Ch.37Ch.4 – The Perfect Human Image (3)

Abashina released me. My body no longer trembled. Her face looked more relaxed, as if her mind had calmed down.

“We made a promise, right?”

I nodded. Abashina put her hands behind her back and walked past me.

“I thought only I and our sisters were monsters who act like humans but don’t eat them. You can’t imagine how surprised and pleased I was when I saw you enter the tavern. Wow, there are others like us. We weren’t alone. How relieved I felt. Of course, I’m not saying you’re exactly like me! What I mean is, um.”

Abashina was quite hesitant, which was unlike her. Eventually, she pointed to her mouth with her finger.

The spot where fangs would be, differing only in length between ordinary people and vampires.

I nodded to show I understood.

“You understand? Good. Although my sisters are… ‘that’ kind, rest assured we never drink the blood of living people. Just as humans are omnivores but don’t tear apart birds raw on the street. Instead, we drink other blood. Like this.”

A silver hip flask gleamed in Abashina’s hand.

“Ta-da! The blood of the Lord! Not real blood, of course. It’s blessed wine, only called ‘the Lord’s blood’ during Mass. But that’s not important. What matters is that drinking this is enough to sustain us. So I won’t go ‘chomp’ on you.”

Abashina curled her hands like cat paws and made a small “meow” sound. Then, grinning, she lifted the coffin lid.

“So. What secret is hidden in this coffin now?”

The inside of the coffin was filled with straw and other cushioning materials, probably to prevent damage.

After removing everything down to the bottom, there were no special symbols, spells, or mechanisms. The coffin lid was the same. No notable information was visible.

“Herbert West. I’ve never heard of him. It’s a person’s name, right?”

I hadn’t heard the name either. Abashina walked toward the warehouse door and called for Sister Beatrix. A short nun with black bobbed hair came running eagerly.

“Our sister here is amazing at tracking. Isn’t that right, Beatrix? She remembers which children miss Sunday Mass and spends all day searching for them.”

Beatrix mumbled in a timid voice.

“I just worry about the children, Mother Superior. The little ones who come to the South Cathedral don’t get proper care. But I never go empty-handed. I give them each a piece of candy…”

Abashina proudly patted her shoulder.

“Stand tall, I’m praising your good work! Hmm. We need to find ‘something,’ but we have no idea where it went. It’s a mannequin about human size, made of wax, and quite large. It walks rather stiffly, like a doll. Can you track it? I think we should examine the dirt ground around this warehouse area.”

The content was absurd, but what was more bewildering was Beatrix answering “Yes” in an uncertain voice.

“You can do it! Start now, Sister. Beast, it’s your turn now. As a detective, what would you do here?”

I went outside the warehouse to find Joe Torio. Instead of Torio, a ferret-like man was sitting on a bench next to the parking lot.

“The ‘Right Hand’ is engaged in other business.”

His British English was crisp and precise.

“Speak to me instead. I will relay your message.”

Conveniently, he had a notebook of appropriate size and an expensive pen. I explained to him that there was nothing more to learn from the warehouse.

“Is there any additional information you need? Mr. Torio said to ask for any support you might require.”

I had gained an unexpected ally.

I felt some reluctance about receiving help from the mafia, but upon reflection, I realized that the South Church and I were helping them with something they should have done themselves.

Unconsciously, I had come to consider this matter ‘my’ business as well.

Collecting my thoughts, I decided to advise the White Hand on what they should investigate.

(1) Information about the sender and recipient of this ‘coffin’ shipment. Tracing the addresses could provide clues.

(2) Information about the name Herbert West. This could likely be found in police records or at the library. Access to media information might be possible through the Pollard Times newspaper.

“Is that all? Understood. I cannot say precisely, but it will likely take considerable time. I’ll have someone deliver the information as it’s found. Shall we use 22 Gordegas Street as the address?”

I asked him to send it to Mother Superior Abashina at the South Cathedral. Gordegas Street was too far from here.

In contrast, the South Cathedral was quite close. The hitman nodded.

“Is there anything else?”

I asked him if he were to shoot someone here, how would he escape afterward.

I could see displeasure rising in the hitman’s brown eyes, but he soon carefully surveyed the surroundings.

“First, let me say that your question is quite offensive. An apology will be in order after hearing my answer. But since Mr. Torio instructed me to provide what you need, I’ll answer.”

The most likely route would be to the west, where there are hills and outer roads. Intermittent motorcycle engine sounds suggested Sister Beatrix was searching there.

What about other directions? To the north of the warehouse is the Pollard South Dock. If one needed to blend into a crowd, they would go there. But if they had gone that way, they would have been easily spotted, and there were no such reports.

The east and south are occupied by the sea. Unless there was a boat prepared in advance, escape in those directions would be difficult.

Having finished his answer, the man lifted his chin slightly.

I apologized to him politely. The man nodded once and turned to walk away, presumably to make a phone call.

After waiting a while, I heard the engine of an Indian motorcycle from the direction of the hills. It was Sister Beatrix.

“I have something to tell you, but this isn’t the right place. Where is the Mother Superior?”

Beatrix and I returned to the warehouse. Unfortunately, there was nothing special on the hills or beyond.

Instead, she had found evidence that someone had opened and closed a manhole cover in the direction of the hills.

“Dirt tends to get caught between the cover and the manhole rim. It gets compacted and doesn’t easily lose its shape. I found such compacted dirt scattered around the manhole.”

“See? Our sister is not only good at tracking but also very perceptive.”

Abashina gently patted Beatrix’s back. The short black-haired nun’s face turned red.

“It might be nothing, but we should go down and check. Lead the way.”

“Mother Superior, as if exploring the underground cemetery in our columbarium wasn’t enough…”

Beatrix listed all sorts of complaints.

Whether it was Abashina’s growing smile or her folded arms that moved her, I’m not sure, but eventually she led us to the manhole in question.

“I’m going down first. You won’t pretend not to look while stealing glances at my legs like last time, will you?”

Before I could say I had never done such a thing, Abashina descended into the sewer with clanging sounds. Beatrix followed, and I was the last.

The sewer was not as dark as I expected, thanks to sunlight streaming through the manholes. The amount of sewage was minimal, but the stench was worse, perhaps due to the proximity to the sea.

“Look.”

Abashina, who had untied her eye patch to cover her nose, pointed ahead. Something like a semicircular tube about the size of a human hand had fallen there.

It was whitish and easily visible. It was a piece of wood wrapped in wax with a steel rod inside.

The surface color was dark red, and the texture was rough.

“This is dried blood.”

Abashina pointed to the dark red crust.

“I can’t read it. It’s too degraded. But it’s definitely human blood. Hey, Beast, doesn’t this part look very similar to here?”

Abashina held the wooden piece against her jawline. The wood was thicker, but the shape was almost identical.

“Mother Superior, what does that mean?”

Sister Beatrix trembled. It wasn’t a question asked out of curiosity. It was to confirm a denial: ‘Surely not, right?’ But Abashina coldly shook her head.

“This wooden part matches exactly where the wax figure supposedly tore off—specifically, Salvatore’s larynx. But why would this figure tear off its own neck?”

Beatrix let out an incomprehensible groan. A red-eyed rat that had been watching us made a ‘squeak’ sound, seemingly displeased, and disappeared into a rat hole.

Since there was nothing more to see, we continued forward. After walking for some time, we saw a section where bright light was coming in.

The side of the sewer pipe was exposed to the outside world. There were bars and a small door connecting from below to above, perhaps an entrance for sewer maintenance workers.

The lock on the small door was crumpled on the ground, and the door swayed weakly in the wind, creaking.

Emerging from the sewer, we saw a road wide enough for two cars to pass and shanties.

They were embarrassingly makeshift dwellings, cobbled together with whatever materials were available.

Long clotheslines followed wooden stakes, with laundry flapping in the wind. White smoke rose from haphazardly set up cauldrons.

Emaciated people, adults and children alike, stared at us with vacant eyes.

“It’s a slum.”

Abashina sighed quietly.

“I never dreamed it would connect here. This is an area the South Cathedral watches over with concern. It’s a bit removed from downtown and always exposed to crime. Especially the children are defenseless.”

We entered the slum. The smell, not much different from the sewer, came from all directions.

The main source of the odor was the hanging laundry, which hung damp, unable to dry properly.

Still, people recognized the nuns’ faces and greeted them warmly.

Among them, we met a young man carrying a sack of flour. One of his eyes was blind, but he was quite spirited.

“What brings you here, Sisters?”

“Good to see you, Aaron. Were you busy last week?”

Sister Beatrix asked with a smile, but Aaron seemed quite caught.

“How did you know? Do you really memorize all the believers’ faces and names?”

“If you come once every two or three weeks like now, I might forget Brother Aaron’s face first.”

“I’m ashamed.”

The young man named Aaron put down his sack.

“Actually, I’ve been busy lately. There’s not much work, so I have to move around a lot. And now there are ominous rumors going around, which makes me more worried.”

“What rumors?”

Abashina asked with wide eyes.

“Don’t laugh. You know? So there’s a telephone in this area. You know the small house where the water management people come and go? The kids played around so much that the windows were boarded up and the door was chained, right? Well, the door was found open.”

Aaron, who had been speaking casually, stopped.

“Why are you all so tense?”

“And then?”

“So… was it Arthur? Or Pim? Anyway, one of the little ones went closer and saw a man in military uniform making a phone call. He thought it was a soldier and got scared, so he turned around, and would you believe it… the man’s neck was ‘rotating.'”

Aaron playfully demonstrated by turning his head to the right rear. When none of the nuns laughed, his face reddened with embarrassment.

“So, what happened next?”

“Don’t know. The kid got scared and ran away. Oh, this might help—a truck came to this neighborhood that day. Funny, right? Trucks never come here.”

“Were there any victims?”

Abashina asked with such a serious face that Aaron became serious too.

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“Brother Aaron.”

Abashina lowered her voice.

“Anything will do. Tell me whatever comes to mind. This is very important. Even far-fetched stories are fine.”

Aaron rolled his eyes around. Then finally clapped his hands.

“Ah! The kids say they saw something like a mannequin walking in the moonlight. The elders said so too. According to an elder who went to England during the Great War, it looked just like a ‘wax figure.’ I’m curious—have you been to London? They say there’s no place in the world like London!”