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墨書 Inktalez
That night, it was still just me and Zhao Mingkun in the same room. Perhaps yesterday's conversation had stirred something in Zhao Mingkun, as he had changed into a new pair of shoes. The old ones were simply thrown away by the person who brought them. He even changed his socks and washed his feet, as if he had transformed into a different person. It seemed that even a member of a terrifying organization could harbor a little girl’s mentality deep down inside.
The smell in the room had indeed improved.
We spent the night in silence, and the next day began with the usual simple meal. There wasn’t much going on, so Zhao Mingkun didn’t call for me. When I woke up, it was already quite late; those others had long been assigned their tasks and were busy with them. Just the day before, there had been five people in this room, but now only the three of us remained.
Moreover, after what happened yesterday, Poplar seemed to hold a grudge and didn’t come around us much. So I had no choice but to chat casually with Zhao Mingkun while we looked at the photos of the corpses that had come in. There were only a few pictures since last night.
It appeared that this island was under Mafia control to some extent; at least the crime rate wasn’t too high. From the photos, there were no bodies marked with words. I sighed helplessly, realizing that our task today was to wait for one or more corpses inscribed with letters. It felt terrible knowing that more people would die and being unable to stop it, even if those people were part of the Mafia.
I lost track of time waiting, and just as I dozed off with my head resting on the table, Zhao Mingkun suddenly slapped my head and said, “Wake up! We found a body marked with letters. Three Fingers, drive; here’s the address.” With that, he tossed his phone over to me.
Poplar glanced at it, packed up the phone, and replied, “Got it.”
We quickly made our way to the location—a small cabin built on a beach. At that moment, there was no one on the beach; it was relatively secluded. This was good because at least we wouldn’t be disturbed. Given what happened last time, Zhao Mingkun took it upon himself to keep watch outside to prevent us from getting trapped in this cabin again. Last time we managed to escape by sheer luck; if we got cornered here this time, there would be no way out.
We didn’t find anyone who reported the incident; it seemed this person didn’t want to get involved in trouble. The deceased hung from a beam by a rope, and there was an overturned chair on the ground. From this alone, it looked like a suicide. I carefully observed my surroundings; aside from the fallen chair, none of the other stools or tables showed signs of being knocked over.
I righted the chair; the deceased’s feet could easily rest on it. In TV dramas, there’s often a scene where they find a chair with a distance between it and the deceased's feet, indicating that suicide is unlikely. However, in reality, I had never encountered such a situation before—though killers are bad people, it doesn’t mean they lack intelligence.
I stepped onto the table to lower the body down. I examined closely; there was only one mark on the deceased's neck made by the rope—indicating vertical pressure. This confirmed that they were indeed hanged rather than strangled by someone else to create a suicide scene. However, at this point, I couldn’t definitively say it was suicide.
On the back of the deceased was carved a letter “t.” I frowned; if Juan Juan were here, she could determine through an autopsy whether the deceased had suffered any other injuries while alive. Looking around, it seemed this place hadn’t been visited for quite some time. I asked Poplar to support me as I looked up; there was dust all over the beam except for an imprint left by a single rope—no signs of anyone else being present at the scene suggested that this person truly committed suicide.
With this thought in mind, I checked again for letters on the back of the body; indeed, this letter differed from those I had seen on other corpses before—it had scabbed edges. Though subtle, it was definitely there. I already had my answer: this person’s death should be classified as suicide since a dead person wouldn’t have scabs on their wounds.
But why would there be a suicide when it clearly looked like a murder? This marked the fifth letter; would there be more deaths? Yet no one from across appeared to have shown up yet—it seemed they hadn’t investigated this area thoroughly yet. The situation here had been examined completely; staying any longer wouldn’t reveal anything new.
Through the window, I noticed rain beginning to fall outside—the Mediterranean climate is like that: hot and dry in summer but mild and rainy in winter. Right now it was drizzling lightly; rather than feeling cold, it brought about a refreshing sensation. The rain hitting such white sand created countless little pits; beside it, waves rolled in rhythmically with hints of blue-green light shimmering—truly breathtaking scenery.
Yet I still couldn't seriously enjoy the scenery here. To be honest, it was quite beautiful. If it weren't for the investigation, spending more time on this beach would have been delightful. But staying longer meant more danger.
Shaking my head, I walked out with Poplar. Zhao Mingkun asked, "What did you find?"
As we walked outside, I replied, "It's strange. The deceased this time doesn't appear to have been murdered; it looks more like a suicide. However, before the suicide, someone had already carved letters into his back. Moreover, those letters have been there for quite some time. It seems this murder case was planned long ago; it definitely won't be simple."
"How so?" Zhao Mingkun inquired.
I pressed my fingers against my temples and said, "Right now, I can only say I've seen part of the case's development, but there's still a significant mystery in my mind. This case—no, to put it plainly, this game—is different from other cases we've solved. We already have a general direction; we just need the specific details."
"What should we do next?" The three of us were already in the car when Zhao Mingkun asked me.
"Guant?" I frowned and asked, "Does Italian mean that?"
Zhao Mingkun took out his phone to check and then said, "No, it seems there aren't enough dead people yet."
I nodded and said, "Ah, modern smartphones really have every function imaginable. It won't be long before phones can help solve cases too! But seriously, let’s use this little device to check the social connections of the deceased. It's been three days; this Murder Game won't last forever. Probably by tomorrow or the day after, this game will come to an end."
I closed my eyes and fell silent, beginning to think through the ins and outs of this case. The first corpse and the second corpse appeared to have died three days ago—essentially just a day before we discovered them. However, the subsequent two corpses seemed to have been dead for quite some time.
If that's the case, then the latter two died earlier than the first two. This is intriguing. If we consider this angle as a starting point for our thoughts, we can make an assumption: this game didn't just start when we participated; it began when we were preparing to join.
The first corpse we found wasn't truly the first in a literal sense but rather the first that the game's planner wanted us to see. Then we found the second corpse. Through these two bodies, we uncovered the relationships between the deceased.
This might also be something that the game's planner intentionally wanted us to do. Once we connected their relationship and learned they were former members who had exited from the Mafia, we could follow that lead to find the other two individuals. Figuring this out shouldn't be difficult; thus, the Killer couldn't have killed both in such a short span of time. Therefore, the Killer must have killed them beforehand.
But why did the Killer do this? There must be something hidden behind these actions. This is a game—a game of murder. The Killer isn't trying to evade our pursuit; on the contrary, everything he does is meant to lead us to him. From this perspective, deliberately using later victims as the first and second corpses must convey something important.
The body discovered in this room certainly doesn't appear to be a homicide but rather a suicide. Judging by the slightly scarred letters on his back, it seems he voluntarily allowed himself to be marked. Opening my eyes and shaking my head, I realized that this case was becoming increasingly complex. What exactly has the Killer left for us?
We returned to the rented house, and Zhao Mingkun and I went inside while Poplar stayed outside smoking. Seeing Poplar smoke made me a bit tempted; I hadn't tried Italian cigarettes yet. So, I said to Zhao Mingkun, "I'm going out for a smoke. You don't need to keep an eye on me; Poplar is outside, and I can't run away."
Zhao Mingkun nodded but then grabbed my arm and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his clothes.
"I don't smoke women's cigarettes," I said with a smile.
Zhao Mingkun waved his hand dismissively, lit one for himself, and said, "This isn't women's cigarettes." He tossed a pack to me and added, "Right now, Three Fingers is out there handling something important. You'd better not disturb him."
I lit the cigarette with my lighter, took a puff, and then asked Zhao Mingkun, "Handling something? When did you arrange for him to do that? We haven't heard anything about it on our way here."
Zhao Mingkun didn't respond immediately; instead, he took a drag and blew a perfect smoke ring into the air. Seeing how skillfully he blew that ring made it clear that Zhao Mingkun was also an experienced smoker. However, considering he was only in his early twenties, he must have picked up the habit before reaching adulthood.
Finally, Zhao Mingkun spoke up, "I didn't arrange anything, but he has his own plans. Just watch; this game of ours will get more exciting as we reach the end. I'm going to investigate that person's identity for you; just stay here and smoke. As for going outside, you can forget about it."
I chuckled; there was more to Zhao Mingkun's words than met the eye, and Poplar was also playing his own game. The three of us really were mismatched in intentions.
On my first trip out to sea, I encountered the renowned Bengal Aid Worker. Young and impulsive, but too poor to really make a move until the First Mate told me that a bag of instant noodles could get me through the night with a group of women...
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