Hellsing: Resurrection (WIP)

Chapter 16: Conviction

The investigation into Dr. Salvatore’s death had hit a wall, and the Vatican’s patience was wearing thin. The crime scene gave them nothing worth a headline, no witnesses, no footage, no clear forensic trail. Just a gutted man and an empty house. But there was one detail that refused to sit quietly: a single strand of hair, left like an afterthought on the guest room pillow. It wasn’t much, not by any reasonable standard, but in a room that should have been empty, it became the kind of evidence people started building arguments around just so they wouldn’t feel useless.

“This is enough,” Father Marcello snapped, slamming his palm against the conference table hard enough to rattle the stack of files beside him. His voice cut sharp through the air, pulling half the room’s attention whether they wanted it or not. “Hellsing has been meddling in things they shouldn’t for decades. This is proof. They sent someone to that house. Now Salvatore is dead.”

“It’s a single hair,” Bishop Lorenzo said, his tone measured but carrying just enough weight to make Marcello pause. He leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table like he was staking claim to the floor without raising his voice. “You think Hellsing, with all their resources, with their reputation for secrecy, would leave something that obvious behind? Even if one of their people was there, it doesn’t mean they killed him.”

Marcello’s glare sharpened. “And what other explanation do you suggest?” he fired back, the words landing like small, bitter knives. “That he invited some stranger in? That someone just happened to stroll into his house and slit his throat while he slept?” The accusation hung there, loud enough that a few of the quieter priests shifted in their seats, exchanging uneasy glances but saying nothing.

A low murmur spread across the room, the kind of restless noise that always surfaced when people wanted to argue but didn’t have the nerve to go first. Heinkel Wolfe stood off to the side, arms crossed, her expression flat and unreadable. She stayed silent, watching them all with the tired patience of someone waiting for a room full of idiots to run out of steam.

“We are not fools,” Father Dario said, finally breaking the lull. His tone came slow and dry, like he was already bored with where this conversation was headed. “Hellsing doesn’t need regenerators. They have Seras Victoria. What interest would they have in Salvatore’s work?”

Marcello’s lip curled, a flash of frustration breaking through the thin veneer of restraint he’d been clinging to. “And yet,” he said, voice tight and bitter, “the evidence leads to them.”

“It leads nowhere,” Heinkel said, her voice slicing clean through the noise in the room. She uncrossed her arms and stepped forward, slow but deliberate, her boots striking against the stone floor with each step. “Not yet.” The room quieted under the weight of her words, and for the first time in the meeting, everyone turned to face her.

“We find the subject,” she said, leveling her gaze directly at Marcello. “But we do nothing until we know who they really are.” Her tone left no room for argument. The kind of finality that made people sit back in their chairs whether they agreed with her or not.

The air shifted. The kind of still, heavy pause that settled right before a fight or a surrender, and no one in the room seemed sure which way it would go. A few exchanged glances, others stared down at their hands like the table had suddenly become fascinating. Marcello’s jaw clenched tight enough to show the line of muscle along his cheek, but he stayed silent. Across from him, Lorenzo leaned back in his chair with a slow, thoughtful exhale, his fingers tapping in a slow rhythm against the wood like he was weighing something no one else could see.

“This could be a victim, not a killer,” Heinkel added, her voice quieter now but no less pointed. Her gaze didn’t leave Marcello. “And we don’t execute victims.” The words hung there, cold and flat, as if daring anyone in the room to argue otherwise.