Ch.87Request Log #010 – The Missing Children (4)

On my way home, I bought two new silencers. I’ll likely need to do a lot of shooting, and it would be extremely inconvenient if the sound wasn’t properly muffled like last time.

This time, I didn’t play the role of a clueless gentleman. I simply walked into a hardware store I’d never visited before and confidently purchased them, claiming they were for target practice.

There was lead residue on my gloves and a faint smell of gunpowder on my clothes, but I didn’t arouse suspicion. It seems store owners pay less attention to their customers than I expected.

I return home. I heat up another can of food for a quick dinner, then immediately call the journalist. It was time to exchange information. After a couple of rings, the call connects.

“Rose Leafman? This is Husband Detective Agency. I believe we agreed to call in the evening about exchanging information.”

I maintained a certain level of politeness in case someone else answered the phone, but once again, it was the journalist herself who responded. Her voice sounds somewhat heavy. She must have some valuable information.

“Since I answered, you don’t need to be so formal. I’ll pay you separately for information… But I’ll tell you what I know first. Consider it an advance payment.”

Her tone is uncharacteristically subdued. Her voice sounds muffled, as if she’s swallowing her anger. She must have discovered what happened through her police contacts. I could understand why she’d be angry.

But judging by how dejected she sounds… Yes. She must have also learned about the involvement of high-ranking officials. Someone who has already hit the wall of reality once forgets how to fly, like a bird that’s hit its head against a wall.

“It seems too difficult to handle this through the newspaper. I mean, there are over forty victims, and I heard two New York city councilmen are connected to this. I heard people from the councilmen’s offices came and demanded the investigation be stopped. I know the councilmen’s names. What did you find out?”

She had exactly the information I needed. Barely suppressing the smile forming at the corner of my mouth, I whispered to the journalist who had lost heart upon learning about the involvement of high-ranking officials.

“Don’t whine about powerful people being involved. You’d be better off thinking about what headline to use, and what words would be most satisfying when telling those creatures they’re finished. Which adoption agency is involved, who did it… why they did it. I’ve found out everything you don’t know, so don’t worry. We just need to find the children. Understand?”

The Hanger of New York and the human-dwarf smuggler I caught were both apprehended in less than a day. These high-ranking officials trying to cover up their business were no different.

A hint of hope enters the journalist’s voice. She seems to realize she doesn’t need to swallow her anger. However, she remains cautious. She seems to have learned that good things don’t come easily.

“You seem unusually kind.”

“And you’re being unusually rational. I’m just looking for necessary allies since clients waiting at my door asked me to find their child. Besides, you and I both hate people who kidnap one-year-old children and then try to live as if nothing happened.”

We all hate something. Even journalists hate injustice, and people become merciless toward what they hate. If this journalist is truly the daughter of Clichy, she would excel in this aspect.

With a little more coaxing, I could get the names too. I shared what I had learned today.

“As it happens, my client saw the perpetrator, and since the only reason to kidnap infants is for adoption, I focused on adoption agencies. When I went to the Continental Adoption Agency with a package, I was able to track down the perpetrator who was receiving gifts from those councilmen. I took him away and extracted some information, but while he confessed everything else, he didn’t know where the children were and refused to name the councilmen.”

She takes a deep breath, seemingly understanding what I meant by taking the perpetrator away, but she was trying to act like Rose Clichy rather than Rose Leafman.

“This time… no, just this once, I won’t tell you that private sanctions are wrong. They broke the contract first.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at her attempt to maintain a haughty tone like a cat trying to appear strong while gritting her teeth. I didn’t dislike it. This is how a journalist should be.

“Contract?”

“The contract that instead of taking revenge directly on those who commit crimes against us, God-President and the law will punish them. They tried to escape this contract. So they deserve whatever happened to them at the hands of someone like you. I want to ask one thing. What did you do to him, and how did you kill him?”

The journalist whispered into the phone, her voice soaked in hatred for injustice. She probably thought there would be fewer victims. When expectations are shattered, people become confused. They begin to hate.

It was similar to what Gremory had said, but this time the purpose was different. Gremory wanted to feel guilt, while the journalist needed a vaccination to tolerate me just this once.

“I took him to a waterfront warehouse I rented under a false name. I beat him with lead pipes used for plumbing, dunked him in ice water until he passed out, and repeated this several times until he confessed everything. I tried to get the councilmen’s names by promising to spare his life, but that failed. So I released him in front of his house, then shot him in the back while he was calling out his wife’s name. Satisfied?”

I told her without holding back. If she still wanted to work with me after hearing this, she would follow along. If not, she would express her disgust and run away, saying she’d handle it her own way.

The journalist took several deep breaths in succession. She was too delicate an elf to endure such things, but she must have been quite angry about this case as well, since she didn’t hang up.

“This choice will remain a source of shame for me. Though that’s a word people rarely use these days.”

She spoke as if proudly drinking poisoned alcohol. I didn’t bother to suppress my laughter.

“Don’t worry. I’ve met a demon who said exactly the same thing.”

It seems she resembles Gremory more than Selkie does. The journalist took another deep breath. She seemed tired of realizing she was angry.

“Then that’s somewhat fortunate. So… alright. The original plan was to put the faces of the missing children in the newspaper’s advertisement section with a message saying their parents are looking for them. But I’m an emotional person, and I thought I might cry if I had to post forty pictures, especially of babies. Instead of swallowing my tears, I’ll channel my anger and go find them with you. What about you?”

“Children should be allowed to live as children. Having their faces on faded missing person posters is something more suited for adults who are at least fifteen. We share the same goal.”

Now I was beginning to understand how she could be the daughter of Clichy. Everyone in that family harbored some form of hatred. He raised at least one daughter to hate injustice.

“So, you mentioned the Continental Adoption Agency? Could you come with me tomorrow morning? You see, journalists who approach agencies offering to write articles praising them are common. The agencies don’t mind having their names in the newspaper, so they easily welcome such journalists. If I make an appointment now, we can walk right in tomorrow.”

The journalist could provide legitimacy. On her own, she could visit but would only scratch the surface. I had the ability to search for information once inside but lacked a legitimate reason to enter. A perfect match.

If we collaborated like this, I wouldn’t need to get the councilmen’s names immediately. We could take our time. I decided to focus on the plan.

“How long can you stall them? If you say you won’t disrupt their work and aim for the evening when most have gone home, I could search through their filing cabinets while you keep them busy.”

“I was thinking about lunchtime… but your idea is better. I can stall for as long as needed. If I ask them to tell me about the agency’s history, I can easily kill two hours.”

I’ve always sneered that my work is full of options, but this time there truly would be many choices. I nodded briefly.

“Not bad. So, how will we handle the people involved at the agency?”

“Well, I can call the police. They may not be angels, but they have enough rank to easily arrest agency members. As for the councilmen…”

I clicked my tongue as she was about to say something weak again. I threw her own words back at her.

“You said they broke the contract. Besides, I was told they’ve already sent the children to those high officials. We’ll need to enter their homes. I’ll handle the officials. You handle the agency.”

From a chaotically mixed business card holder, I find and pocket a card for a mental hospital that I obtained while working with Clichy.

It was called a mental hospital, but it wasn’t really a place for people with mental illnesses. It was a place to eliminate concerns for high-ranking officials. They could confine people with justification, and since it wasn’t a prison, it wouldn’t attract attention.

“I should sympathize with those people… No, I won’t. I don’t need to ask your advice about my feelings. I won’t care what you do.”

Her voice was trembling. When someone verbally insists they won’t do something, it means they’re already doing it in their heart.

“Pretending to be strong, I see.”

“That’s not your concern. Anyway, let me be clear that our goal is to return the children to their parents. Right?”

“Right. I’ll contact you again tomorrow. I need to report to my clients.”

The journalist, having burned through her hostility and malice, simply responded with a tired “Yes” before hanging up. I’d never seen someone rise from being an annoying woman to a quite decent ally so quickly.

I call the contact number left by my clients. I needed to carefully select what to say and what not to say. I could sneer at the journalist, but not at my clients.

The call connected almost immediately, as if they had been waiting by the phone. The husband spoke with an urgent voice.

“So, Detective Husband… Mr. Husband the detective? Our child…”

I didn’t bother imagining how many detectives he might have asked if they were the right detective. That was beyond a detective’s responsibility.

“I haven’t found your child yet, but I’ve discovered several good leads. I’ll tell you what I’ve learned, but can you wait even after hearing everything? I’ve made plans to find out where your child is, but if you suddenly go there yourselves, you might ruin everything.”

It was like showing water to someone dying of thirst but telling them not to drink it. Most clients made mistakes at this point.

But these clients seemed different. Whether the five hundred dollars was their savings or prize money their child won for placing third in a beautiful baby contest, they were willing to give it all up.

“We can wait. So, you’re… a professional, right?”

“That’s right, I am a professional. I’m someone who traded what people call conscience and morality for what others call audacity and skill. I may not be particularly polite, but I’m capable, and as long as you pay me and I retain some professional ethics, I’m even loyal. Is that enough of a speech for you?”

Instead of an answer, I heard the sound of someone swallowing. So I told him:

“It seems your child was kidnapped by the Continental Adoption Agency. Apparently, many children died during the recent smuggler incident, and there are many people who want children to replace their dead ones. Your child, who placed third in a beautiful baby contest, was one of their targets. That’s what I’ve found out so far. Now I’m going to find your child.”

He sighed deeply. Saying “Just a moment,” he put the receiver down on some hard surface and excitedly called out to his wife who must have been anxiously waiting beside him.

He exclaimed that I had discovered who took their child, in just one day no less. That I would find the child now. That they had made the right choice coming to this detective… and countless other expressions of joy.

I didn’t listen closely to what they said about me, as the other end of the phone line was their private space. Soon the client picked up the receiver again, sniffling as he spoke.

“I was going to say we don’t mind waiting a few days, but to find out so quickly! Thank you, thank you so much! We’ll wait just as we did until yesterday. Truly. We can even swear to it!”

“There’s no need to swear. This isn’t my business, it’s yours. I’ll trust that you’re capable of handling your own affairs.”

It’s fortunate this child wasn’t kidnapped at a young age. This child will grow up happily. Children with parents willing to spend $500 for them generally do.

After hanging up, I disassemble and clean my gun again. Even firing just one or two shots leaves dirt inside. Dirt prevents proper firing when you need it.

I reattach the silencer and adjust to the subtly different weight from last time. Hopefully I won’t need to use it tomorrow, but one should always be prepared.

Since I was in the middle of a job, I limited myself to just one glass of whiskey from the secret drawer under my desk—just enough to help me sleep.

I didn’t dream. Dreaming is too luxurious when working. I woke up before completing even four hours of sleep, but waking up at dawn and waiting until morning was all too familiar to me.

I smoked until my room looked just like London. Only when dawn broke did I open the window to let the smoke out, and once again took a breath of unpleasantly refreshing air.

By this time, the journalist should be awake too. Someone as fragile as her wouldn’t sleep well the night before planning something like this. I dialed the now-familiar number.

It didn’t take long to hear a voice slightly drunk with sleep. I’m not sure if it’s better that she got some sleep.

“Yes, hello. This is journalist Rose Leafman… Who is this…?”

“It’s Husband. Did you make the interview appointment with the agency? If you’ve already made the appointment, I need to think about how to accompany you. Even if we’re going in the evening, preparations should start in the morning.”

Upon hearing the name Husband, she awkwardly cleared her throat and composed her voice. Her pronunciation was still slipping, but it was much more tolerable.

“Ah, yes! I called the person in charge right after we hung up yesterday and made an appointment. But I thought it would be strange for a journalist to be accompanied by two bodyguards, so I said I’d only bring one lawyer…”

“Don’t worry about it. Disguise is one of my specialties. So… we need to coordinate our story and make plans, so let’s meet at 9 AM. Is that alright?”

The journalist groaned as if she was nauseated.

“Now I understand how you manage to handle everything in a day… You’re disgustingly diligent… Fine, see you at nine…”