Deadly Web

Jorgen still remembers the last meeting with Holmyr Stone. Regardless of his former fame, the old blacksmith experienced a painful death, not from his body but from remorse. In his final moments, he realized vividly that he had unfinished business, and the remorse was magnified by physical agony. He became a discarded piece of iron in his own hands, with dark red rust peeling off, scattered on the sickbed. In the last few years of his life, Gythra was the one who gave him a reason to live and also the one who dragged him into the valley of death. However, he knew nothing about this woman—even less than Jorgen knows now.

A quarter of an hour ago, the doctor admitted that the landlord paid him to lie. He hadn't even been to that apartment, let alone assisted in Gythra's childbirth. The so-called examination was fabricated to make the story more believable. Apart from admitting that a mother and son died under his care and receiving ten silvers for that, the doctor knew nothing. Jorgen didn't think the doctor would dare to lie a second time, but if he did, he wouldn't escape.

Jorgen returned to Gythra's apartment, meeting the landlady again, who initially showed annoyance on her face. She recognized Jorgen but didn't display any panic, thinking the detective was back to investigate Gythra's life, impossible to bring trouble to her. She had no obligation to cooperate unconditionally, and she hoped Jorgen would leave soon, minimizing the time for her forced courtesy.

Of course, making her admit the deal about the lie with the doctor wasn't difficult. Jorgen didn't want to resort to violence against a frail woman in her fifties, but he needed her to believe he would if necessary. He began with probing questions at the landlady's doorstep, receiving the expected feeble denial. He forcefully pushed the half-open door, startling the landlady, entered the room, slammed the door shut, blocked it with a chair, approached with a dagger at the landlady's neck, and said:

"Madam, there's an unexplained death in the house you rent out. I need to know how that woman died. As the deceased's landlady, you have an obligation to tell me everything you know, but you organized a lie. You don't know what you're doing. Listen, Gythra either died quietly, or someone heard her cries for help but didn't care—just like now, only you and I are in this room, and even though the walls are thin, others wouldn't immediately know if, for some reason, you dropped dead here. That's the relationship between you and the tenants: close the door, and you can pretend not to have seen or heard anything. I'm well aware that your apartment is a disgusting place, but that doesn't mean you can use it to deceive me. I hate being lied to, and I've killed many who did it; if I kill you now, splatter blood on the walls, your tenants won't know because the door is closed. The same thing may have happened to Gythra, I don't know; as for the facts, you need to confess. Confess to me now."

The landlady, trembling against the wall, seemed to awaken from a normal slumber to find herself trapped, akin to a person on the edge of a cliff realizing impending doom. While intimidating her before confirming her involvement in Gythra's death might have been excessive, Jorgen didn't consider a gentler approach, knowing time was of the essence. The restlessness he felt confronting fugitive brothers in the mine resurfaced. He had hoped reuniting with Dalia would alleviate it, yet it intensified.

The landlady, with no desire to resist, quickly admitted to orchestrating the lie about the childbirth. However, as Jorgen expected, it wasn't her idea.

"There was a man, a man who gave me money to do this."

"Be clear, what did he ask you to do?... No, answer me first, what do you know about Gythra's death?"

"I only knew she died, and it was after the child was born. Yeah, she gave birth to a child, although I don't know when it happened... The last time I saw her, she was still pregnant, and when I saw her body, the child was gone..."

"You mean, you accidentally found Gythra already dead?" The landlady's narrative was confusing, and Jorgen had to guide her with his inferences.

"Yeah. I went to collect rent, but I saw... she was lying next to the water tank, her face and head were wet, and there was a lot of water on the floor. She drowned... someone must have done it like this," she pressed her left hand against her right wrist involuntarily, "pressed her... pressed her into the water. That's how she died. When I saw her, her big belly was gone, so I thought something like this happened after she gave birth to the child. Light be upon us, I was terrified, really didn't want to deal with it, but I had to. I had to bury her. I've told you about it, it's true, but I also threw away the water tank, I didn't tell you about that. Several days after burying her, a man found me, told me to keep quiet about this. Bribed the doctor, said she died in childbirth, and the child died too, all his idea."

"Do you know his name? What does he look like?"

"Of course, I don't know his name. As for his appearance... I didn't dare to stare at him carefully, and he came to me at night."

Jorgen remained silent for a moment, then continued, "So, did Gythra have any visitors? Not just in the last few days before her death but all along?"

"There must be, although I haven't run into anyone in her room. Those cigarette marks on her desk weren't there before, but I don't think it's the girl smoking. But even if there were visitors, I can't be sure who it was because..."

"Because of what?"

"Please don't talk about this... You mustn't repeat it..."

"You don't have the authority to make me promise. But I can tell you, right now, I only care if you're telling me the truth about Gythra's case. As for anything else, whether you've done anything illegal, I don't care. People like you, and that doctor, can't live a completely clean life, and I understand that. Just tell me what I want to know."

"Well... there are a few girls upstairs who do that. I know who they are, and everyone's struggling, helping each other out, you know. So, I often let in some strangers, as long as they pay... two silver coins, paid to me. It's an old rule; as long as they give two silver coins, I know what they're here for, and I let them in."

"And Gythra, too...?"

"No, no, she wasn't. Her room had nothing."

"So, what you're saying is, as long as they understand the two silver coins rule, anyone can enter your apartment, regardless of what they're here for."

"I also know that some people must be there for other reasons. I really know. If everyone was a customer, the time of those girls wouldn't match up. But... don't blame me."

"Doing this might end up getting you killed, don't you understand?... Forget it. In the days around Gythra's death, were there any unfamiliar outsiders appearing? Think carefully."

The landlady lowered her head, furrowing her brows with effort, as if deliberately showing the struggling look of recalling to Jorgen.

"Yes," she said, "someone went upstairs, and came down quickly. Just like you said, I'm a bit scared of these people, so I secretly pay attention when they leave. One day, two people went up together and came down together... I remember now, one of them went up empty-handed, and when they left, it seemed like... they were holding something... maybe that child! Gythra's child! Oh heavens, they must be murderers! They killed Gythra and took away the newborn, is that true? Is it?"

The landlady seemed to frighten herself with her words. She tightly grabbed Jorgen's sleeve with both hands, staring at him with eyes full of hollow fear.

"Let go, calm down," Jorgen said, breaking free of the landlady's grip. "What else do you know?"

"I let the murderer in," the landlady said, folding her ten fingers into her palms, looking down as if countless venomous creatures were crawling towards her ankles. "They drowned her... took away the child... the child... they..."

The landlady continued muttering to herself, completely falling into the web of fear woven by her own memories and imagination. Jorgen knew he couldn't get any more information, so he straightened up, took two steps back, but kept his gaze on the landlady. The situation remained incredibly chaotic: all he could confirm was that Gythra gave birth to a child and was murdered. He wondered how the investigation would have unfolded if it had started when Holmyr was still alive—Gitara likely hadn't died by then. In the complexity of the current situation, Jorgen felt that Holmyr's death might be a stroke of luck. He had given his last bit of vitality to a woman who might have been too dangerous.

"Oh, right, I remember the person who told me to lie," the landlady lifted her head.

"What do you remember?"

"He's in his sixties... maybe even seventies. He likes to gesture while speaking, big movements, like someone who held a high position. Could he be a big official? Ah, what mess have I gotten myself into? Please help me... I regret it so much..."

She became agitated again, grabbing Jorgen's sleeve. This time, Jorgen didn't pry her hand away but turned abruptly, striding toward the door. He tossed the chair that was propped against it aside and reached for the handle. The landlady behind him fell to the ground. The whole situation remained confusing, but when combined with the image the landlady described and the cigarette marks on Gythra's desk, Jorgen's immediate reaction was to hurry back to Dalia's mansion. Along the way, his eyes stung intensely, his fingers felt numb and heavy, and his thoughts were both extremely restless and unusually clear. He knew he should question these vague clues thoroughly, but now he involuntarily strung them together, pushing himself toward a direction he didn't want to see.

He hadn't reached a conclusion yet, but not to mention the conclusion itself, he even began to fear the process of thinking about it.

Hurry back. Don't think about anything.

Dalia was crouching, tightly covering her lips with her right hand, the left pressing on her right hand's back. She could feel her nails digging into the flesh. Using the side of her left index finger to cover her nose, she tried to restrain her breathing.

Through the gaps in the low thicket, she could see Ivanov not far away. The prosecutor held his bleeding left temple, pacing hastily around the pool, as if trying to demarcate a threatening space with his footsteps. Five minutes ago, Dalia rushed into the backyard from the house door, and if it weren't for Ivanov slipping on Lindy's blood, she probably wouldn't have had a chance to hide here.

"Where are you? Come out." After Ivanov called out, he bent down, vigorously slapping the water surface.

Dalia didn't know why she didn't run into the house at that moment; perhaps she didn't have time to think back then. Wearing this outfit, it was impossible to run fast, but at least there would be furniture inside that could be used to stop him. But who could guarantee that it would be effective? Of course, now the wall wasn't far behind her, and as long as she screamed for help, the passersby outside would definitely hear... but what would that accomplish?

She didn't know how all of this happened; it was as if she had lost all rational memory since Lindy fell. Only now, she couldn't let Ivanov catch on to that. Who was the person in front of her? Someone she used to know? —Even this started to blur.

"Where did you hide them?" The man again slammed the water surface forcefully, splashing shattered water droplets.

What is he saying? I can't understand. If forced to take action, Dalia thought of going back into the house without him noticing. In the house, she had her... poison. Nothing else mattered for now. She couldn't think about anything else. She heard neither the sound of water droplets hitting the edge of the pool nor the fact that, just inches away from her ankle, a small snake was crawling.