Chapter 22: The Suspicion and the Missing Officer

The following morning.

Simon’s carriage pulled up in a frantic rush directly outside Clint’s agency building. Bolting from the carriage the instant it ground to a halt, Simon sprinted up the stairs toward the second floor. He was forced to halt twice along the flight to catch his breath before he finally managed to reach the agency door. Right on cue, the door swung inward.

“You’re here?”

Clint opened the door to welcome him. His demeanor was entirely composed, indicating he had fully anticipated Simon’s sudden arrival. Stepping across the threshold while still aggressively huffing for air, Simon completely forgot to offer a formal greeting, blurting out his inquiry in a sheer panic.

“Have you seen today’s paper?”

Without waiting for a response, he slammed the morning edition flat across the surface of the table. The pages were absolutely saturated with feature stories about the upcoming Saint Kenyon’s Day festival tomorrow. It was a dense collection of thoroughly leisurely fluff pieces detailing what events were scheduled to take place and what attractions were generating the most excitement. While a local newspaper routinely maintained that specific flavor, that reality was precisely the core of the issue.

“There isn’t a single line concerning Peter Matterson!” Simon declared frantically.

The revelation that a notorious, fugitive murderer had been actively deceiving everyone by posing as an ordinary neighbor was nothing short of a massive shock. It was a story more than worthy of dominating the front page. Yet, the newspaper had published absolutely nothing on the matter.

They had lodged their official report yesterday afternoon. Had the police force mobilized with any degree of competence, they should have apprehended Peter Matterson by yesterday evening. That timeline provided more than enough leeway to draft a press release and secure a layout slot before the morning print run. While it was entirely possible that the police were merely dragging their feet or that the print deadline had been missed, Simon was nonetheless plagued by a profoundly ominous premonition.

“The moment I glanced at the headlines this morning, I got a horrible feeling in my gut. What if something has gone terribly wrong?”

“I was harboring the exact same thoughts,” Clint agreed, his confirmation instantly visibly relieving a fraction of the tension from Simon’s countenance. “The fact that Peter Matterson made that sudden, abrupt return to his house yesterday afternoon has been weighing heavily on my mind as well.”

“I need to ascertain exactly what the current situation is. Mr. Clint, will you come with me?” Simon pleaded, training a desperate, searching gaze upon him.

“Very well.”

Clint, too, was nursing a deeply unsettling, dark intuition.

The two men directed their course toward the local precinct first. The police station was an absolute hive of chaotic, disorganized activity, appearing thoroughly frantic. Most notably, every single officer assigned to the fugitive detail had vacated the premises and was currently deployed out in the field. Clint even went so far as to discretely slip a silver coin to a desk sergeant to extract some context, but the bribe yielded absolutely no results. However, the sheer atmosphere was more than enough to confirm that a major incident had occurred, prompting the duo to head straight for Ashley Lewin’s residence.

The perimeter of the property was aggressively secured by a blockade of officers. A small army of police was currently combing through the interior, systematically searching every square inch of the house. Simon and Clint exchanged a grim look. The dark premonition that had crystallized over the morning paper had officially solidified into reality.

“Excuse me, has an incident occurred here?” they inquired, approaching one of the officers guarding the line.

“Nothing for civilians to concern themselves with. Move along,” the officer barked.

The authorities were rigidly rejecting any form of civilian approach, leaving the duo with absolutely no choice but to execute a tactical retreat. They looped back toward their carriage, anchoring themselves a safe distance down the street to quietly observe the house. The collective aura of the officers present felt profoundly solemn and grim.

“The atmosphere is incredibly severe. I wonder what on earth happened…”

“Indeed.”

“Is there truly no way for us to unearth some details?”

“Hmm.” Clint fell into a brief silence, pondering the dilemma before turning his gaze back to Simon. “Could you manage to give me a bright smile?”

“Pardon?”

“Hurry, let me see it.”

Spurred by Clint’s urgent prompting, Simon managed to conjure a slightly awkward, uncertain smile.

“Yes, that should do perfectly.”

“What—what exactly are we doing?”

“We require a touch of… masculine charm to loosen some lips.” Clint offered a smooth wink, gesturing for Simon to follow him.

Clint guided Simon toward a house situated two doors down from the suspect’s residence. Unlike the property directly adjacent to the crime scene, this particular house sat slightly outside the immediate visual perimeter of the police line, rendering it largely invisible to the authorities’ scrutiny. Clint gently nudged Simon half a step forward before rapping firmly against the door. A moment later, a thoroughly ordinary-looking housewife opened it.

“Can I help you?”

The woman scrutinized the two men with an aura of extreme caution and guard. Clint delivered a sharp poke to Simon’s ribs. Adhering strictly to the instructions Clint had rapidly whispered to him, Simon tilted his head with an elegant smile.

“Good day to you, Madam. I terribly apologize for the intrusion, but I was wondering if we might trouble you for a brief moment of your time? If it is not an inconvenience, of course.”

He was arrayed in a flawlessly tailored, pristine suit that projected an almost rigid air of respectability. While the fact that he was executing a rehearsed script lent a slight stiffness to his delivery, it ultimately manifested as an aura of supreme, aristocratic politeness. Confronted by an affluent, highly attractive young gentleman addressing her with such exquisite manners, the woman’s natural defense mechanism visibly crumbled.

“What seems to be the matter?”

“It concerns the house two doors down,” Clint smoothly interjected, sliding into the conversation while flashing a staggeringly charming, radiant smile.

Basked in the contrasting, yet equally magnificent smiles of two distinctly handsome men, a faint flush crept up the woman’s cheeks. Had Clint approached her entirely on his own, his slightly unkempt, rogue-like attire would have kept her firmly on guard. However, by strategically utilizing the safe, profoundly respectable presence of Simon as an initial shield to dissolve her defenses, Clint’s raw charisma struck with double the efficacy. Furthermore, standing alongside Simon served to thoroughly soften his naturally rough, dangerous edge.

“Do you happen to know why the authorities are causing such a massive scene over there?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue. A swarm of police descended upon the property first thing this morning and have been running ragged like that ever since. The owner of the house is entirely unaccounted for.”

“The owner wasn’t there?”

“No. The entire house has been completely dark since last night.”

“Did you happen to witness anyone visiting or entering the property around that time?”

“Hmm, now that you mention it… I believe I caught a fleeting glimpse of someone entering the house under the cover of darkness… but I don’t recall ever seeing them leave. It’s terribly frightening, whatever it is…”

The woman’s features contorted into an expression of deep anxiety. Simon and Clint mirrored her look, their internal thoughts perfectly aligned.

‘Peter Matterson has fled!’

They had lost the fugitive. The severe, razor-sharp edge displaying across the police force suddenly made perfect sense.

“If it wouldn’t be an immense discouragement, Madam, would you permit us to briefly inspect your back garden?” Clint inquired entirely out of nowhere.

Since this line of questioning hadn’t been discussed in their initial strategy, Simon blinked in sheer bewilderment.

“The back garden?” The woman’s brows knitted with slight confusion.

‘I don’t grasp his reasoning… but Clint always has a brilliant calculation behind his actions.’

Simon resolved to provide immediate reinforcement.

“We would be profoundly, deeply grateful for your kindness,” he stated, locking his soft brown eyes intently with the woman’s gaze. It was the exact, earnest methodology he routinely deployed whenever he needed to request a favor from Anais; historically, it never failed to make her surrender to his wishes with an indulgent sigh.

As those gentle, doe-like brown eyes pleaded with her so earnestly, the woman felt her resolve entirely dissolve. This particular gentleman possessed a distinctly delicate, almost fragile aura that naturally disarmed a person’s heart. Right beside him, Clint was maintaining a dangerously attractive, dazzling smile. Caught in the crosshairs of two men possessing such vastly different, yet utterly mesmerizing vibes desperately appealing to her, the housewife completely surrendered.

“Only for a brief moment.”

“You have our deepest gratitude, Madam.”

Driven by sheer upper-class habit, Simon naturally took the woman’s hand and executed a seamless, theatrical motion of kissing the air just above her knuckles. While this was standard, unremarkable etiquette when interacting with a noble lady, it was an entirely foreign, shocking display of gallantry for an ordinary housewife. Her face erupted into a brilliant crimson as she flung the front door wide open.

“Please, feel free to look around as much as you like!”

She enthusiastically permitted the two men to traverse straight through the center of her home. Witnessing the spectacle, Clint let loose a quiet, amused chuckle. It was only then that Simon realized he had vastly overplayed his hand.

“My word, Mr. Grayan. I never took you for such an incorrigible smooth-talker. You have a natural talent for flirting.”

“Please, do not mock me…” Simon mumbled, his ears burning.

The two men stepped out into the rear garden.

“But what exactly were you hoping to find out here?”

“The lady stated she witnessed someone enter the house, but never saw them exit, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then it stands to reason that he escaped through the rear of the property. The woods back here are somewhat sparse, but they provide excellent cover for a clean getaway.”

Just as Clint deduced, a shallow yet dense stretch of woodland unfolded immediately beyond the boundary of the back fence.

Peter Matterson would have been heavily burdened, forced to transport the unconscious rookie officer alongside whatever bare essentials he grabbed. Even navigating in the dead of night, moving a body along the main roads would have courted an immense risk of detection, yet absolutely no one had reported seeing him. This implied he had meticulously navigated via paths entirely shielded from public view. Consequently, Clint theorized that the killer had almost certainly slipped directly into the forest connected to these very back gardens.

Clint and Simon stepped over the threshold and entered the forest path.

“Hmm. If one were trudging from that direction… they would have almost certainly crossed through this general vicinity.”

“Ah—look! Over here! Right here!”

Simon pointed excitedly toward a distinct trail where the tall grass had been forcefully crushed and flattened in a long, continuous line. It bore the unmistakable signature of a single-wheeled handcart being aggressively dragged through the brush. Simon and Clint immediately began to track the indentation. Was Peter Matterson waiting at the end of this trail?

They had verified that the interior of his residence contained absolutely no remnants of slaughtered animals. This heavily suggested that the man maintained a completely separate, secret hideout where he executed his gruesome tasks—and that was likely where he had fled. If they maintained their course along this path, they might very well stumble directly upon his sanctuary.

Unfortunately, that burning thread of hope was violently severed the moment they encountered a rushing creek. The deep groove of the handcart wheel terminated abruptly right at the water’s edge. Beyond that point, whether the killer had waded directly through the stream to mask his scent or crossed to the opposite bank and utilized an entirely different mode of transport, absolutely no trace remained.

“The trail ends here,” Clint announced, sweeping a vigilant eye across the immediate banks.

Simon refused to abandon hope, continuously scanning the brush with lingering attachment, but his efforts yielded absolutely nothing. The man they were hunting was a master of deception, an individual capable of flawlessly executing the role of a warm, beloved neighborhood candy shop owner for years. The fact that he had left even this brief trail was an anomaly in itself.

With no options remaining, the two men retraced their steps. Their immediate objective was to relay their discovery to the authorities. While they couldn’t bring themselves to place an ounce of genuine trust in the police force, presenting vital intelligence regarding an active, dangerous fugitive was a fundamental civic duty.

After offering their formal thanks and taking their leave of the housewife, they had just stepped back onto the street and begun advancing toward the police line when a booming voice cut through the air.

“You there! Halt right where you are!”

The voice belonged to a middle-aged man, carrying a rough, grating quality that struck Simon’s eardrums with bruising force. Before he could even register the command to look back, a massively built, middle-aged officer was already charging directly toward him like a raging bull. As Simon froze in pure terror, Clint instantly shifted his weight, throwing his body forward to plant his arm firmly against the officer’s chest, halting his advance. Failing in his aggressive attempt to shake off Clint’s grip, the burly officer glared at him with pure venom before redirecting his hostile gaze toward the far more pliable, non-threatening Simon.

“What a perfect, fortuitous encounter. The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime. I knew you two degenerates would materialize here eventually.”

“Pardon me?” Simon stammered, thoroughly bewildered.

“Don’t play dumb with me! I thought you smelled incredibly rotten the exact moment you marched into the precinct throwing around reports and theories. How could a couple of ordinary civilians magically unearth the identity of a wanted fugitive that the entire police department was completely blind to? It defies all logic!”

Simon stared at the middle-aged officer in absolute, stunned dismay, completely failing to grasp the absurd trajectory of the man’s reasoning. The officer was practically snorting with manic excitement, his chest heaving.

“Unless you are actively operating as his accomplices, there is absolutely no earthly way you could have known his true identity! Well?!”

The older officer had thoroughly convinced himself of his own delusion. The sheer absurdity of the accusation left Simon entirely speechless; he couldn’t form a single coherent defense. He was simply marveled by the reality that an individual could articulate such utter nonsense with such absolute, unwavering confidence.

“Listen to the garbage spewing from your mouth,” Clint spat back, his voice dripping with cold disdain. “Instead of offering a shred of gratitude to the citizens who handed you a vital lead, you are actively attempting to frame them as accomplices?”

“A lead?! Ha! Since you took the liberty of bringing up that damnable report, do you have any inkling of what horrific disaster your little stunt unleashed? That monster has dragged our department rookie away! An active officer of the law has been brutally abducted while responding to your investigation!”

Gasps.

Simon’s heart violently seized with horror. An officer of the law had been taken by that psychopath? The situation had just spiraled into an entirely separate, terrifying dimension of danger.

📚 Also on NHV Novels

Empress’s Pampering, I Secretly Hoarded Divine Weapons and Became Invincible

ComedyFantasyRomance

Read Now →
Not interested