THIEF OF BREAN (VOL-1)|✓

THE CHAOS OF SILENCE- VIII

There were eight Majors in total serving under the Defence Department of Neve. And all eight were to roll their fingerprints. As a matter of fact, the professional rivalry was not something Carl would have laid his money on when it came to the motives behind these murders. He had only done it to shorten his list.

Here was the thing. General Payton was going to be promoted to the post of Marshall in the capital by the end of the year. With him gone, the high-ranking Majors were vying for the post of the next General. And John Scott had been in the very top of that list. It did not sit well with the kind of murders. But Carl did not want to leave out anything hanging.

However, when the new prints were matched with the fingerprints of the Majors' signature in the office records, the prints of Major Sean Woods had a mismatch—the experts at Isaac had concluded that one of them wasn't his at all.

"This is the last time I am going to ask you, Sean," Giles hissed at him, frustrated by his persistent silence.

Sean Woods sagged into the chair, red with shame, staring at the ink impressions lying on the desk in front of him in utter disbelief.

The scared Major did not make an effort to open his pursed lips. Even his breathing was hushed. The man looked unshaven and uncombed, weighed down by stress. Presumably, he had turned into this a day ago right from the time the finger impressions were asked to be rolled in. He surely did not have the night's sleep, Carl reckoned by noticing the puff under his eyes.

"Major Woods," said Carl sternly. Sean Woods lifted his anxious face to him. There seemed to be a battle going on within him. Tougher than one he might have ever fought in his life. "You say us now why you did it, or, you are going to regret this later."

"Am I... am I a suspect?" his voice barely came out of his throat.

Giles snapped. "Say us what you did, Sean?"

The Major lowered his head and mumbled, "I was scared." Then all of a sudden he began to pant. His palm curled into fists over the desk. "I stole a pup from the wolf shelter," he blurted out.

"A Pup? Why on earth would you do that?" asked Giles.

"I know... I was an idiot," he hissed. "Ah! My son is obsessed by them. He would cry and make a fuss to have one as a pet. I brought him a dog and was able to calm him for some time. But only until he grew older and knew it was not a wolf." He ran his fingers through his face. "It was stupid, Giles, I did not want to get into all those paperwork or... make that huge payment."

"How many?"

"One—just one. You'd remember. It was a month ago. They had a pup missing from the shelter."

"I do," Giles replied curtly. "But what does it have to do with this? Why the hell did you make someone else roll their fingerprints in your place?"

Sean Woods shot a weary glance at Carl. "When you came here for the investigations, Officer Lavely, there were these talks about the new forensic technology that would determine anyone who has committed any offence. When they came for the fingerprints, I panicked... and tried to somehow avoid getting caught. Guess it didn't work that way."

Giles leaned back to is chair and stared at him incredulously.

"I did it out of utter foolishness, Officer, trust me," Sean pleaded Carl.

"Oh I trust you completely, Major," replied Carl, sizing him up again. He saw a dismay of a stupid, lazy, stingy man in his face.

"Do you think I could be dismissed?" He asked them, his eye making a rapid side to side motion between both their faces.

Carl made up a quick answer. "It could be just a suspension if you started with an official apology."

Sean Woods sighed in great relief. "Oh... I see... I would get into it right away then." His shoulders relaxed and he leaned back on the chair.

At this moment, Carl had reckoned that the Sean Woods' only concern was his job. Right now, he was not bothered about the murders or anything else for that matter. His body language had told Carl all what he wanted to know about the man.

"That will be it from my side, Major Giles," he said rising from his chair and moved to the other side of the room. He pulled out his notebook and crossed out Sean Woods' name in the list of his suspects. The next person of interest was Balin Grey.

"I don't think it would be just a suspension, Detective," Giles told him after Sean Woods had left. "He could very well be demoted or worse dismissed from services. The wolf conservation law has been tightened by Lord Besset in the recent years."

"Tightened? As in huge payments to buy the pups you mean?"

"Absolutely. People value money more than anything. So when they put huge money on something, they are ought to take care of it to their best. But most importantly it had caused large decrease in the number of people buying wolf pups."

Not so bad, Carl reconsidered. The more he heard of Lord Besset the more he appeared to be a genuine man.

"So what do you think?" Giles asked him. He was sincere when it came to considering Carl's views, unlike many officers he had worked in the past.

"Sean Wood is out of the charts. Let's move on to this Grey guy."

"I contacted the Sentinel who supervises him. He says the man is one of the best he has had. A bit distant in nature, but overall... a well-mannered, dutiful guy. No lags or any instances of bad behaviour."

"What does he mean by distant in nature?"

Giles gave a half-shrug. "Just that... he does not tend to mingle with the rest of the team. They call him lone-wolf. I believe it is all because of his past. It couldn't have been easy for someone to lose his family."

"It's not," muttered Carl. "But I must do my job without being swayed by those things, Major. Where is he stationed?"

"He cannot possibly be an infiltrator." Giles dissented. "The records are valid."

"No he cannot. But, he could very well be a psychopath."

"Uh, a what?"

"A psychopath—bold, remorseless, disinhibited individual." And possibly a drug addict. The Vermit woman would have taken advantage of his grief and posed to be helping him out of his misery with her narcotics. That's how they'd all started it. Bloody Vermit crooks.

"No, no... I don't—" as Giles recited his dissent, Carl cut him off.

"What about the days of his absence?"

"He was reportedly sick."

"Of course he was."

Giles rose from his chair and picked up a file from his desk, still incredulous of Carl's new theory. "Currently he is stationed for city patrol," he read out from the pages.

"Can you have him placed back to guards in the Prunell borders?"

"I can do that," he mumbled. "So, you are going to follow him?"

"Yes and no. I am going along with him."

"I don't understand."

"Good. If you didn't understand then I can safely presume that Mr Grey wouldn't either."

"But, Detective, it could be risky. If he is what you say he is—"

Carl stuck his hands to his pocket. "He would try to stop me, I know. That is exactly what I want him to do. How long will it take to Prunell?"

"About an hour or so depending on the snowfall."

Carl glanced over his pocket watch. It was ten past three in the noon. "Well then, I must start out sooner," he said, slipping the notepad along with the watch back in to his trouser pocket.

"So, maybe, I'll get you another car—as a backup."

"Yes, but they be discreet."

"They will."