill but lacking the ability to do so without being noticed by others.

Something seemed to be coming to mind, but I decided to exclude that possibility for now. Soon Yehoel would come by. Until then, I decided to prepare for work.

I change my shirt and put on suspenders with a holster. While thoroughly checking my pistol, I hear an unexpected sound. Someone is knocking heavily on the door.

If it were Yehoel, he would have come through the window. And the height of the knock seemed closer to a human than Yehoel. It was a bit suspicious that a visitor would come right after a murder case, but business is business.

I open the door without hiding the holster suspenders. Outside the door is… a comrade from the Argonne Invincibles whose nickname I can’t quite remember, but whose face is familiar.

Thinking how ridiculous it was to be wary of him, I open the door. Right, his nickname was the Rat-Catcher.

He got that nickname because he was obsessed with cleanliness and spent all day catching rats with his trench knife.

He flinches when he sees me wearing the holster suspenders, but doesn’t pause for long. He hurriedly enters and closes the door first. Seeing this action, suspicion rises within me.

As my most trusted comrade, he should be the first I suspect. The crime scene was on Fifth Avenue, and while it would take quite a while to get here, it wouldn’t be difficult if he came by car during the time I was preparing for work.

And the possibility I was trying to recall but ignored was precisely my comrades. They are the only ones who are extremely accustomed to killing people but don’t do so in their daily lives.

Since using my pistol or drawing my hunting knife would be equally useless in this neighborhood anyway, I ask him as he stands with his back against the closed door.

“Did you do it?”

The Rat-Catcher’s first reaction is disbelief. Making a sound like he’s choking, he answers without excuse.

“Aren’t you more of a detective than a soldier? Damn. I’m not talented at deceiving people… Yeah, I did it. You have time to listen to me for a moment, right? I can explain in a minute.”

If he weren’t a comrade, I wouldn’t have given him a chance, but just as I couldn’t be easily harmed in this neighborhood, neither could the Rat-Catcher, so I decided to listen for a moment. But then, the phone started ringing.

It must be Yehoel. I put my finger to my lips to quiet the Rat-Catcher and pick up the phone. I bring only the receiver to my ear while watching the Rat-Catcher.

“Hey, Michael! Can you take a job right now? This fucking… Some bastard made a mess with a government official in someone else’s jurisdiction…”

Time to choose. Actually, I didn’t even need time to think about it. While Yehoel was a valuable police collaborator… he was no match for a comrade.

“No, I just took another job. I’ll review it later if you send it by mail… I’m with a client right now.”

Yehoel didn’t suspect me. After he hung up, I nodded to the Rat-Catcher, signaling him to talk. He pulled out a small book from his pocket and tossed it to me.

It was a scrapbook. It was full of carefully cut and pasted newspaper articles. “I Accuse.” Accusatory submission articles. The content was quite good.

Accusing a factory owner who used guns to suppress striking workers after one worker died getting caught in a paper machine. Accusing illegal bars that tarnish the Motherwood district… I read through it all.

Even so, if he killed someone because of newspaper editorials, I would have to stop him somehow. My rifle was in the closet. I speed-read through the scrapbook page by page and opened the last page.

The last page was from two weeks ago. Only a small notice about the newspaper suddenly being discontinued was pasted on the last page. And on the next page was a letter.

It seemed to be written by a journalist. The Rat-Catcher must have first asked why the “I Accuse” editorial was discontinued, and the journalist wrote that it was because he had made too many false accusations and the editorial department couldn’t tolerate it anymore.

No journalist would write like this. Not only would no journalist write like this, but no newspaper company would allow a journalist to write such a letter. External pressure, I concluded simply.

“A guy who prints lies in the newspaper wouldn’t hesitate to do so in a letter. What’s next? Did the journalist happen to die from falling down the stairs at his home?”

The Rat-Catcher smiled broadly at my guess. He seemed worried that no one would believe him… I thought it better not to mention that I could guess because I’d done similar things myself.

“Hey, mongrel. Really… I’m glad I came to you. It wasn’t his home, but they say he died falling down the company stairs—who could believe that? Look at the back of the letter. There’s something there too.”

On the back was an apology letter, similar to what I had made Walter Moss write. In such a situation, if a journalist wanted to leave something behind… Yes, there was something suspicious.

The letter was typed, but the address it was sent to was the Divine State Hotel. Specifically, room 706 of the Divine State Hotel where this murder took place.

A journalist living in New York wouldn’t take a typewriter to a hotel, be threatened, send a letter, and then return to his company to be murdered. He would have written the letter at home and deliberately written that address.

“So you thought this address was suspicious, went to check it out, and why did the murderer become a murderer?”

“I wanted to know what was going on, so I went to room 706 and was eavesdropping when they caught me. These crazy bastards were shooting with silencers in a hotel in the middle of busy New York. I didn’t even know he was a government official! I took out the shooters first and then shot the magician with their gun, and that magician turned out to be the official.”

The radio news didn’t mention any gunshots. If they had silencers in a confined space like a hotel corridor, the sound wouldn’t have traveled far, so that made sense.

But there was one more thing to consider. After spewing out those terrible feelings to the journalist yesterday, it felt sinful to even say this, but I had to check.

“I understand how. Would it be rude to ask why?”

The Rat-Catcher’s expression turns gloomy. He knew what I was trying to verify. I was checking whether he had fallen into some strange madness, trying to find salvation by sacrificing others.

He takes a deep breath and exhales. When he holds out his hand as if asking for a light for his cigarette, I gather mana at my fingertips to create a flame half the size of a fingernail and light it for him.

The Rat-Catcher takes a deep drag and exhales the smoke with a worried sigh. It took quite a while before he spoke.

“You know I’m about to have a child soon. We’ve seen all the filth this world has to offer. So… I wanted the world to be a little cleaner before my child is born, so I was originally going to investigate myself. But I only killed them because they tried to kill me. You know how you react and what you do in that kind of situation.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. How long are you going to stall when you know what I mean? I’m telling you to spit out the blood. It’s terribly sorry business, but…”

The Rat-Catcher takes another deep drag and nods. He just kept nodding for a while as if there was no need to say more.

“I know. I know. I understand how hard it is to ask. Yes, honestly, I did think about it. Could we wash our hands with the blood of guilty men? Could I atone by killing sinners? I once went out with the knife I used in the trenches. To see if killing whatever crossed my path—rats or whatever—would make me feel better when I came back.”

It’s a thought we all have at some point. Everyone in the Argonne Invincibles dreams of becoming vigilantes prowling the night. We believed such shallow actions could wash away our sins.

But most give up. Murder is too terrible a business to make a profession of. The Rat-Catcher seemed to be the same.

“But, you know… It’s not easy to kill someone after so long, especially not in an attack rather than self-defense. Even with liquid courage, I gave up and only got home at dawn…”

A smile returns to the Rat-Catcher’s face. He chuckles a little as if it’s funny. He continues.

“My wife, who was still awake until then, gave me hell. She said her husband was out drinking until dawn when she and the baby needed me. It’s funny. The people who need me are my family, but the person I needed was someone to kill to make myself feel better.”

You married one hell of a woman. There weren’t many women who could bring a veteran of the Argonne Invincibles, standing a good 6 feet tall, to his knees and scold him.

Moreover, even fewer people could bring a maddening Invincible back to his senses. He said with a relieved expression.

“So I changed my mind. Honestly, stabbing people to death because of my guilt is less normal than trying to make the world a better place for the people I love. Well, of course, I ended up killing someone and being here… But it’s strange. Why would a New York City official be there at this time?”

“I’m also curious about what they were doing that made them start shooting at someone who was eavesdropping. Did you see or hear anything? Think of it as a reconnaissance mission, Rat-Catcher.”

For now, he should be able to avoid the murder charge. He had fled here right after killing someone out of fear, and the police officer in charge of the case was my incompetent police collaborator.

At those words, the Rat-Catcher bowed his head briefly to recall any clues. It didn’t seem to take long. He soon raised his head, clenching his fists.

“Right! They said someone who would buy a child would be coming soon, and they also said to organize the donation ledger properly. Whoever it is, they’re playing games with donations…”

I felt a personal motivation for this case. Someone who would buy a child? Children aren’t objects. Children are children. They shouldn’t be involved in anything that could be called a case at least until they’re fourteen or sixteen.

I tried to speak calmly. Sometimes efforts can be useless, but I didn’t care that much.

“So some bastards might be trading children. The former is more shocking, but also harder to verify. If he’s a New York City official and mentioned donations, it’s obvious. There will be records of donations to various associations and foundations at City Hall. Damn, I’m used to breaking into homes, but now it looks like I’ll have to break into City Hall.”

The Rat-Catcher makes an impressed “Oh…” sound at how quickly I come up with answers, then starts to grin with a somewhat relieved expression.

Although all I had given him was a plan and nothing else, the Rat-Catcher was relaxed enough to joke. To an Argonne Invincible, a comrade was someone this trustworthy.

“What, are you scared? Well, you were always smaller than me in guts, size, or whatever, mongrel.”

I responded to his teasing with my own. I answered his meaningless malicious joke with my own meaningless malice.

“I was smaller than you in everything? I wonder what answer we’d get if we asked your wife.”

The Rat-Catcher makes a somewhat artificial surprised expression as if that comment went a bit too far, then hits back just as I did. It was a joke that could easily pass between comrades.

“Then I’ll go ask Sarah too. Winner takes all, I guess.”

Though it was a low-quality joke, it was enough to make us both laugh. After laughing out loud, the Rat-Catcher patted my shoulder and said as if making a request.

“Hey, mongrel. Even if this case ends properly… let’s bury this joke here at the very least. You know? If my wife finds out I’ve been saying things like this, she might kill me.”

“You’re talking like you’ve got it easy. You just have an angry human. If this gets to Sarah’s ears, I’ll be chased by an angry werewolf.”

After finishing those words, we lightly clasped hands and shook. It was a handshake that only people gathered for a single purpose could make… and a handshake agreeing to keep our crude jokes secret.