Bailonz Street 13

Chapter 189. The Prey (1)

In the middle of deep sleep, a phone call came to our room. This hostel used old-style rotary phones for all their lines—whether this was interior design or just the hostel’s age, I couldn’t tell. The sharp ring shattered the room’s silence.

Who’s calling at this hour?

Having been woken twice before dawn, I tried to suppress my irritation, but couldn’t stop my brow from furrowing. The room clock showed it was just past five in the morning. A bluish darkness filled the room, the sun not yet risen.

Before Liam could stir, I grabbed the phone first. My voice was thick with sleep as I barely managed to speak.

“Hello…”

A scream tore through the receiver.

“Jane! Oh my God!”

“…Ms. O’Brien?”

The desperate voice had me jumping out of bed.

Something must have happened. And whatever it was, it couldn’t be good for either O’Brien or me.

“I’m coming now!”

As I hung up with a click, Liam heavily lifted his eyelids. I kissed his sleep-drunk forehead and said:

“Something seems to have happened at O’Brien’s house.”

“…Going with you.”

He urgently grabbed my coat sleeve, clearly not intending to let me go alone. With no choice, I waited for Liam to get ready before heading to O’Brien’s house on the outskirts of the village.

A cold drizzle had started falling again outside. Despite this being the relatively mild east of England, the rain made it feel chilly.

When we knocked hard on the door, O’Brien opened it. She was deathly pale and breathing heavily. Her face was streaked with tears. She was in a state of ‘shock.’ While trying to piece together clues about what had happened in this house, I first steadied O’Brien.

“Ob… Nicole. Tell us what happened. We’re here now.”

“Oh God, Jane…. What should I do? Bradley…”

Before O’Brien could finish speaking, Liam darted inside like a hunting dog catching the scent of prey. The tail of his coat, thrown over his pajamas, fluttered as he disappeared up the stairs. O’Brien and I followed him up. Though O’Brien trembled, seemingly afraid to face again what she’d seen, she also appeared concerned about sending just Liam and me upstairs.

As I climbed the stairs, I caught an ominous smell. The smell of death. The same smell that often clung to Liam Moore after visiting crime scenes. The moment I caught it, I let go of O’Brien’s hand and ran up.

I saw Liam Moore standing before a door. He looked at me intently and said:

“It’s a case.”

“…Nicole, call the police.”

It was a horrific sight. Internal organs were scattered haphazardly. I confirmed that O’Brien, who had followed behind me, was taking out her phone. I vaguely heard her voice telling someone on the phone that her housemate was dead.

I tied my hair up in a high ponytail and shared the nitrile gloves Liam offered. We had some time before the police arrived. We needed to examine everything quickly in that time.

Determining time of death was the priority. Checking body temperature would be fastest, but using the rectum as reference would leave traces of disturbing the body. Liam said playfully:

“We shouldn’t completely steal the forensics team’s job, right?”

Let’s first check the visible signs.

The man before us was presumed to be Bradley. I say ‘presumed’ because the face was severely damaged, making positive identification impossible. However, the long hair, thick beard, and ring mark on the left hand suggested it was likely Bradley. Such details would be difficult to fake in a short time.

“Similar to the marks left on the sheep hide. They didn’t hesitate since human skin is softer. They seem to have some knowledge of human anatomy.”

“A sharp nail? Ice pick? That kind of feeling.”

“They needed something like that to imitate claws.”

Liam said, very carefully lifting and examining the corpse’s arm. He continued while pressing the fingers:

“Rigor mortis has started in the finger joints too. Jane, could you check the eyes?”

Lost in the case, his old speech pattern slipped out unconsciously. When I tried to suppress a strange smile, Liam seemed to notice his slip and corrected himself.

“…Please, dear.”

“Of course, honey.”

I apologetically turned back the corpse’s eyelids. Though the face was heavily damaged, fortunately the eyes we needed to examine remained. From the clouded state of the eyeballs, we could estimate when death occurred.

“It’s five twenty-nine now, let’s see… he was killed after parting with us. More than ten hours since death.”

“After we returned from checking the farm?”

I asked.

But how could someone secretly kill Bradley, who lived with O’Brien, and escape? Bradley was a very tall, strongly built adult male. If he had resisted, surely there would have been enough commotion for O’Brien to notice.

I asked O’Brien:

“Was there anything unusual in the evening?”

“No.”

O’Brien answered in a trembling voice.

“I called him to come eat dinner, but he said he’d come after finishing his movie. He often watches a movie in the evening like this. A World War II film.”

“I see… When did he last come out of his room?”

O’Brien fell into thought at my question. She seemed to be recalling yesterday’s events.

“Well, after eating an early dinner, I got very sleepy. So I fell asleep right on the sofa, and just woke up earlier. I think Bradley must have come out once during that time. There were signs he’d eaten the food on the table.”

“So you went upstairs?”

“I thought I’d turn off the projector if Bradley had fallen asleep.”

“And that’s when you found him. Do you remember when you fell asleep?”

“It must have been around six-thirty.”

She called our room right after discovering him just past five AM, and we arrived running here around five twenty-two. Then we spent this time examining the body.

Death occurred ten to twelve hours ago. That would put Bradley Miller’s death between six and seven PM. After six-thirty would be most likely, after O’Brien fell asleep.

Just then, police car lights appeared outside. Liam stopped examining the body and stood up. We went downstairs to wait for the officers in the sitting room.

“Lowestoft Police.”

O’Brien opened the door. A middle-aged man and a young man entered, shaking rain from their shoulders. They showed us their badges and said:

“We received a report about a discovered body. Who made the report?”

“I-I did.”

O’Brien said. The officers stared at us.

“Then who are these people?”

“Ah, they’re guests I invited… When I found the body I was so shocked, I called them and they came running.”

“…Is that so?”

“Well, I don’t have many close friends…”

We seemed to have already aroused suspicion. In the officers’ minds, a picture was probably forming of O’Brien killing her housemate and calling us to help destroy evidence. Their gazes were very sharp.

After a moment of silence, the older officer spoke:

“You there, young lady.”

“Me?”

I opened my eyes wide.

“Foreigner… aren’t you? Do you have a driver’s license?”

O’Brien sharply questioned the officer’s inquiry:

“Why is that procedure necessary? I told you they’re my invited guests.”

“If a foreigner is involved in a crime, embassy assistance might be needed.”

My accent must have made them uncertain. I realized my mistake. My ID—passport or international driver’s license—was at the hostel. I carefully spoke:

“It’s with my luggage at the hostel. Should I go get it now…?”

Did I look frightened? The younger officer held back his superior in a somewhat more generous tone:

“No, that’s fine. It was just a routine check, don’t worry about it. Sir, do you have your license?”

Liam searched his wallet and pulled out a license.

When did he manage to get something like that.