There were too many people at the door... Sheriff Cole, the gray-clad policeman, and a large group of people in formal suits and top hats who looked very high-ranking were talking in low voices. Everyone's attention was vaguely on her. Her shackles had just been removed, so she was naturally trembling with nervousness in the face of this situation. "Don't be afraid, Mrs. Feredo," a voice came from inside the house. "Just come in... yes, and then close the door and let those nasty guys watch the door panel." Sheriff Cole's mouth twitched. How can the second floor of such a shabby archway have any soundproofing effect? It's not like I can't hear the noise through the door, so why do I have to come here specially? He suspected that Hitzfeld was being sarcastic towards them. Mrs. Feredo closed the door tremblingly and doubtfully, then sat down behind the dining table in the living room, lowered her head, and did not dare to look at the girl opposite her. She had heard that the two people she met when she rushed into the street were both important figures. One is a famous detective specially invited back by Knight Karl of the Sinze Diocese, and the other is simply a secret policeman under the orders of the royal family. "Don't be afraid. We won't let the criminals go, but we won't wrongly accuse good people either... As long as you can answer my questions truthfully, you will be free in 24 hours at the latest." Hitzfeld leaned back in his chair—a brand new one—with a small notebook and a pen in his hand, writing something down as he spoke.
"I...this is none of my business!" Mrs. Feredo raised her head with some excitement and saw the "vicious woman" still standing next to the girl. Her long black hair was tied into a ponytail. She was wearing a black leather windbreaker and long boots. She was impressive just by standing there. "I'll cooperate..." Her tone became humble again. "Very good." Hitzfeld paused, raised his head, and looked into her eyes with his one eye. "Now, describe again how you found out what happened to Mr. Haytham. I'll insert some questions in between depending on the situation." "I..." Mrs. Fredo swallowed, "I don't know... I just... brought him food." "Yes, I deliver meals to him. Mr. Haytham is a writer who often forgets time while immersed in his thoughts and creations. So he gave me some money and asked me to deliver meals to him every day." “Do you deliver it every day?” “Every day.” "When was the last time you saw him?" "At noon, I always make it together and send it to him while we eat..." "What time is noon?" "12 o'clock - no, a little after 11:." "That means the interval is exactly 6 hours." Hitzfeld wrote down this information. "When did this request for food delivery start?" "It's been a long time...since the day after he moved here." "Ah? Did he just move in not long ago?" "Yes, because he wasn't famous before, so he didn't have much money... The rent on South Bridge Street is not cheap. I can live here because of my husband. They reduced the rent because of his work..." "How long ago was that? Can you tell me more specifically?"
"Maybe a month." "More than, or less than?" "A month, less than a month." "Did he say why he was moving here?" "Oh, there is a story behind this." Mrs. Fredo's eyes flickered, "This was originally his house." "Huh? What's going on?" "He was a speculator in his early years and had a beautiful wife and a child. However, due to his poor vision, his investments failed repeatedly and the company he co-founded was on the verge of bankruptcy. He then decided to write and wanted to earn some royalties by submitting articles in his spare time." "Wait a minute." Hitzfeld stared at the notebook, "...Do you remember the name of that company?" "I only remember something... it seemed to be called Yalai United... something or other." "Go on, ma'am. Tell me why he moved away again." "Oh... yes! He wanted to make money by writing. He thought that since he had read so many books since he was a child, it would be easier for him to do this. But the result was a big blow to him - no one liked the stories he wrote." "So he went bankrupt? His wife left with the kids and he had to sell the house." "That's it. Writing distracted him too much, and the woman became discouraged after repeatedly admonishing him without any results, and left him with the child." "Where did she go?" "I don't know. Mr. Haytham himself doesn't know. I think they left quietly in the night." "Anyway," Mrs. Fredo spoke more and more fluently, "later he finally became famous for his writing... The gap between them was actually very short. We all felt sorry for him. If he had become famous earlier, perhaps everything would have turned out differently." Then he might not be the only one implicated. Knowing that Haytham was not able to write it on his own, Hitzfeld remained noncommittal about her statement. But she understood the basic logic here. "So, he has a strong obsession with 'success'." "He wanted to prove himself." Mrs. Feredo nodded repeatedly. "After he got rich, he bought this place back immediately, but many things are irreparable. His temper has also become very bad. He always throws things around for no reason..." "Did you see him throw things?" "No...but there's no soundproofing here. Sometimes when it's quiet at night, you can hear it even if you're standing downstairs." "Then why didn't you hear that sound?" "You mean..." "Gunshots." Hitzfeld's face turned cold: "He fired a gun, you know." "I—" Mrs. Feredo looked horrified, "I don't know!"
"Did you hear any gunshots before you came in?" "no!" "Did anyone else come to see him between the time you brought him lunch at noon and the time you came again at night?" "no!" "you sure." "I swear in the name of the goddess! ... The entrance to the staircase is very narrow, I will definitely hear any noise if someone comes up!" "Did he smash anything in the afternoon?" "This... seems to be..." "Think about it carefully. I want a definite answer." "Yes! Yes!" Mrs. Feredo raised her voice. "It was around two o'clock but less than three o'clock! I took a nap! Then Mr. Haytham smashed something, and there were several loud noises in succession! I woke up with a fright... I must have done that!" "Did you see him when you delivered lunch at noon?" "Yes, he was probably in the bathroom brushing his teeth... I saw him moving and he asked me to put my things on the table." "Final question." Hitzfeld quickly recorded the information in his notebook. "Report the dinner you prepared for him." After questioning Mrs. Fredo, Hitzfeld then questioned the street cleaner Bill Fredo, the archway neighbors living in other doorways, and Haytham's editor Jones Andrew in this house overnight. Andrew was a little thin, wearing thin-framed glasses, and his image was well matched with his profession. When he sat opposite Hitzfeld, he was much calmer than others, because he knew very well that this matter had little to do with him - he had an alibi for the whole day. "Have you been working overtime at the newspaper all day today?" Hitzfeld glanced at him. "Yes, miss." Andrew nodded. "Are you busy at work?" "There are a lot of manuscripts to review." Andrew showed a helpless expression, "You may not understand the current situation... After the news spread, many people felt that they had the ability, so we were unlucky and had to waste a lot of time every day reviewing those meaningless texts and waste papers!" "But there must be something good in it." Hitzfeld said with his head down, "Otherwise you can just pack it up and throw it away." "Yes... that's what happened." Andrew looked at her in surprise. "It's possible that there are some really good ones. They can all be put in the waiting list, and then..." “Waiting for something like today to happen so that I can always find qualified writers to write articles for me.” Hitzfeld helped him finish, and when he looked up again he saw that his face had turned pale. "This...we don't want this to happen either." Andrew wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve. He is not afraid of the girl, but there are a bunch of important people eavesdropping outside!
"But this is the market...Everyone else is doing this. If we follow the process to withdraw the article and change the author, soon no one will buy it!" "Don't get excited, Mr. Andrew. Don't get excited. I don't mean to blame you." Hitzfeld smiled and put away the notebook. The information asked is almost enough. Not counting the weird phenomenon of "the gushing novelist", just looking at Bella Haytham's death, she already had a clue. Chapter 15 Please Trust Professionalism It was already 2 . when everything was over. Perhaps to make up for their previous "work mistakes", Pondich and Cole did not leave, and their subordinate officials naturally did not want to leave either, and stood there with them almost all night. "Sir." Watching Andrew walk out of the house with lingering fear, Joe Cole approached Pondich, pulled his sleeve and made him lower his head. “It’s not necessarily that bad.” "What do you want to say?" Pondich glanced at him, "I want to remind you, Cole... no matter how beneficial this matter is to Nan Xinze overall, everything is different now." Yes, it is indeed different. Because someone is dead. Before, they were able to turn a blind eye to this and bury their heads in the sand like quails. That was because the nature of the "disappearance" case was not particularly serious and there was still room for easing the situation. But the dead are different. Bella Haytham's death is likely to become a link in a long chain of suspicion, making people naturally think of other missing novelists and wonder if they are also dead. This will have an extremely bad social impact. If it is not handled properly, the peaceful atmosphere that Nan Xinze has worked so hard to create will collapse. "I know, sir." Joe Cole narrowed his eyes and showed a sly smile, "But didn't you notice that they can't find anything in a short time?" He sat in on the entire interrogation process and felt that Hitzfeld's questions were all amateurish and the witnesses' answers were useless. Now the interrogation is over, and based on the information we have obtained, we have no clues. This is also normal - after all, it is a mysterious case that can create a "shooting suicide corpse" in the evening without anyone noticing, so it is normal to have no clues. Cases involving evil spirits are always troublesome... because they cannot be analyzed with the same logic as ordinary cases. Joe Cole usually has a headache when encountering such cases. According to his estimation, the death of Haytham alone will trouble Hitzfeld for at least half a month. And the agreement between them and the parish is only for a month in total, right? He simply didn't believe that the truth behind the "newspaper war" could be uncovered in just one month. If no results were produced by the time the deadline came, they would just have to leave. Pondich didn't say anything, but his face did show a thoughtful expression. "Sheriff Cole." While he was thinking, the gray-haired girl had already come down with her Shadow Lion follower. Come down - yes, they were downstairs now, in the corridor under the archway. "Ms. Hitzfeld." Joe Cole immediately greeted them respectfully when he saw them, and his attitude was impeccable. Hitzfeld wanted to laugh. Joe Cole is less than meters tall. Well, considering the current level of civilization and the fact that we live in the south, this height is acceptable.
But he always liked to stand with the "Giant" Panditch, which made the combination of the two look like exaggerated cartoon characters in Disney animations from a distance. But she didn't dwell on it too much, and quickly got to the point: "When Mrs. Feredo ran down in the evening, I saw your people coming over... That means you have been monitoring this house, right?" "Yes." Joe Cole nodded. "I have been sending Kerry and others to keep an eye on not only Haytham, but also the other authors on the list - to prevent them from disappearing again." "Then you must know who has entered this doorway during this period of time." "Of course." Joe Cole frowned, wondering what she meant. "Then let's start checking." The girl made a direct request, "During the day yesterday, from dawn to noon, did anyone come to visit Fredo's family? Milkmen, postmen, etc.? Check them all."