Chapter 69

Contract killing.

"Hm."

Not what he'd expected to hear, but not surprising either.

Kill the estate's caretaker down in the southern Bertholdt domain, then move straight up to the capital and attempt a kidnapping? That wasn't something you did on ordinary nerve, and if it had been a thrill kill, the route made no sense in the first place. Unlike Nicola Rowell, Dustin Glenn's identity hadn't been swapped somewhere along the way. Born and raised in the capital, with plenty of witnesses to prove it.

That there was someone behind him was easy to see. And it was only natural that a plan that unhinged would rely on a disposable pawn who could be cut loose at any moment.

The question was who had put him up to it.

"The other victims?"

"The victims in the cases in that report... ordinary people. Unsolved murders. Laborers heading home late at night, restaurant waitstaff, that kind of thing."

That much he knew.

Anne looked at the iron door, her face tense. Small voices were coming from inside. Just audible if Harold paid attention. Soundproofing wasn't a concern.

"You said he worked at a newspaper?"

"A delivery man would be moving around all over the city."

"Glenn's delivery route... conveniently overlaps with the areas where the suspicious incidents happened."

"Incidents? Or..."

"Whatever they were."

The city watch wasn't incompetent.

At least, not as far as Harold knew. There was a reason the watch survived, again and again, in the middle of all that tangled politics.

"How many years?"

"Three years' worth so far."

Meaning it might go back further.

"You remember the Doak family's younger daughter?"

The dead Intelligence officer who'd used Dustin Glenn as an informant.

"Yeah."

"That report was five years ago, right? He was named a suspect and still wasn't arrested. I can't see Count Bertholdt having simply forgotten about him."

"No, he wouldn't have."

"He must have... looked into it."

Anne glanced at the Intelligence officer standing guard. Harold and Anne's exchange would be perfectly audible to him, but he gave no sign of noticing.

Same on the other side, of course — a watch officer Harold recognized from the Archibald estate. This one had to be Anne's most trusted subordinate, and going by the voice coming from the sickroom, the Intelligence officer had to be...

That was why Anne was speaking so freely.

"You think what my brother uncovered was destroyed?"

"That's what Viscount Manfred thinks."

The voice coming from inside the sickroom was Viscount Gauss Manfred's.

If Dustin Glenn had really just been a violent-tempered ordinary citizen, Albrecht Bertholdt would never have bothered keeping a separate report on him.

That alone was enough to be suspicious. Precisely because he was suspicious, they were watching him rather than arresting him. Hadn't his brother been gathering evidence with Grisha about what the First Prince was up to? With what looked like one of the man's hands right there in front of you, moving in and arresting him carelessly wasn't the wise play.

He suspected it had been the same with Adrien Renard. Given how his brother had prepared for his own death... no. He'd tried to prepare, but he'd run out of time.

Albrecht Bertholdt's death had caught everyone off guard. Him included.

With even a little more time, his brother would have had safeguards in place for the boys too. In the original schedule, Harold had been due to come down to the capital with the commander this summer.

"Either he was already doing this kind of work before, or somewhere along the way... he was picked out and hired."

Harold clicked his tongue.

"Doesn't matter which. A headache either way."

Harold pointed at the door.

"So what's he doing with him in there right now? You said he only says nonsense."

"That doesn't mean we can just do nothing, does it? We have to get whatever we can out of him while he's here."

Anne thought for a moment, then added,

"Anything at all."

"I'm not against it..."

If anything, he agreed.

Harold opened the cover on the iron door. A small barred window appeared.

Harold peered into the sickroom, then shrugged. With the cover open, the sound came through clearly. Whether the conversation in the corridor was audible in the sickroom he couldn't quite tell, but it hardly mattered.

If anything, if Harold's words shook the man in there, that was its own kind of win.

"He's putting on a big show, but he's tense as anything."

---

Gauss Manfred looked at Dustin Glenn.

He couldn't even remember which interrogation this was... a lie. He wasn't so sloppy that he couldn't remember that.

But if the standard was any kind of "result," the record was dismal.

On the other hand, in some respects there had been clear results.

Which was why Gauss was sitting across from Dustin Glenn again today.

"I really don't know, sir. Honest."

Dustin Glenn spoke like a drunk, his words thick and slurred. A heavy bandage wrapped around his head, splotches of bruising or whatever else mottling his skin.

His injuries had been severe enough to keep him unconscious for weeks. Even if he made a full recovery, there was no guarantee he'd walk away without lasting damage.

"You know I can't so much as move from here, sir..."

Clank.

Dustin lifted his arm with a smirk.

But the movement was cut short by the cuff chaining his wrist to the bedrail. He couldn't lift his arm, couldn't even move his hand properly.

Same with his legs. He had more range than with his arms, but nowhere near enough to move freely.

Of course, even without the cuffs there was nothing the man could do. The few pieces of furniture, bed included, were all bolted to the floor. The window was barred so narrowly you couldn't get a hand through. Aside from a pillow and blanket, there were no other objects in the room.

After his escape attempt, even meals were handled in person under strict supervision. Free his arms and there was no telling what he'd do.

"What am I supposed to do, huh?"

Better if Sir Bertholdt had just broken his arms or legs.

Gauss had been startled when he'd first heard the state Dustin Glenn was in, but after more than a month of getting nowhere, the thought did occur to him.

"Oh, come on, sir. Glaring like that isn't going to get you anything. How am I supposed to answer things I don't even know?"

Dustin spoke slowly, pressing down on each syllable — as though speaking itself were painful.

Given the state he was in, maybe it was. Was his broken nose still not healed? His jawbone hadn't set properly either.

Gauss looked at the bandages around his head. That might be the reason too.

"That's why I only ask you things you'd know."

"Huh? You've been asking me that kind of thing?"

"Why did you go into the Bertholdt estate?"

"Did I go there?"

Gauss looked at Dustin.

Dustin grinned.

"Ahh, right. Something like that. My head got knocked around, so my memory's a bit... what was it you said, sir?"

He knew the man was messing with him.

Gauss didn't look away. He didn't show irritation or anger.

"Ha ha ha. Just kidding, sir. I remember. Are the little young masters doing well?"

The slurred speech stayed the same, but a faint edge of malice crept in.

The cover on the door had opened, so Harold might now be visible to Dustin as well. Gauss didn't turn to check. Very subtly, Dustin's reaction shifted from what it had been.

"It was such a close thing, too. What a shame it turned out that way."

Was he afraid?

It would be a lie to say he hadn't been hoping for that kind of reaction. He had no intention of calling Harold into the sickroom, but he'd figured Harold's presence alone could serve as a threat.

Judging by Dustin's reaction, it was working.

"I'd been thinking, once that job was done, of taking a bit of a vacation somewhere."

"Job?"

"You don't want to go on vacation after working hard, sir?"

Dustin smirked in a voice pitched to grate.

"Truthfully, I prefer working. It's fun. You prefer working over resting too, don't you, sir? I can tell just by looking. I've got an eye for people."

"Who hired you?"

"Well, that would be..."

Dustin's eyes rolled around.

"Our nice boss, of course! What, you haven't heard of Today's Summer Square? It's fairly well-known in the capital, as papers go!"

The cuffs rattled loudly against the rail.

"Just between us, sir, I actually think our paper's got the wrong name. I even said so to the boss over drinks once. Bit lyrical for a newspaper, isn't it? Sounds more like a magazine name."

Gauss knew what was coming next.

Dustin had gone through this routine countless times already. The interrogations hadn't strayed far from this pattern. Whatever Gauss or anyone else who came to question him asked, Dustin talked about whatever he pleased.

The subjects were always the same, too. The newspaper, coworkers, vacation, the girlfriend he'd only recently started seeing...

"But our boss thinks that name's the best and doesn't listen to a word from the staff. Really. You shouldn't be that kind of boss, sir. I'm telling you this for the sake of the people working under you — they'd be having a rough time."

"..."

"It's advice you can take to heart, sir."

Gauss let Dustin talk without cutting him off.

The flicker of reaction Dustin had shown at sensing Harold was the first and last of it. He was back to the same repertoire. The malice that had briefly edged his voice was gone too.

"See, I'm not the only one unhappy with that name. Even the readers bring it up now and then. But our boss — no, he's a good man, really, just stubborn in the strangest places. Maybe the fact that everyone tries to talk him out of it just makes him want to dig in harder, I don't know."

The slow, slurred speech went on. Saying the same thing every time in this many different words was a talent in its own right.

He'd have made more money as a reporter than a delivery man.

"Rosemarie Doak."

"..."

"Remember her?"

But even Dustin Glenn couldn't hide the flinch at that one name.

"Rosemarie... it sounds familiar, but I couldn't say?"

He'd covered it well, but not well enough to slip past Gauss.

He'd dropped her name lightly, early in the interrogation, and let it pass. He hadn't raised the name again since, so Dustin would have thought his slip had gone unnoticed.

Not a chance. Gauss had simply been watching for the right moment.

"...Ahh. Now that you say it, I think I do. A pretty young woman. The boss was going to hire her on properly, but she said she had to leave because of some family situation. Kind girl, and good at her job — I was sorry to see her go too."

"Glad you remember."

"But what's she got to do with anything? I haven't seen her in over five years."

"She died in an accident this past winter."

"..."

The cuffs pulled taut.

"Sudden accident, so I hear... her family couldn't accept it for a while, and they've only just started going through her belongings."

Gauss slowly drew a letter from the inside pocket of his coat. On the envelope was a drawing of a crow holding an herb leaf in its beak. At the crow's feet was the signature R.D., written in an elegant hand.

Gauss turned the envelope over. In the same hand as the signature, Dustin Glenn's name was written across it.

"She left a letter for you. If you don't remember, that's that. I'll return it to her family."

Slam!!

Dustin lunged with his arm. Hard enough that the screws fastening the rail groaned. Something snapped.

Before Gauss could fully register it, fingertips just grazed his collar. At the same moment the door flew open and the Intelligence officer and the watchman rushed in.

"Viscount!"

"Are you all right, sir?!"

Gauss stepped back and looked at Dustin.

A trickle of red ran down between his clenched teeth. Bloodshot eyes locked onto Gauss with an intensity that said he'd tear into him if he could.