Ch.73Request Log #009 – How to Wash Away Sins (1)

# Another Terrible Morning

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

I grab my throbbing head as I get up and throw three empty small boxes of sleeping pills—with warnings that say “may lead to death if overdosed”—into the trash can.

Despite taking so much, there don’t seem to be any side effects other than the headache. My body functioned normally. The headache eased slightly after I went straight to the bathroom and doused myself with cold water.

Still, I should use this headache as an excuse to rest today. I throw myself into 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 was 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 just bury myself in the chair and take a nap using the noise from the radio as background sound, but breaking news comes in.

“Ah, we’ve just received breaking news at our studio. A murder has occurred on Fifth Avenue in New York moments ago. According to our sources, the victim was a factory owner who operated a paper mill, and one of his bodyguards was also found brutally murdered. What’s distinctive is that the perpetrator hung the victim by placing a rope around his neck and suspending him from the emergency stairwell of the building…”

I don’t need a detective’s intuition to guess what will happen next. Either Yehoel will call or he’ll fly over and knock on my window.

Well, I might as well prepare rather than wait for him to arrive. I needed something to fill my stomach, so I start heating another can while preparing for work.

I also clean the gun I didn’t use during the last bodyguard job. Murderers who kill in downtown New York are good at killing, not fighting. So, a gun should be sufficient.

I turn up the volume on the radio news. I change into more comfortable clothes from my casual wear, put on suspenders with a holster attached, and then put on an outer coat. It’s April, but still too early to part with outerwear.

“The victim’s shirt had the words ‘This is what will happen to all sinners’ written in the victim’s blood. Terrible. It seems like the work of a madman obsessed with some kind of ritual. People are reportedly fleeing from the Divine State Hotel due to the incident. This will likely significantly damage its reputation as one of New York’s finest hotels. We’ll bring you more information as it comes in.”

This is what will happen to all sinners… Similar to what I said to the warlock. Then the perpetrator is a vigilante. They privately punished the paper mill owner for doing something wrong.

The crime scene seems to be the same hotel where I attacked the elf reporter… To break into such a place in broad daylight, kill two people, and hang one would require at least two people. It’s not a job for just one.

For now, these are all hypotheses, so I should first ask Yehoel about the owner’s criminal record, and if there is one, ask for the factory address. Vigilantes only protect their own neighborhoods.

Judging by the fact that they wrote an old Latin phrase in blood—which would be inconvenient to write on clothing—they must have killed him while he was staying at the Divine State Hotel to leave a message. They executed him in a bustling area.

My meal ends with gulping down undiluted soup. This should be enough to keep me going for the day. I crumple the can with one hand and throw it into the trash.

At that moment, the phone rings. The precinct must be quite busy. Since it’s easier for him to search through files than to come in person, I pick up the receiver.

“Hey, Husband? I’m screwed. Why does all this shit happen in my jurisdiction? If you heard the radio news and are preparing, come to the crime scene with your car.”

The God-President will regret giving Yehoel a mouth if nothing else. Before getting up, I ask for the necessary information first.

“Bring the victim’s criminal record and factory address. Anyone can see this is the work of vigilantes, and if vigilantes broke into a hotel in the middle of bustling New York to kill and hang a factory owner, people would definitely know who they are.”

Yehoel’s distinctive laugh sounds through the static of the phone line. Murder cases weren’t uncommon, and jokes came easily even when people died.

“As expected of the great detective’s intuition. I’ll bring it, so meet me in front of the Divine State. Tell them you’re my civilian consultant and they’ll let you in. You know better than I do how to handle those who haven’t been purged.”

“Alright, see you in front of the hotel.”

It’s quite comforting that when working, I can only think about the job. Leaving yesterday’s events in yesterday, I put on my flat cap and walk out to get in the car. I head to Fifth Avenue.

Fifth Avenue in New York, already crowded, was now packed with people wanting to see the corpse. Journalists must have gathered too, as angels were flying low, spreading their golden wings wide to block the angles.

I park the car a bit away from the hotel and push through the crowd. There were quite a lot of people, but it wasn’t difficult to get through.

I nod to an angel beyond the light barrier that angels had set up with magic from the God-President to hold back the crowd.

“Call Officer Yehoel. I’m the civilian consultant he called.”

Usually, they would check if I’m a detective, but these mechanical, rigid angels who handle such grim tasks simply verify whether I’m a consultant called by an officer before easily letting me into the crime scene.

The angel briefly flies up, then returns to lift the light barrier for me to enter. I straighten my hat, which had become crooked while pushing through the crowd, and enter the crime scene.

It’s a crime for government agencies to hire detectives, but from now on, it’s not my fault. It’s the responsibility of the angels behind me who didn’t properly verify, so I can move freely.

Seeing me enter, Yehoel in police uniform immediately folds his wings and glides down to land right in front of me. As always, it was a very heavy landing.

“Hey, thanks to you, I’m saved. Thanks to you, I’m saved. When this is over, I’ll buy you another drink at Eden… Please help me out, man.”

Yehoel wasn’t an angel with talent for police work. He had neither talent nor experience… and he was promoted and purged too quickly. The only thing he had going for him was his perceptiveness.

He handed me what was practically the victim’s entire personal file. I go into the side alley of the hotel where I had hidden before to avoid being seen by journalists, and start reading through the file.

Otto Ruthmann, a dwarf entrepreneur. Just like that half-blood wizard from before, he was a very patriotic dwarf, and yet he used an orc as his bodyguard. It seems these types are all the same.

While dwarves might be the superior race, he was charitable enough to give the bodyguard position to an orc. With this sarcasm in mind, I look for his criminal record.

Of course, a factory owner wouldn’t have a criminal record. Still, thanks to Yehoel being an angel with at least minimal perceptiveness, prosecution records were included at the back. So… ah, how illustrious.

He had been indicted several times for workers dying during strikes at his paper mill. Seems like he used incompetent thugs.

Competent hired muscle would have minimized killing when breaking up unions and would have disposed of evidence properly if they killed enough to cause problems.

But that was about it. There are plenty of factories with conditions bad enough to cause strikes, but there was no indictment record that would explain why this factory owner was hanged here.

If I had found something dirtier here, I would have thought, “So that’s why”… It doesn’t seem like he personally killed anyone or assaulted someone’s daughter or wife.

He didn’t do that many things to earn hatred, yet he was punished like this. It would be right to reconfirm whether it was vigilantes. I shouldn’t narrow my thinking.

Or… it might be something more personal. The patriotism of dwarves is quite disgusting. Since the factory was in the slums, it wouldn’t be difficult to go there directly. I returned the file.

“Nothing useful here. He didn’t do anything… shitty enough to be hanged like this. You know? To hang someone or publicly put a bounty on them requires more than just hatred.”

“Isn’t it just some deranged vigilante? I mean, someone deluded into thinking they’re an agent of justice, going berserk and killing people for even minor offenses.”

How many lunatics are there in this city? Looking at the cases that come to me daily, there must be more than just a few. So, let’s keep that possibility in mind.

But Yehoel shakes his head as if that’s not the case.

“No, no. The scene was too clean for it to be some masked, deranged vigilante. The orc bodyguard only had three stab wounds in his back, and the boss was thrown with a noose around his neck while still alive. If it were vigilantes full of hatred, they would have butchered him. The skill level is more professional than vigilante.”

This city had no shortage of professionals either. Apart from taking private clients, I only dealt with the Clichy boss, so I didn’t know other professionals well… but I could ask Giuseppina.

Even though our relationship was as filthy as dirt, she would have to treat me as usual to protect his honor, so it’s not my concern.

Anyway, listening to Yehoel and thinking about it, it didn’t seem likely that a vigilante obsessed with revenge would leisurely write a Latin phrase on the boss’s chest before throwing him, so I agreed.

“Generally, such people wouldn’t know Latin either. Unless they’re from Virginia.”

What I was saying, and what was written on the boss’s chest, was originally the Virginia state motto: “Thus always to tyrants.” I knew it because a comrade whose nickname was Virginia used to say it habitually.

Yehoel was about to ask about a strange clue, so I immediately clicked my tongue and shook my head. Looking for someone from Virginia would only create unnecessary complications.

“It’s common knowledge, common knowledge. If we put everyone from Virginia on the suspect list, it would just be a waste of effort. Well… if you want to try, I won’t stop you. Anyway, I’ll contact you if I find anything after looking around.”

“If you have time, pray that the God-President will bestow some incomprehensible honor on me so I can solve this myself.”

I burst into laughter at his joking tone. He knew well that I hadn’t attended the God-President’s church for years.

I walk out through the angels blocking the opposite end of the alley. This was another case. So far, only two people had been killed, so the reward for catching the perpetrator right away wouldn’t be that much.

Still, since it happened in my police informant’s jurisdiction, it would be right to handle it quickly. For now, I decide to trust my intuition and return home to change clothes.

I put on shabby jeans and an old shirt, and wear a cheap coat with a zipper, then leave home again. Now I won’t be kicked out of the bars where factory workers go.

Since the factory was in the slums, I wouldn’t need to walk far. I head toward the slums again, scanning the address from the personal file Yehoel brought.

This street always stank. With a cigarette in my mouth, I gather mana at my fingertips to create a flame half the size of a fingernail to light it.

The cigarette smoke was acrid, but mixing it with this air wouldn’t make it worse. Since cigarette smoke is better than the smell of rotting waste, it could even be called environmental beautification.

I arrive at the tobacco shop where my kobold informant is and push open the door. This time, instead of an employee, the kobold was standing at the counter. Recognizing me as I entered, he made a voice mixed with sniffing sounds.

“Welcome… sniff! It’s Husband, sniff! Almost didn’t recognize you! I’ve told you countless times, sniff! If you’d chosen acting instead of detective work, you’d already be at Carnegius Hall!”

“The detective work pays too well for me to spout nonsense in a performance hall named after an archdemon. Anyway, did you hear about the person killed on Fifth Avenue in New York?”

The kobold nodded. He might just be trash doing dirty deals with a small shop in this slum, but of course trash knows best about what happens in the garbage can.

“Then this will be quick. Here.”

Since I gave him $5 last time, giving a bit more this time would make it easier to get him to talk. I have a $10 bill, but to give it some thickness, I overlap two $5 bills and push them across the counter.

The kobold, after properly counting the two $5 bills, grinned with a sniffing sound and nodded. In terms of buying smiles with $10, informants weren’t much different from escorts.

“Sniff! This is why I don’t, sniff! Cut ties with you! So, just a while ago, a guy who looked unusually neat for this neighborhood went toward the factory! He was human with brown hair… ah, and bright blue eyes! Nothing else special, sniff! The workers all went to work normally, and the factory owner rarely comes to the factory anyway. Will you share some of the reward with me, sniff! If you catch him?”

“Of course I will. The bounty will be tiny, but I won’t refuse to give you a cut of that tiny amount.”

Since I exchanged help with Yehoel rather than money, the income from this job wouldn’t be that much. I mock the kobold who was licking his lips without knowing this, then leave the tobacco shop.

A human with brown hair and blue eyes—since the kobold didn’t mention gender, it must be a male. And judging by his description of “neat”… what that kobold meant by neatness was being properly dressed in a suit.

No matter how I looked at it, it didn’t seem like the face of a vigilante, but I decide to follow him anyway. Vigilantes are mostly kids craving affection and recognition, like Giuseppina.

He probably went to brag about what he did to the workers of the factory whose owner he killed.

This is where vigilantes generally fail. No matter how cheerfully they blurt out, “I killed that guy and hanged him from the building window for you!” they’ll usually just be driven away with disgusted remarks.

From then on, they see the factory workers who drove them away as villains and target them next under the name of revenge. After killing a few people like that, they very simply get their identity exposed, get arrested, and sit in the electric chair. This was generally the life cycle of the species called vigilantes.

I hadn’t walked far, but I could already see factory chimneys spewing hot air and steam. That must be the paper mill.

It felt like daily life, which had briefly derailed, had found its way back. It’s as if today—neither the yesterday I don’t want to return to nor the tomorrow I don’t believe in—has finally returned.