13 Mink Street

Chapter 13: Criminal Psychology

“The killer did this intentionally?” Inspector Duke’s question hung in the air, his puzzlement plain on his face. What unsettled the man was not the matter itself, but the manner in which Karon had spoken. The young man was clearly reasoning things out from the killer’s point of view, and was doing so with unsettling ease. Duke understood the technique, but the speed and smoothness with which Karon had slipped into such a mindset left the man uneasy. Still, Duke wanted the boy to continue. “How did you determine that?”

“It’s obvious this isn’t a crime of passion.”

Inspector Duke gave a slow nod. Crimes of passion were spontaneous and unplanned; a sudden burst of violence triggered by the heat of the moment; judgment collapsed and instinct took over. However, the body they were looking at had been deliberately staged and ornately displayed. This went far beyond an impulsive act. Every detail spoke of intention and care after the moment of death.

Duke rolled his pipe between his fingers. “What makes you so sure?” he pressed. “We haven’t even examined the scene properly.”

Karon hesitated. “It’s just a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

“Yes. A feeling I had when I saw the body.”

“You solve cases with intuition?” Duke raised a hand, only to then lower it. “No, tell me about that feeling. Be specific.”

“The killer hid the body under the stage.”

Duke interjected, “Which means the killer must be familiar with this ballroom. If, as you suggest, this was a deliberate incident, then the killer is either an employee or, at the very least, a regular.

“Sorry, I interrupted. Go on.”

“I can only trust that feeling, Inspector,” Karon insisted yet again.

“That’s fine. Continue.”

“This ballroom is always crowded, loud, and chaotic. Normally, when a killer disposes of a body, their goal is to erase the crime, yet that’s not what happened here. This killer placed the body here and arranged things with such care because he intended for it to be discovered today.

“It’s like covering a painting with a red cloth after finishing it to await the arrival of guests before unveiling it.” Karon paused, then added, “I also think placing it under the stage has another meaning.”

“Another meaning?”

“This wasn’t a crime of passion, but the killer carries an intense hatred.”

Duke said, “Once we identify the victim, we’ll investigate his social circle, especially anyone with conflicts or grudges against him.”

“No,” Karon retorted. “That isn’t what I mean. This wasn’t a hatred born of everyday friction, like that between coworkers, family, or neighbors. This was something else. Look at how his body was treated. The attention to detail is excessive. There’s a strong religious tone, yet it also seems like a sculptor expressing emotion through form.”

Duke frowned. “I understand your words, but the way you put them together...”

“Come with me.”

By this time, Uncle Mason had already led everyone else out with the severely injured man. Only Karon and Duke were still in the hall. When the body had been discovered beneath the stage, neither of them had shown a strong reaction, so given the earlier chaos, no one else had even realized that there was another corpse present, let alone one unrelated to the supposed accident.

Karon stepped off of the stage and walked into the seating area. The overall layout resembled that of a theater. In fact, before becoming a ballroom, the building had indeed been one of Roja City’s theaters. Moving from the stage into the audience meant climbing upward. The farther back you went, the higher the seating rose, like an arena.

Karon stopped midway. Tall, narrow cocktail tables stood about, though each one was barely large enough to hold a few glasses. There were no chairs. Anyone who wanted to sit comfortably needed to pay for a booth closer to the stage.

The area was a place for setting down a drink while chatting with friends. If one was a woman, they could freely move forward, visiting the various tables and drinking.

Uncle Mason had long since washed his hands of this life, but Ron was still a regular. Karon was standing in the man’s usual location, because of the fact that there was no minimum charge. A song lasted three minutes, and those three minutes cost five rupi. While he received a decent income, Ron had many expenses, and that prevented him from being able to afford to dance freely.

Most nights, he held a beer and took small sips of it while scanning the room, observing the “scantily clad” women. Only when one of the prettiest approached would he invite her for a song or two. Afterward, he would pay her immediately, leave the stage, and return to his beer, savoring the moment while searching for his next dance. Ron had explained all of this on the way over, proud of how he managed to stretch pleasure to the limit at the lowest cost.

Karon turned around, Inspector Duke standing behind him. “Inspector, please turn around.”

“All right.” Duke turned. He was standing halfway up the room when he turned to face the stage below.

Karon’s voice came from behind, “Imagine this place before the accident, when it’s operating normally. Listen. The music has already started. It’s the upbeat Roja Sprite.”

Roja Sprite was a cheerful song that Aunt Mary liked to play while working.

“The lights are dimming. Guests have chosen their partners and stepped onto the stage. Center, there are hundreds of men and women holding each other as they dance.

“At the edges, there are a few couples dancing in the proper ballroom. Their steps aren’t perfect, but formal enough. In the depths of the crowd, men press against the dancers. Hands slide where they shouldn’t, lingering and roaming.

“You can almost hear it, the desire crackling and rolling across the stage. It is human want, concentrated. People press close, using each other as cover to tear away their disguises, even while finding a thrill in being seen.

“Look upwards. There, the glass stage offers another provocative view. Morality and restraint, all of it is cast aside. Only money and instinct remain. What should be hidden is openly displayed on these two layers of the stage.”

As Karon spoke, Duke could almost see it, light and shadow weaving together.

“Now, bring your gaze back to the stage; to the center. Drift even lower, slowly, to what lies beneath. Tell me what you see.”

“A corpse,” Duke answered. “A body with a Berai Church’s Bible on its chest, arranged in mockery.”

“And what is that body’s position?”

“It’s lying down.”

“Oh? Is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Look again. Given your current perspective, is he really lying down?”

Duke’s eyes narrowed. As his perspective shifted, realization struck. “No... He isn’t lying down. He’s standing up. The dancers on the stage are the ones who are lying down.”

The inspector’s hands clenched into fists. He instantly understood. This wasn’t just a place to observe, but a place to appreciate. He slowly turned his head to the left. In his mind’s eye, a dark silhouette appeared, standing beside him. A faint smile was on their face as they admired the living tableau.

It was the killer.

Duke instinctively reached out, yet just as his hand touched the shadow, it vanished. Light and darkness unraveled, and the hall returned to its ruined state. The only sound to be heard was his own breathing.

He turned to Karon. “This is someone who takes pleasure in killing. He was appreciating it.”

This was serious. Accidents left behind grief, but a murderer could plunge all of Roja City into panic.

“To him, this wasn’t murder,” Karon stated. “It was art.”

“That Bible, the flowerpot, the raised middle fingers, the naked body,” Duke said slowly. “All of it feels... less important.”

“That’s because the image was already complete,” Karon replied. “Those details are nothing more than props, put there to fill the frame.”

“So investigating the flowerpot, the fingers, or Song of Souls might be meaningless. The victim might not even have been a member of the Berai Church.”

Karon nodded. “But the Berai Church reveres nature, and nature is instinct.”

“Yes,” Duke said. “Some of their believers hold debauched gatherings and call it getting close to nature. That fits the scene on the stage. So, the killer isn’t from that church, and also doesn’t hate it. What he hates is what stands in opposition to what it represents.”

“Art without emotion is hollow,” Karon said. “Hate can be pleasure, and pleasure requires immersion. This body wasn’t punished. It became a vessel.

“Standing here, the killer imagined himself above. The dancers were objects of contempt. He stands, while they lie down. Like a god looking down on filth.”

Duke nodded, only to then shake his head. “I feel like I’m close, but not quite there. If immersion is the key, maybe there wasn’t any grudge at all. The killer and the victim might have been close.”

“To make immersion possible,” Karon agreed, smiling faintly.

Duke tapped his pipe against his head and laughed softly. “There’s no evidence for any of this; it’s pure speculation. But it makes sense.”

“I’m only doing my duty as a citizen to help maintain order,” Karon replied.

“I’ll focus on the people closest to the victim. The closer they are, the more attention they’ll get.”

Karon said nothing.

“You’re part of the Immers family?” Duke asked. “What’s your connection to Mason?”

“He’s my uncle.”

“I knew it. You don’t look like hired help. With a face like yours, you could come here and have people pay you to dance.” Duke laughed at his own joke, while Karon offered nothing more than a polite smile. He was used to such comments. The world was always a little cruel to good-looking people.

“Duke Malro,” the inspector said. “Most people call me Smokepipe Duke.”

“Karon Immers.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Duke clicked his tongue. “Mason’s nephew. What just happened here, it’s a first for me.”

Officers began filing in.

“Whether this case progresses or not, I’ll come find you again,” Duke said. “13 Mink Street?”

“Yes, Inspector.”

Duke turned to the officers. “There’s a murder victim in a hole in that center stage. Secure the scene and call for reinforcements.”

As he descended the steps, the man muttered, “A nephew who can resonate with a killer.”

A few steps down, Duke stopped and turned back. “One more thing. The body was partially preserved, and it’s winter. Decay would have been slow; he could have enjoyed his immersion for even longer, so why reveal things now?”

“Maybe he got tired of it.”

Duke’s pupils constricted. “You think he found a new target?”

“No.”

Duke exhaled. “Then?”

“He could already be enjoying himself.”

Karon stepped outside to find two ambulances parked there. Order would return slowly, as the injured were loading up. The Immers family’s modified hearse was already gone. Uncle Mason must have left without noticing that his nephew wasn’t inside. With no other choice, Karon flagged a taxi.

He hadn’t helped Duke out of curiosity; Karon needed connections. He wasn’t ready to leave home just yet, but preparations were important. Hiding his abilities was also pointless. Given that his grandfather might kill him, secrecy had no value.

A taxi stopped. A man with a hooked nose and a sharp chin wearing a cap got out and walked away. Karon climbed in, only to then notice that a woman in a gray dress was still asleep in the back seat.

“Miss, we’re here,” the driver called.

She awoke and exited the vehicle, muttering, “Boss is impossible. The station already said this was just an accident; how could demonkin be involved?”

The driver turned to Karon. “Where to, sir?”

“13 Mink Street.”

As the taxi pulled away, Karon opened his left hand and stared at the cross-shaped burn scar etched into his skin. Demonkin.

A quiet unease crept in. The world outside of his home was far less comforting than he’d imagined.