Keeper Program

Two hours later, at the East District Police Station, the morgue.

The rain stopped, and the blue-black night sky in the distance appeared white near dawn.Arthur's body had been found, and Arthur's red hair was faintly exposed under the white cloth of the shroud, cold, damp and stiff.

The agents of the SBI have not yet arrived.Ed stood there straight, without saying a word, as if time had stopped.

With wet and hurried steps, someone finally came.

Different from the "Mr. Eaton" that Ed had expected, the lady in front of him had a pair of beautiful deep emerald green eyes and eyebrows like night shadows.She wore jet-black knee-high boots, white satin breeches buttoned down the sides, and a black and gray double-breasted coat that was worn as a cloak.

It's just that at this moment her eyes are condensed with light red blood.The rain drenched her hair, sticking it together in locks, dripping down the dark gray scarf and onto her black gray double-breasted coat.

She glanced at Ed, walked straight to Arthur's body, slowly removed the white cloth covering his forehead, and then covered it lightly.

Ed saw her fingers trembling slightly, and it was obviously not the best time to start talking to her.

So he looked towards the door, where a second footstep came:

The man who walked over looked a bit vicissitudes, with narrow and slender cheeks, deep and deep eyes, as gray as clouds in an autumn night.The nose is as sharp as an eagle's hook, the short hair is parted, the beard is clean shaved, and the gray sideburns are left to the earlobes.

"Bernard Eaton, the criminal investigation consultant. Over there is another assistant of mine. You can call her Quinn. She rarely talks to strangers when she is depressed. I hope you will forgive me."

He took off his black gloves and stretched out his rough and slender palms, as if giving Ed time to introduce himself.

"Edgar Wyccolo, I'm sorry about Arthur..." Ed shook his hand, and the other's palm was much warmer than he had imagined.

"Arthur is an adult, he knows what he should do." His tone was flat, his face was expressionless, as if it was running precisely and mechanically like a machine, "What happened?"

"In the early hours of this morning, someone forged your telegram to tell us to go to the police station. We boarded a rented carriage, but we were attacked. Arthur injured his knee in the scuffle and sacrificed himself to cover me."

"It seems that Arthur didn't understand the situation... Everyone of us can sacrifice in this case, but he can't." Eaton closed his eyes, and at this moment he looked more like a tired old man with gray temples:

"Quinne, you will be responsible for the safety of Mr. Waikoloo, and take him back to the detective agency..."

"Wait, there is one more thing, Mr. Eaton—" Ed mustered up the courage to stand up:

"I think I know who the killer is."

"What?" The voice came from Miss Quinn, with suspicion mixed in her tone.

"This is not a terrorist incident, and it has nothing to do with the banquet. The so-called 'cannibalism' is just a cover-up for the murderer to attract people's attention."

"This is a business dispute, a naked murder of money." Ed's voice was clear and powerful, like iron nails on the ground.

Eaton nodded and motioned Ed to continue.

"The group of ghouls that appeared mysteriously, the controller who hanged himself, and the imprint of the banquet, it is indeed easy to subconsciously guide the mind to the Beyonder realm. It was not until the appearance of forged telegrams and rented carriages that the murderer showed his feet."

"But where did those ghouls come from? How did the controller avoid the ghouls and return home?" Miss Quinn asked.

"The ghouls I encountered in the underground tunnel that night were skinny, hungry, and seemed to have been locked in a cage for a long time. I figured there must be some way to buy such a 'ghost creature'?"

"Yes, the underground black market occasionally trades a small amount of ghouls for material extraction, private research, underground gladiatorial and other purposes." Mr. Eaton spoke to confirm Ed's conjecture.

"That's right." Ed looked out the window, and the crimson morning glow had already filled the sky:

"...The walls of the subway are reinforced with reinforced concrete, like a strong underground fortress. It is not a one-day effort to dig through. The murderer wants to enter the underground tunnel. In addition to walking in from the subway station stairs or emergency passages, there is another Path optional - the blades of the vacuum blower."

"Giant vacuum fans often need to be installed in sparsely populated areas and connected to pneumatic pipes due to their huge noise." However, in the face of nearly [-] horsepower of steam power, anyone can only be crushed into meat sauce by the fan.But if someone sneaks into the control room and turns off the vacuum blower..."

"So the murderer is the controller?" Miss Quinn frowned, puzzled.

"No. He's a scapegoat. What the murderer wants is for the controller to return home alive, and then die in a bizarre way to swallow all the suspects."

Ed continued: "The murderer set the clock forward by one train, about 15 minutes. The controller thought he had waited for the last pneumatic subway and got off work on time-but it was actually the penultimate train, so he moved ahead. Turned off the vacuum blower and left work on time as usual."

"When I entered the control room, I happened to see the murderer setting the clock back to its original position. As a Extraordinary, he easily killed me, and then fled the scene when the ghouls attacked the carriage... As for the so-called banquet, Their symbols are not patented, anyone can use them, can't they?"

While talking, Ed looked at Eaton. He wanted to see a look of surprise or approval in the other's eyes, but the other's expression was still calm and focused.He could only continue in dismay:

"It was a perfect plan. But the other party didn't expect an ordinary maintenance mechanic to come back to life. After learning that I was still alive, the other party obviously messed up and even forged a fake telegram to trick me into leaving the detective. All of them were intercepted halfway."

"...I think he must be very afraid that I will reveal some key clues. This is really unnecessary-he doesn't know that I suffer from amnesia, and he doesn't remember the appearance and identity of the murderer at all."

Having said that, Ed took out a change in his pocket and threw it into the air:

"Who has the money and technology to falsify telegrams? Who will benefit from the closure of the pneumatic subway? Who can easily get a license plate for horse-hire carriages?"

Pa, Ed closed his palms and kept the coin in his palm, imitating the driver's tone when he went to the detective office the day before:

"We only make a small fortune, and it is Mr. Floyd who made the big fortune."

Hearing the last name, Miss Quinn just woke up like a dream:

"Then what should we do now, shall we organize a team to assault his mansion?"

Mr. Eaton finally spoke. Although he was speaking to Miss Quinn, he looked at Ed:

"I'm afraid Freud will not sit still. What's more, we have no direct evidence to prove that he is related to this incident."

"Sit and wait for him to get away with it?" She bit her lip, her eyes burning.

Ed walked up to Arthur and held his cold, blood-stained palm:

"Given the heavy price we've paid, I think Mr Floyd would be interested in this little 'raise'..."

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