Ch.92Request Log #010 – The Missing Children (9)

After returning home, I faced hatred once again. You can’t see someone you love objectively. To truly see something clearly, love must be absent.

I spread the documents I’d brought from the association on my desk. The ledger was the first thing I needed to check. Not that those bastards would be looking for it anymore, now that everything had gone wrong.

The ledger contents were fairly ordinary. Like us, they operated on case fees and donations, but examining the donation sources revealed occasional names blacked out with ink.

I turned the page and felt the indentation marks on the back. E was at the beginning… Yes, Edward Collins. The name I’d heard from the police officer was definitely real.

I compared it with the documents taken from the lizardman’s office. These didn’t bother hiding anything with ink – they clearly stated that Congressman Edward Collins had hired them to kidnap Nora Williams.

Seeing how much money the congressman had poured into cooking these people’s goose, my $500 fee seemed laughable. If I’d known, I could have made a living wiping politicians’ asses.

It would be somewhat satisfying to tell someone who spent tens of thousands of dollars to buy a life that his own life wasn’t worth even $500. Anyway, the congressman and his daughter needed to be killed or committed to a mental institution.

They knew whose child they had stolen. And naturally, if left alone, revenge would follow. It’s better to eliminate future problems cleanly.

The clients didn’t know. They believed this cheap pulp fiction story would end once the detective they hired miraculously brought back their child.

Unfortunately for them, that would only conclude volume one. I opened my closet after a long time and took out my fishing box. I pulled out the line from John Volt’s sturdy fishing line can, which I’d never actually used for fishing.

I learned how to kill someone with fishing line from a murderer I once tracked down. Overcome with pathetic righteousness, I asked him how it was done, and after he eagerly explained the method to me, I strangled him with fishing line.

I think I understand now why his eyes lit up. Though I’ve never gone fishing, when I took out enough line for this job, the can was already half empty.

After pocketing the line, I put on a dark overcoat and rough jeans like laborers wear. These clothes wouldn’t pass for going out, but there’s nothing better for this kind of work.

I also packed a small counter like railway workers use and a mask before leaving my apartment. Uncharacteristically, the top floor was a bit noisy. Laughter echoed. None of my business.

I got in my car at the parking lot and drove toward the wealthy neighborhood that didn’t match my current attire. Driving quietly without any bumps, I reached the address I’d gotten from the police.

Quite an impressive mansion. Owning a proper mansion in a wealthy New York neighborhood proves he’s truly a congressman. But there seemed to be more cars than usual today. I parked among the cars near the sidewalk.

I looked at the mansion through binoculars. Despite the late hour, lights were on, and there were quite… no, a considerable number of people gathered inside. Not an ordinary day.

Still, the advantage was that security would be looser on such a day. I held the counter and scanned the surroundings with binoculars. Two security guards were watching the road from the front of the mansion.

Through the windows, I could see three more. It looked like a party. There were many sophisticated tuxedo-clad guests, as befitting an upper-class gathering. In the center of the crowd must be the congressman… No, it was a woman.

The congressman’s name was Edward, so not a woman. Then who was she? She appeared to be under thirty and was holding a baby. Yes, that must be his daughter. I memorized her face.

Scanning further, I found the congressman too. Away from the crowded area, among men in tuxedos, there was one man flanked by two security guards in suits. I noted the number of guards.

I moved my car, still running, to a spot with a better view of the mansion. Now I could see the content of a small banner inside. I muttered, almost chewing the words:

“Welcoming Hope Collins to our new family….”

No, that child’s name is Eleanor Williams. Her parents would have called her Nora. I wanted to storm in right away, but I needed to know more details to handle this properly.

I needed to know how many security guards there were normally and learn their schedule. Since he was a city councilman, I could check the council’s schedule. Until then, I would always carry my mask and fishing line.

No, wait. I thought of a method that would leave no loose ends. I wouldn’t need the fishing line. He wouldn’t be a murder victim but a father drowning in guilt.

I thought I was thinking rationally, but apparently I was quite angry. Perhaps I’d caught some emotion from the journalist. I took slow, deep breaths to calm myself.

So far, I’d counted seven security guards. Driving around the mansion in a wide circle, I found five more. During my final check, I spotted one more on the mansion’s roof. Thirteen in total.

Now I understood why there was only one guard at the orphanage. The party where his reputation was at stake was more important than a child who would never be in his hands anyway. Everyone has priorities.

After that, I returned home. It would take about a week. Walter Moss was lucky in a way. He survived even though I spent almost a week breaking in.

I reported to my clients that I’d found the child and it would take about a week. From the next day, I observed the congressman’s house from morning till evening, changing my car’s position.

Unlike during the party, there were fewer security guards. He always had just two with him. There didn’t seem to be guards stationed inside the house, except for one in the child’s room.

There were eight household employees. One butler, three female employees who roamed the house during the day, one nanny, two gardeners, and one chef.

The daughter didn’t stay home much. She seemed busy going out with her husband. The nanny mostly took care of the child, while the woman only occasionally checked on the baby after returning home at night.

Did she actually need a child, or was she just creating the image of a happy, American family for her father? I didn’t think about it. “Incident” was a more fitting word than “thought” for this situation.

The house became completely quiet after midnight. One gardener commuted while the other lived on-site; the young gardener left at six, and the old gardener returned to his room at eight.

The chef stayed until eleven, occasionally preparing late-night snacks for the congressman. The female employees went to bed at ten, and the butler only went to sleep at midnight.

The security guards seemed to return to their rooms around the same time as the butler. However, their rooms were closer to the congressman’s room than those of other employees. Time would be limited.

Breaking in at midnight would be best. Preparation makes perfect. On the fifth day, I found one more important detail. He also had a .45 caliber pistol.

Though I couldn’t hear the conversation, he seemed to be boasting to his security guard, gesturing with the gun that he could protect himself. Of course, the gun looked brand new, as if he’d never fired it.

I had enough information. It was time to act. After a week of stakeout and information gathering, on the evening of the eighth day, I called my clients. It was my usual reporting time.

They seemed to have been waiting for my call, but I didn’t have much to say. Actions speak louder than words.

“Detective! You said you could get the child back within a week… Oh, today marks exactly one week. Is there any progress?”

“Don’t go to sleep tonight. Like Santa Claus visiting on the God-President’s birthday, something good will happen. I’m hanging up now.”

After saying only what needed to be said, I hung up. I packed the fishing line just in case, but I probably wouldn’t need it. I didn’t bring a mask. It didn’t matter if my face was seen. They wouldn’t remember it for long anyway.

Again, I parked in that wealthy neighborhood. Having “commuted” here for a week, I wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Without smoking or drinking, I sat there waiting for midnight.

As usual, the house quieted down just after midnight as employees left one by one. There was a slight deviation in timing, but it was negligible. I immediately got out of the car.

The 7-foot-high iron fence with bars that offered a clear view of the house was honestly too low to even call it climbing. I crossed it like stepping over a mound. The pointed iron tips were completely useless.

To avoid leaving footprints in the grass, I walked along the pebble path right next to the iron fence toward the mansion. The congressman’s bedroom was on the second floor.

I didn’t need to go through the house. I jumped up lightly, grabbed the rain cover above the entrance, climbed onto the entrance roof, and from there, made a quick dash and leap to hang from the congressman’s bedroom window sill.

I opened the unlocked window and quietly pulled myself inside. The carpet was so plush that I probably wouldn’t have made a sound even if I’d thrown myself down.

He must not be a light sleeper, as he remained asleep, unaware of my entry. I approached him, hiding my footsteps. I drew my silenced pistol from my coat, aimed it at his forehead, and shook his shoulder to wake him.

“What is it, who would at this hour…”

He only opened his eyes after saying that much, and then noticed the silenced gun barrel pointed at his head. His expression didn’t change at all, as if daring me to shoot. He knew how to bluff.

With my gloved hand covering his mouth, I brought my lips to his ear and whispered. Despite my words, his expression remained firm. His attempt to act dignified was disgusting.

“The child’s name isn’t Hope Collins. It’s Eleanor Williams. Don’t worry. I won’t tell the newspapers. You just need to write an apology letter. The child’s parents aren’t stupid enough to try taking the child from a congressman. Now, get up.”

“Just like those slum dwellers to hire a coward who can’t even put a bullet in my head. You have no will. No will at all. If someone took my daughter, I’d hire an assassin to make sure they ended up dead.”

Though grumbling, he got up and headed to his desk. His expression hadn’t changed, but he was afraid of the gun. It was obvious he was trying to walk without taking his eyes off me, and his eyes honestly kept glancing at the gun.

The congressman took out a sheet of paper from his desk and arrogantly faced me while seated. He didn’t question why I hadn’t covered my face.

“So, what should I write to please those slum dwellers, Mr. Fixer? Assuming they can read, that is.”

“It’s simple. Just write what I tell you. ‘This child’s name is not Hope Collins. This child is Eleanor Williams.’ Honestly, she’ll have a better life here than with those dirt-poor parents, so they just need something to comfort themselves. Tell your daughter to bring the child. That was my assignment.”

I boldly lied. He wrote down what I said in neat handwriting and was about to fold the paper in half as if he would fold it himself. I stopped him.

“No, don’t fold it. We need to show it to that woman first. Wake up the butler and have him bring her. Tell the butler he can go back to sleep afterward.”

“I bet you only get to order people above your station at times like this. I hope you’re not excited by this feeling of conquest, you piece of trash…”

His words of contempt came back, but I didn’t care. Such words are all too familiar in detective work. Soon he pulled the cord connected to the butler’s room to summon him. I hid behind the desk.

Of course, I kept the gun aimed at him, so the congressman tried not to look in my direction, trembling but speaking in a rather solemn voice to the butler, asking him to call his daughter. This was good enough.

The butler had heard the anxious voice and seen the shaking eyes. Soon I heard trudging footsteps that suggested annoyance, and I pulled open his desk drawer and took out the pistol inside.

It was already loaded. The congressman, trying to pretend he wasn’t anxious, kept looking straight ahead. His lip-biting expression just looked like someone trying to act tough. The door opened. A woman holding a child entered.

“So… I have something to show you. Come here… It’s about that child, yes.”

“What is it, Dad? Is something wrong? You look anxious. If there’s any problem, why don’t we just get rid of the child’s parents altogether?”

The child was quiet. If there were a “sleeping appearance” category in a beautiful baby contest, Eleanor Williams would have won first place. The footsteps came closer, one step at a time. Now she was near the desk.

I stood up. With the congressman’s pistol, I shot the congressman’s daughter’s right eye as she held the surprised child. A deafening gunshot rang out. Only a black hole where the bullet entered remained.

The congressman’s face began to mix with bewilderment and despair, as he hadn’t been promised this. Yes, Eleanor Williams’ parents hadn’t hired some random detective.

This is all your doing. I took the now-crying child from the arms of the collapsing woman and briefly placed her on the desk. I covered the congressman’s mouth as he tried to scream and placed the pistol against his temple.

The scream died under my gloved hand. I pulled the trigger. Another gunshot rang out. Contents splattered. The congressman lost focus in his eyes and fell forward.

I thought it was perfect handling, but a few drops of blood had splattered on the child I’d placed on the desk. And there was no time to wipe it off. That would be my only regret.

Hearing someone rushing, I hastily put the pistol in the congressman’s hand and escaped through the window with the child.

After closing the window, I jumped lightly from the second floor and ran along the pebble path carrying the child, who was now so shocked by the two gunshots that she wasn’t even crying anymore.

It was time for double strength and double energy. With one arm holding the child, I hung from the iron fence tip with just one hand and swung my body over. I escaped silently, even as I heard chaos erupting inside the mansion.

Only now did I properly hold the child in my arms. I wiped the blood from her face with my outer clothing. Since a car suddenly leaving noisily right after the congressman’s death would be suspicious, I ran out of the wealthy neighborhood.

The child only burst into tears after nearly ten minutes. This child will forever remember those two gunshots. More than remember – she will never forget them.