"What?" Charlie couldn't believe his ears.
Lumian was also surprised and cast a sympathetic look at Charlie.
He felt that Charlie had no motive for murdering Mrs. Alice, after all, as long as the other party was alive, Charlie would get 500 Felkin every month for the next six months, and according to some magazines and newspapers, this was close to the monthly salary of doctors, lawyers, middle-level civil servants (section chief level), senior middle school teachers, senior engineers, and deputy police inspectors.
Seeing the two companions walking upstairs, the police officer who handcuffed Charlie explained briefly:
"This morning, Mrs. Alice was found dead in her room at the White Swan Hotel, and according to many witnesses, you slept there last night and didn't leave until close to midnight."
Charlie was frightened and confused:
"How could it be, how could she die......"
Muttering to himself, he suddenly looked at the police officer and said urgently:
"She was still alive when I left, really! I swear to Saint-Vieph!"
The officer said in a deep voice:
"According to the preliminary autopsy report, Mrs. Alice died between 11 a.m. last night and 1 a.m., and there were no traces left by anyone there except you and Mrs. Alice."
Maybe the others are not human? Lumian thought of the ghost of Monsouri and couldn't help but scold.
If he hadn't lacked enough disguise now to attract the attention of the detectives, he would definitely have said it directly.
"Impossible, damn it, this is impossible!" Charlie's eyes widened and he shouted loudly.
At this moment, a policeman who had just left quietly came down from the fifth floor, wearing white gloves, holding a diamond necklace with brilliance in his left palm.
"I found this!" He said to the officer in charge.
The officer nodded, no longer explaining to Charlie, looked at him, and said seriously:
"Charlie. Corrent, you will be arrested for a murder, and you have the right to remain silent, but everything you say will be testified in court."
"I didn't! Did you hear that? I didn't!" Charlie shouted bitterly, struggling hard.
This had no effect, and he was carried away by two police officers from the "Golden Rooster Hotel".
At this time, several tenants had heard the sound and came to the staircase and saw this scene.
This includes Gabriel, who seems to have just stayed up late to finish his draft.
"Do you think Charlie did it?" Lumian looked at the silent corridor and asked the playwright standing beside him thoughtfully.
Gabriel came out early and roughly understood what happened to Charlie.
He shook his head and said:
"I don't believe it was Charlie who did it, he is not a good person, but he is not a bad person either."
"Why do you say that?" Lumian asked sideways.
Gabriel pushed the black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose:
"He was cheated of money before and almost starved to death, but he never thought about stealing the belongings of our neighbors.
"This shows that he either has his own principles and bottom line, or he is very afraid of the law, and either possibility is enough to prove that he will not murder the wife."
Lumian nodded first, and then chuckled:
"But people are impulsive and change."
After saying that, he went up the stairs layer by layer to the fifth floor.
This is the top floor of the "Golden Rooster Inn", and the ceiling above has large marks of water getting wet and drying up, and it seems that water seeps out when it rains heavily.
Lumian walked to the door of room 504 where Charlie lived, took out a small piece of iron wire he was carrying, and opened the wooden door.
Charlie's suitcase, bed and wooden table were all rummaged over by the two policemen before, and all kinds of items were placed in a mess, but their number was quite limited.
——When he was drinking and chatting with Charlie in the basement bar before, Lumian heard him mention that during his unemployment, he went to the pawnshop to mortgage the only formal suit and mortgaged a lot of things, but he was unable to redeem it until now.
Step inside, as his eyes moved slowly, Lumian suddenly saw a portrait.
It is affixed to the wall opposite the bed and depicts a woman in a long green dress.
The woman looked twenty-seven or eighteen years old, with brown and red hair, green eyes, rosy lips, a delicate face, and an elegant temperament.
Lumian was stunned for a moment, feeling that the woman in the painting was very familiar.
He knew that this should have been mistaken by Charlie for the famous prostitute of Saint-Viève, Suzanne. Matisse.
But he had never seen this woman before, so there was no reason to think that the other person was familiar.
After pondering for a while, Lumian suddenly remembered something for a while.
Some time ago, when he was dancing the dance of the beckoning in room 207, he attracted a translucent figure that was obviously stronger than other creatures.
The figure is also a woman, and the Susannah in the portrait. Matisse is very similar, except that the hair is green and brownish-red, one is long enough to wrap around the naked body, and the other can only be styled into a normal bun.
Also, the figure is even more charming, as if it can directly arouse the desires hidden in everyone's heart, and Suzanne. Matisse's portrait did not make Lumian excited.
"Praying randomly brings problems?" Lumian nodded slightly.
In the past, he would not think there was anything wrong with what Charlie did at that time - if he could really avoid the fate of starvation, let alone think that he was the main guardian angel of Trier, even if he knew that he was a prostitute, he would pray devoutly.
And now, after having a certain understanding of the entry sequence of the twenty-two divine paths, sacrificial taboos, and related occult knowledge through Aurore's witchcraft notes, Lumian knew that sometimes, indiscriminate prayers were a very dangerous thing.
After checking for a while, he left room 504, took the calcium carbide lamp, and went to Market Avenue to take a public carriage to the observatory area.
Go underground and go to Aosta. On the way to the area where Trul usually haunts, Lumian looked at the darkness behind the stone pillar from time to time.
In this regard, he laughed at himself and said:
"You won't encounter the ghost of Montsouri again, will you?"
If this were the case, he would have to consider whether there was a special connection between the ghost of Montsouri and something in him, or whether the pollution of that person, although sealed, had indirectly changed his "constellation", making his luck extremely poor.
Fortunately, Lumian's worries did not come true, he successfully saw the bonfire and saw Aosta sitting under the stone pillar. Trul.
The man wearing a hood and a black robe looked at Lumian and showed a heartfelt smile:
"Mr. K allows you to attend our occult meeting every two weeks at 9 p.m."
Aosta's eyes were extremely sincere, as if he was saying that it was time to give money.
The day after tomorrow at nine o'clock in the evening...... Lumian smiled and nodded:
"Where is the meeting?"
"Come to my place of residence an hour in advance to find me, and I will take you there." Aosta replied without hesitation.
Lumian said "Hmm":
"I will pay you the balance then."
"Okay." Aosta was a bit disappointed, but it was acceptable.
Lumian asked instead:
"What should I pay attention to when attending that party?"
"Cover your face and hide your identity." Aosta said experiencedly, "You don't want other participants to confess to you after being caught by the officials, right? Except for Mr. K, who can control everything, no one else can't."
Lumian smiled:
"You have seen my face and know my identity, after the first gathering, should I consider burying you in a corner of the underground Trier?"
Aosta instinctively shuddered, and forced a smile and said:
"You are so humorous.
"But I don't know who you are, where you live, what you do, and your current appearance should not be the most real."
After scaring the other party into having a happy harvest, Lumian found a stone and sat down, enjoying the warmth brought by the bonfire, and asked in a chattery manner:
"You've heard of Suzanne. Matisse?"
"I know." Aosta replied a little excitedly, "For a while, she was the love of my dreams, and I bought a lot of posters and postcards with her photos. In the past few years, she was the most famous prostitute in Trier, the kind who could participate in high-class dinners, and had scandals with many parliamentarians, high-ranking officials, and rich people, and it was said that she could earn hundreds of thousands of Felkin every year, but in the past two or three years, she has not appeared much, and was robbed of Trier's status as a famous courtesan by 'Nana'.
Hundreds of thousands of Felkins? Lumian was a little shocked:
"A high-end courtesan earns more than most best-selling authors?"
"Isn't this normal?" Aosta had a strange expression on his face, "High-end courtesans can sleep in the beds of parliamentarians, bankers, and high-ranking officials, but best-selling writers cannot."
Lumian said amusement and self-deprecating:
"Yes, the poet Paulaire said that there is no difference between a writer and a prostitute, the only difference is that one betrays the mind and the other sells the body." (Note 1)
"I prefer the body." Aosta is quite candid.
Lumian asked again.
"Then have you ever heard of the legend of a female ghost, her hair is turquoise, long enough to wrap around her body, and her facial features are very delicate, which can charm most men and arouse their desires."
"No." Aosta shook his head.
He then said with a yearning face:
"If there is such a female ghost, I would love to meet it once."
Lumian stood up and laughed softly:
"Then you should be prepared to come dozens of times a night and eventually die suddenly."
"......" Aosta's expression instantly froze on his face.
…………
3 p.m., 27 Market Avenue, Honest Market Area Police Headquarters.
Lumian, who spent nearly 300 Felkin to buy three sets of clothing of different grades, cheap cosmetics, and other camouflage props, appeared in the extremely noisy hall.
Some were brought in, some were lucky to leave, some quarreled loudly, cursed, and some slammed tables and stools......
Lumian, whose blonde hair was neatly combed back, black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, two squinted beards on his mouth, and whose cheeks were obviously white, wore a black formal suit and carried a brown briefcase, walked towards a male police officer in charge of reception.
He stopped in front of the other party, raised his head slightly, and said very confidently:
"I'm Charlie. Corrent's pro bono lawyer, I want to see my client."
Note 1: I have the impression that Baudelaire said it, but I couldn't find the source for a while, and it may be said by someone else.
(End of this chapter)