The Mark of Cain 04

"So, what was the relationship between your two employers?" Officer Hardy asked.

Herstal Armalight interlocked his fingers and rested his hands quietly on the desk, looking much more composed than most people who had sat here.

That said, the scene was still sort of new to him personally – actually, his most common job was to storm aggressively into this kind of an interrogation room and tell his client, who was handcuffed to the table, what he should or should not say. It was a rarity to be stared at by others with scrutiny like he was now.

During his silence, Officer Hardy asked, "Can't talk about that either?"

"... Not really, I'm trying to think of a more accurate word to describe the relationship between the two of them." The lawyer mused, "You have interviewed a number of potential witnesses, and should have heard that the relationship between the Norman Brothers' was not actually amicable."

Officer Hardy nodded.

"His men won't go into detail, but in reality, the main reason for their disagreements was that – the two of them had huge differences in their own abilities. Richard wants to be the leader of the family business because he thinks he's the older brother, but in reality the younger brother is a little more capable ..." Herstal said thoughtfully, "That's something neither of them want to admit: the younger brother doesn't think the older is good enough, and the older brother ... he won't say it, but I think he's envious of Thomas."

"You are really outspoken about your employer." Officer Hardy said cautiously.

"There is a long-standing grudge between the two of them, and I want to be as honest with you as possible." Herstal stated calmly, "Besides, although you appear to be interested in their relationship as brothers, you don't really think Thomas is the killer, do you? — You suspect that the murderer is the Westland Pianist."

"I didn't say that." Officer Hardy raised his eyebrows slightly; after all, they hadn't even had a press conference yet.

"My client died in the middle of nowhere, and pierced him on a stick as a twisted joke." Herstal reached out and tapped at the photos of the corpse on the side of the table near Officer Hardy. They looked particularly grisly despite the zoomed-out camera angle. "This is not something Thomas would do; even if he really wanted to kill his brother, he would have chosen a simple method like a gunshot to the head. However, the Pianist would do something like this."

The matter-of-fact, indifferent tone of the other side made Officer Hardy a little angry. Moreover, there was a hint of well-disguised contempt in Herstal's voice – a feeling Hardy was familiar with, the "it's your fault that someone died because you didn't catch the murderer, and because you didn't do your job well" look.

When he spoke again, his voice was colder and harsher; mob lawyers are assholes, Hardy couldn't help but think. He frowned and said, "Mr. Armalight, you know how the Pianist chooses his victims. Are you trying to imply that your client is guilty?"

"In the event that the court does not find him guilty, he is an innocent man, and the Pianist's personal opinion means nothing." A slight smile formed at the corners of Herstal's mouth. "As for what Richard has actually done, if you come to my office with a search warrant, I will tell you everything[1]."

[1] 一五一十, idiom, lit. one five one ten, count by fives and ten; meaning recount all in detail.

Of course he knew that Officer Hardy could not – all the signs currently point to the killer being the Pianist, and if it could not be proven that the Pianist had a direct connection to the Norman Brothers' properties, Hardy would never be able to convince a judge to issue a search warrant in his life.

Hardy irritatedly looked at the messy notes in his hand. So far there was really nothing new: Richard Norman had a large number of enemies, and he liked to keep to himself. He had a short meeting with Herstal before he died, then went to a lover's rendezvous, and lastly disappeared from everyone's view – that was at 6 pm in the evening. If he was killed at ten o'clock, no one knew where he was for the next three hours.

Perhaps, once again, Officer Hardy had to admit that the trail they were pursuing had broken off – having dealt with the Westland Pianist and Sunday Gardener for the umpteenth time, such a scene felt irritatingly familiar. Herstal, apparently, decided to add fuel to the fire at this point; the man nodded briefly and said, "So, Officer Hardy, if none among us is officially arrested, I'll have to leave – after what happened, the various agreements I signed with the Norman Brothers may have to undergo some... changes."

He vaguely made a gesture. Hardy did not ask for details, since the Norman Brothers' forces would have to undergo a big change. Thomas would certainly find a way to remove his brother's forces, not to mention the other gangs who are eyeing it in hunger[2] ... soon, the Westland Police Department would be busy.

[2] 虎视眈眈: idiom, lit. glare like a tiger watching his prey; eyeing something covetously.

Hardy just sat in place, watching the lawyer, expression calm enough to be almost expressionless, walk out from the interrogation room while compulsively organizing his cufflinks subconsciously. The police station might be a difficult place to endure for such people.

On the other hand, Herstal had just left the interrogation room when he was stopped by another person.

The man who stopped him was a young male in his thirties with pretty chestnut colored sideburns and a pleasant face, wearing a lazy smile as if he didn't care about the atmosphere around him among the exhausted (both mentally and physically)[3] police. The man spoke briskly and extended a hand to him, "Mr. Armalight?"

[3]心力交瘁, idiom, to be both mentally and physically exhausted

"You are?" Herstal asked cautiously, not shaking his outstretched hand.

The other man didn't seem to mind very much, except for beaming as he withdrew his hand: "I'm Dr. Albarino Bacchus of the Forensic Bureau, in charge of the autopsy in this case. You should know that after a murder case like this, the victim's family needs to go to the Forensic Bureau to sign some informed consent forms and authorization forms-"

He paused for a moment and made a frustrated gesture. Although Herstal had a strange intuition that he was making this gesture just to make himself appear more amiable, not that he really felt frustrated over the matter.

"I asked Little Nor-ah, Thomas Norman when he came out just now," said Dr. Bacchus, the smile on his face unchanging, "and he said that you had full authority to sign those papers in his stead. "

"I think my employer just didn't want to waste time on these things, and the agreement we signed before gave me the authority to dispose of some assets on his behalf at his behest." Herstal said calmly, clearly not surprised by the choice Thomas Norman made.

– Although judging by the smugness Thomas had when he left, he was probably going back to celebrate the death of his cowardly brother with his shady friends[4].

[4] 狐朋狗友, idiom, lit. fox and dog friends; friends with bad conduct / behavior.

The smile on Dr. Bacchus' face seemed to get bigger: "If by 'wasting time' you mean dealing with the death of Mr. Norman's only brother, and by 'assets' you mean the remains of Mr. Richard Norman, I'm afraid that's probably what you mean."

"A dead body and a living person have two very different values. Apparently to my employer, his dead brother does not deserve the same treatment from him as when he was alive." Herstal said in a rather serious tone, "Then, Mr. Bacchus, let's go."

"No, call me Albarino, please." As they both walked briskly, almost exiting the building, the pathologist added, "Or call me Al, if you prefer."

"Albarino." Herstal conceded easily[5], ignoring the second half of Albarino's request intentionally or otherwise, which was not at all unexpected; he did not look like the kind of guy who would address someone by a nickname. "With the media frenzy on the Pianist, as soon as we leave here, we'll be met by a large group of reporters waiting to interview the people involved in solving the case – especially someone like the chief forensic pathologist of the Forensic Bureau."

[5] 从善如流, idiom meaning readily following good advice; easily accepting other people's views, easygoing

Albarino glanced at him, some of his delight shining in his green eyes: "Ha."

"Of course I know you," Herstal replied calmly, "I've sat in on a number of murder trials. You left a deep impression on me with your superb testimony when you took the stand."

Albarino raised the corner of his mouth slightly: as far as he knew, a group of defense attorneys for the defendants hated him so much; some people always felt mocked by him when he answered the defence attorneys' questions.

And by this time, they were already in the lobby of the police station. Through the glass doors they could see the crowd of reporters and photographers outside, with countless flashes like stars. Apparently, they were very excited just by the case of "the Pianist has slaughtered a guilty person".

"Maybe they do want to hear something from the forensic pathologist in charge of the case," Albarino smiled slightly, "But anyway, the forensic pathologist only has to say 'no comment'. As for you, Mr. Armalight, will have to be careful with your words and actions: your presence here will certainly raise suspicions that the case has something to do with the Norman Brothers' rivalry."

Herstal turned his head slightly in Albarino's direction, just in time to see a odd smile, mixed with cynicism and mocking, hanging from the corner of the other man's mouth. Herstal gave a soft tsk.

Then they pushed open the door and walked into a sea of flashing lights, as reporters swarmed in their direction.

There weren't any strong smells at the morgue of the Forensic Bureau. While it was true that some of the bodies were highly decomposed when they were wheeled in, the constantly operating exhaust fans would soon remove those foul odors. And the refrigerated things in the morgue – to put it bluntly, without souls, they were just meat.

Albarino pulled open the door of one of the morgue cabinets and dragged out the body outside. This was where Richard Norman lay, face looking even more sinister after the stitches on his lips and eyes were removed. The procedure always requires that those who come to the medical examiner's office to sign these documents identify the body in person. Procedure was procedure, although it was always not friendly for the victim's family.

Herstal Armalight was one of the few people who entered the morgue and still seemed unconcerned. He stared at the dead man's ghastly white face with an unchanging expression, said "this is him", then neatly signed the authorization forms on the clipboard that had been in his left hand, handed to him by Albarino.

Albarino took the papers and the pen, pondering if this person were always like this: maintaining such detached relations with his clients, working overtime late into the night, then returning to his empty luxurious apartment.

He pushed the morgue door back with one hand, holding the pen and board in the other. Unexpectedly, he heard Herstal ask, "How did he die? I saw a lot of wounds on him."

Albarino suppressed his smile and looked at the other man; he did not expect Herstal to be interested in this.

"In case Mr. Thomas Norman asks when I see him later." Herstal answered frankly.

"I doubt that; your employer only seems interested in the fact of his brother's death itself." Albarino finally did smile, shrugged, and confirmed that the morgue cabinet was indeed locked – no corpses would sit up and crawl out of it, but there had been actual situations before of interns tampering around with the body, causing the evidence to be contaminated – then put the papers and notepads on the only table in the morgue. "Still, I'm happy to satisfy your curiosity anyway, as the parts of it I can tell you will be covered by Officer Hardy later in the press conference – and you'll find that I'm almost always willing to satisfy the requests of those who won't burst into tears or throw up in this place."

The forensic pathologist, still smiling, moved as briskly as a cheetah, making a half-circle around Herstal and closed in on him from behind, almost completely silent.

"The murderer, from behind, approached your employer." Albarino said, reaching out abruptly. From behind Herstal's back, he used his right hand to pretend he was choking his throat, his fingers brushing the skin of his neck like a dragonfly skimming the water[6]. He could feel the lawyer stiffen viciously for a moment, then forced himself to relax again with an inhuman force of will. "Choking him from behind restrained his movements. Mr. Norman had some restraint markings on his neck in addition to the strangulation marks, so that's enough to illustrate that."

[6] 蜻蜓点水, idiom, lit. dragonfly touching the water; (in this context) a light, almost superficial touch

Albarino took the pen in his left hand and lightly poked Herstal's left arm with it: "Then the killer put him down with an injection, and brought him to the scene of the crime."

Herstal swallowed quietly. Albarino was not sure if it was from nervousness or something else, but he could feel the knot in the other's throat move up and down for a short moment against his palm.

"Your employer might have lost most of his ability to resist due to the effects of the drug, but was still alive at that time." Albarino continued, "As you can see, the killer sewed his eyes and lips shut with needles-"

There was a subtle stop in his voice, which made Herstal suspect that the guy would reach out to touch his eyelids and lips, but Albarino didn't. He paused, then moved his fingers down, stopping a little above Herstal's abdomen.

"Then he skewered your employer on the stake, the sharpened point skewering through his back, injuring a part of the spine; then through part of his stomach, and out through here." His hand applied a slight pressure, his fingers pressing against the surface of the (definitely) very expensive suit fabric. "Your employer was still conscious. Blood was flowing from the wound into his stomach and abdominal cavity, and part of the stomach acid was beginning to eat away at the flesh of the wound. In the time before his death, he could feel blood rising up from the esophagus – but he couldn't throw up, could he? His mouth was sewn shut."

The lawyer's breathing became heavier, but since he didn't break free, Albarino didn't take his hand away. Many people had criticized him that his nature was like a hunter playing with his prey, but he did not care. Then again, this Herstal Armalight was, frankly, his chosen prey; it was just the hunt that had not yet begun.

"Then the murderer cut him open with a sharp blade, stabbed him in the chest and dragged it down, hard, all the way to the abdomen." Albarino's voice was low and soft as he reached out with his other hand, the left hand which the Westland Pianist held the knife by, and used the pen in his hand as a sharp blade to lightly pull a straight line down along Herstal's chest.

It was a fountain pen; the sharp nib hidden under the cold metal cap, Herstal 's back was facing him, enclosed and circled by his arms; if he wanted to use the pen to stab into the other man's throat – how easy it would be to take a person's life.

Simple, easy, and meaningless. It was just flesh.

It was the other things born from this rotting husk that were beautiful.

"Why did he cut open the victim's abdomen?" Herstal asked, his voice still sounding composed under the circumstances, just that it seemed to be lowered a bit more.

"Because of the pain and the cruelty, he derives supreme pleasure from such an act; the control he feels in such moments makes him feel safe." Albarino spilled the truth with ease, his fingers moving back to Herstal's neck once more. The muscles of the other man's shoulders tensed uncontrollably as his fingers approached those parts of the skin, the pulse throbbing vividly beneath his fingertips. "He implied the theme of his story in this gesture, wrapping a pretty skin of blood and flesh around his metaphorical gift – I can understand that, though I can't say I appreciate it."

He let his fingers linger on the other man's neck for another few seconds, enriching his mind with fantasies of just choking him to death. The desire to create made his fingers itch, but now was not the time yet.

"He strangled the dead man with a piano string, as he always would; then buried his hand in your client's still-warm chest and ripped out his heart." Albarino ended the story in this way.

And Herstal turned nimbly, and drew himself out from between his arms. This man had a calm face, as if he was neither frightened nor did he feel offended. However, when he looked up at Albarino, Albarino saw an extremely bright flash of light in his blue eyes.

"What an impressive explanation." He said dully, straightening his cufflinks once more, even though the shirt had disappeared beneath his coat and suit; not even a hint of the edges of the fabric was visible. "In fact, it's too detailed. I thought you said that a forensic pathologist would just say, 'no comment'?"

"But you wouldn't sell that kind of information to a reporter, would you?" Albarino replied cheerfully, those sharp wolf-like green eyes locked on him, "That doesn't sound very professional. Besides, if you did give that information to a reporter – I'd know."

The last few words he said seemed to imply something, and Herstal raised an eyebrow in mock surprise: "I hope that's not a threat."

"But you don't seem worried either." Albarino shrugged easily, "In fact, you look awfully calm for someone who just finished looking at a corpse by a psychopathic killer."

"As I said before, the living and the dead don't have the same meaning. For this one in front of me – personally, it doesn't mean much." Herstal nodded calmly. He didn't seem to care how inappropriate his current statement was from the perspective of the general public's ethical standards.

With that statement, probably because he thought the distance between himself and Albarino was still too close, he took an effortless step back, further widening the distance between them. Then he noted, "Hasn't anyone pointed out that your sense of interpersonal distance between yourself and others seems somewhat problematic?"

"Most people don't care." Albarino replied with a smile and a rather suggestive, cheerful wink, "Honestly, they beg to differ."

Herstal finally frowned, a look which was truly delightful, "Are you flirting with me?"

"I'm doing something as indispensable to me as salt and bread," Albarino continued to smile, hiding the bloodthirsty façade beneath it seamlessly as before. "As for flirting – at least not today, and preferably not here. The morgue doesn't smell very nice."