THIEF OF BREAN (VOL-1)|✓

THE CHAOS OF SILENCE- VI

Dear Ms San,

Your inferences about the unavailability of latent fingerprints were well accurate. Hence, the case will take an interrogative approach.

If there is a fourth murder, in accordance with the sequence—we are seeing a possible serial killer on the loose.

If not, we are dealing with an insider—a spy or a hit man.

However, this is not the last of forensic tests for this case. Will let you know sooner.

Thank you for your time and cooperation.

Best,

CL

Carl folded the letter and slid it inside a pneumatic canister and tightened the cap. Tearing out an address slip, he penned down the address.

Ms. Lianara San

Dept of crime lab

Vendall towers,

Town-Mable, 2nd dot street,

Isaac-07

Winding the slip over the cap he sealed it in with an transparent adhesive tape and then put it in the transport tube and shut the door of the pipeline.

Tough luck. There had been no finger prints on the Sentinels' dirks. Not one. Nor he was able to find anything from the crime locale. He should have known better—not everyone was him to not wear a glove in this biting cold. And the murders had taken place out in the open meadows of the valleys, where the murderer had worn gloves even though he knew nothing of the forensics.

"Morning, Mr Lavely," a voice called him as he stepped out of the mailroom of the mansion to the corridor. Garry Garrod walked over to him with a pleasant smile that Carl did not mind returning. Behind him was a servant trotting with a tray, still shorter than short Garry. He looked pale and bore an air complete in contrast to the felicity Garry carried himself in.

"Morning, Mr Garrod," said Carl, skimming over the cups in the tray.

"A cup of tea, Mr Lavely," the caretaker offered him. "The cold seems to be bothering you," he added as Carl rubbed his palms together before going for the cup he had been yearning for since morning. "Don't tell me you have been living here without a pair of glove."

Carl cleared his throat after a hurried gulp. Tasting the heat, he pursed his lips and inhaled deeply. "I actually have—my bad," he admitted with a small snigger.

"No way," said Garry, his eyes were saucers.

"I... I am fine."

"You lie, Detective," Garry narrowed his eyes. Turning to the servant, he added. "Add two pairs of gloves to the list, Hamon."

"Ah, that's not necessary..." Carl attempted a weak protest.

"Oh don't be so shy. Lord Besset would have asked me do the same if he were here." He turned to see the servant again who for some reason was lost in his thoughts as he stood there. "Hamon, you need to snap out of that damn thing."

The servant blenched. Muttering a soft apology he withdrew with the tray.

Garry slurped his own tea and aahed in delight. "So, tell me, where are we with the investigations?" he asked.

Carl was surprised to sense the similarity of the Governor's tone in his voice. Nonetheless, it was not as impacting as the Governor that he did not find a need to hyperbolize.

"The murderer is a clever man. He has hardly left behind a clue. But they say every murderer makes a mistake. Even if he had plotted the murders to perfection, I am certain he has made mistakes outside it."