Chapter Text
“Report.”
“Male, 57. No signs of a scuffle. Found dead in his apartment building when the landlord personally came down to collect rent. Apparently, the guy was three weeks late, sir,” Stepanyan stated gruffly.
Valeriy raised a brow. “That's the thirtieth death report this week, not to mention it's only Monday afternoon. Did he have any past medical history?”
Stepanyan shook his head, “The man lived a healthy life. No heart or liver issues. Family history was also clear, sir. Strange that he'd get a heart attack out of nowhere.”
“Another heart attack case? Not in my decade of serving have the cardiac arrest rates ever been this high compared to this year.” Against his better judgement, Valeriy stepped closer to the body in morbid curiosity.
At this moment, he noticed something. The stench. It wasn't overtly foul-smelling. On the contrary, the smell given off by the dead body was still a tangy metallic. In fact, before entering the room, Valeriy hadn't smelt anything rancid in the corridor.
“Forensic team say anything yet?” Valeriy asked as he walked around the room.
“No, sir. They actually haven't come down yet, since it's just a natural death, they're in no rush,” Stepanyan shook his head.
Valeriy scanned the room for any sign of a break-in. Carefully inspecting the room, he spared a quick glance at the thermostat before checking the windows. Backtracking, his eyes swiftly landed back on the glaring thermostat. It had been set to 32℃, even in midday afternoon. No wonder sweat had been pooling at his back.
Then, a realisation hit him like a truck.
Over his years between crime scenes, he'd vaguely managed to distinguish the states of dead bodies. For a man who was assumed to be dead three weeks ago, there was nothing but flies surrounding his body. The usual disgusting maggots and the sorts were nowhere to be seen. Moreover, if the man had died multiple weeks ago, the neighbours would've been complaining about the smell. Yet, the landlord only came down today— and it was to collect rent. Going off facts, if the thermostat was set to a sweltering 32℃, and had the man been left dead here for weeks, forget the maggots or stench, the body would be picked clean of flesh. The timeline wasn't linking up.
This wasn't a natural death. This was a homicide.
Someone had deliberately disrupted the victim’s rent payment. Someone had come in and exited without notice, or left any mark of their presence. Someone had precisely executed this murder and created the perfect alibi. They were a silent perpetrator the police hadn't even known existed.
“Stepanyan, go to the patrol-car radio and get the forensics team down here now,” Valeriy sternly ordered, turning to meet his junior’s eye.
Stepanyan, ever the good junior, simply nodded sharply and obeyed without asking questions. As the police junior lieutenant opened the door, the police major called out gravely from behind him.
“He didn't die from a medical event— he was murdered.”
. .
“Any fingerprints on the thermostat?” Valeriy inquired. The forensics team had come back to the station at the end of the day.
“Nothing. We swept the perimeter, from the corridor floors outside to the apartment windows, sir. Nothing. No fingerprints, no shoe prints— not even a strand of hair left behind. Whoever it was, they did a thorough job of leaving no footprint behind.” Odette, Police Lieutenant and Head of Forensics, answered.
She pursed her lips in thought, adding, “We took a sample of the body’s blood. I managed to conduct sample extraction and preparation just as my shift ended. I've set up the Thin-Layer Chromatography, so we'll be able to get some results of strange substances found in the body’s blood by tomorrow morning. It'll take some time, but I'll definitely get back to you on that aspect.”
“I should report this to the higher-ups, hell— maybe even one of the Senior Police Generals.”
“Senior Police General? Pardon me for saying this, Mr. Valeriy, but respectfully, they are far too busy to be dealing with what might be a homicide case. They've got orders straight from The Tsarista to attend to. We shouldn't waste their time on this one matter. Furthermore, you lack the lab results; the data to present the case 313-74,” Odette asserted professionally.
“Conversely, this is more than what might be a homicide. This is a perfectly executed murder that could've gone undetected if I hadn't personally been on site. It wouldn't have even opened a case. The lab results are just another data point, besides the timeline, to prove the questionable death.” Valeriy justified, getting up from his office chair.
Odette narrowed her eyes, clearly still sceptical of her Police Major’s opinion. Valeriy sighed, making his way to his office door. “Trust me on this, Odette. Otherwise, someone will get away with murder. I can't have that on my conscience.”
Opening the door, Valeriy left his office and station building, getting into his police car and driving towards Zapolyarny Palace.
-
He didn't come here much, only dropping by for the monthly reports and some other administrative matters as the Police Major of his station.
“What's the purpose of your visit?” A guard questioned, raising her baton. Her gaze dragged up and down Valeriy’s work clothes.
“I need to file a report with my Police Major General.” Valeriy lied without missing a beat, pulling out his Police Major rank group badge.
The guard inspected Valeriy’s badge before giving a grunt and lowering her weapon. “He's on the second floor. Won't be happy with you coming this late,” she helpfully provided.
Valeriy had a headache navigating through the twists and turns of Zapolyarny Palace towards the Police Generals’ office. Truthfully, in his decade of working here, he'd only been in their offices a handful of times. Despite his unfamiliarity with the building layout, he managed enough, finding himself standing in front of a thick, wooden door.
The handle was plated in silver, with a matching silver name plate helpfully inscribed with the big bold letters “Police General Danica”. Honestly, choosing Danica was the lesser of two evils (scariness-wise). After all, even as The Tsarista’s left hand, she was actually a maid. Compared to the combative prowess of Vesna — The Tsarista’s personal head of security — it was easy to make a choice.
His knuckles rapped against the hardwood door.
“Come in.”
Valeriy drew a deep breath and held it. He had to be exuding sureness and professionalism. Entering the threshold, he strided to the shiny mahogany desk.
“Oh? Police Major Valeriy, right? What brings you here in a rush?” Danica questioned, expression giving away nothing except for a slightly sharpening gaze, posture impeccable.
Valeriy shifted slightly from her piercing gaze. “Good evening, Police General Danica. I am here to bring your attention to a matter of utmost importance, ma'am, if you could just give me three minutes of your time—”
“—Enough with the pleasantries and get on with it. Time is money.” Danica said not unkindly, gaze already drifting back down to the paperwork on her desk.
Unsure of what was the polite thing to do (remain standing or sit down on the plush leather chair opposite Danica), he chose to stand with his hands folded in front of him. “There's been a homicide,” Valeriy said, trying to use the shock factor of death to regain his higher-up’s attention.
When he was met with no reaction, he resignedly continued, “The victim was 57, male, presumed dead from cardiac arrest. He had an unremarkable medical history; his family was all healthy. However, following meticulous investigations, circumstantial evidence led us to believe there is foul play. It wasn't a natural death, but rather an expertly disguised homicide, ma'am.”
At his final sentence, Danica finally broke her focus on paperwork, instead opting to stare at Valeriy as if he were a thorn in her side.
“What did the forensics identify in their lab? Was it arsenic poisoning? Give me the exact data straight from Lieutenant Odette.” Danica spoke, challenging Valeriy’s composure. The words Odette had said to him just under an hour ago whispered directly into his brain. You lack the lab results and the data to present the case.
He paused, unable to answer Danica. “What you're accusing is very grave indeed, but I cannot simply take your word for it. You understand the procedure— being in the police force for over a decade.”
Danica waited, sharp blue eyes searching his face for an answer. Things like this happen. False alarms, an attempt to seek attention, fanatics for The Tsarista trying to get to her through Danica, so on and so forth. Danica hadn't expected Valeriy to be amongst those types. She had thought her read on people was good.
“To be honest, I don't even have the lab results yet, ma'am. However, I can provide the contradicting timeline. Kindly hear me out on this.” Valeriy cut off her train of thought, bowing his head.
Danica decided to humor the Police Major, attention now fully on Valeriy. With these types of people, it was better to go along with them so they would leave her alone. “Go on, explain the circumstantial evidence you've gathered so far,” she said as she dipped her quill in ink.
Valeriy could sense the hidden derogatory undertone of Police General Danica’s statement. Shoving his pride down, he started.
“The report was lodged by a landlord, who found the body following a three-week lag in rent payment. The body was dead on arrival. By natural assumption, he'd have had to have died three weeks ago. On the contrary, when we arrived on scene to the supposedly three-week-old body, it was still pretty much alive until yesterday.” Valeriy paused, voice growing steadier and surer with each word that tumbled out of his mouth.
“There were no maggots, no complaints of stench— nothing of the usual sorts that came with dead bodies festering in bacteria for over a week. In addition, the thermostat was set to 32℃. If he were presumed to be dead for three weeks, he would be bare of bones by now. I know that from my years of experience, something was unnatural. He wasn't lying on his bed like it was his coffin— he was found lying face up on his living room floor.”
As Danica heard these pieces of information, her sharp eyes widened slightly. In surprise; in realisation? Valeriy could not tell. Her face was as blank and stoic as always. He hoped that he didn't come off as cynical in his long-winded rant.
The Police General set her quill down. “So what you're saying is that there is more to this case. Someone— a person of interest who covertly delayed the decedent’s rental payment— created an unassailable alibi for the death to appear naturally caused. Except, the landlord came down sooner than expected. And using the stages of decomposition you've grown familiar with, you were able to discern the true nature of the death…” Danica trailed off, lost in her thoughts of the correct procedure to respond to this situation.
Valeriy, still standing under the weight of her gaze which was dissecting him like a scalpel, slumped slightly. A tense silence blanketed the five by five meter room.
Danica finally broke her gaze, reaching into her pocket to whip out a pack of cigarettes. She systemically tapped out a cigarette, lighting it promptly using a lighter from one of her many pockets in her maid uniform. She tilted the box slightly towards Valeriy in a silent offer, and he shook his head.
Standing there, in Police General Danica’s office while she took a drag, Valeriy felt out of place. He scrunched his nose slightly. Patience was a virtue that Valeriy had. However, the suspense and disregard he was facing nagged at him. Surely, he was in for another lecture. Or possibly a pay cut. He had spoken out of line.
Exhaling, she grinned slightly at her own thoughts. “It seems I am a good judge of character. It's good that you brought this matter to my attention, regardless of standard procedures and all those pleasantries.” Taking another drag of her cigarette, she continued. “It could be coincidences, but that'd mean it would have to be a damn straight series of coincidences. And my gut is telling me this isn't the usual heart attack episode.”
Hearing those words, a flame of hope was ignited in Valeriy.
“Major, come back tomorrow at 1730 hours with data from the lab, and see if you can find anything else. I'll entertain your train of thought for now, but it will be nothing more than casual conversation until you deliver cold, hard evidence.” Police General Danica ordered with a wave of her cigarette.
“Yes, ma'am. Thank you for giving this your time of day.” Valeriy bowed, turning to leave her office.
. - - - .
The loud honking of a car woke Valeriy up.
Sparing a glance at the analog clock on the wall in front of him, he read that it was the Ass Crack Of Dawn O'Clock. Seriously, did the road ragers have zero spatial and social awareness? Shaking his head to literally shake off the sleep on him, he sat up on the bed and swung his long legs onto the floor. The vertigo today was harsh on him. Maybe it was because he'd slept only at 0300. after brooding over the case details. Fuck, this was going to be his new unhealthy fixation for a good while.
Getting ready swiftly, Valeriy checked the clock in his humble living room, seeing that he still had plenty of time left to sit down for morning coffee. Ah, morning coffee sounded Celestia sent. Whereas many others in the police force had the vice of smoking, Valeriy was never one for tobacco. The smell never left the clothes, and he'd seen the effect smoking had firsthand— through his mother's lung cancer. Valeriy was content living a full, healthy life in the vice of caffeine.
Valeriy left the house, ambling to his usual cafe, The Demetrios, nearby.
“One large Vanilla Cappuccino, double shot and having here,” Valeriy said to the counter staff. He recognised her from the countless mornings he had been coming by for his daily fix. “Will that be all, sir?” Wasn't that the million dollar question, Valeriy thought dramatically. “Can I have Blini to go please?” He added.
To be frank, the menu items priced here weren't costly, but they weren't cheap either. Valeriy dropping by daily himself was certainly a steady flow of cash supporting their small business. Hell, they should give him a rebate or loyalty discount.
“Sir, your coffee is ready.”
Retrieving his usual cup, he sighed softly upon taking a sip. Contrary to his impassive outward appearance, he disliked black coffee. It would do just fine, but his preference always leaned towards flavoured cappuccinos. Why have a shitty work life balance and dull coffee? Valeriy couldn't understand his colleagues who shared that lifestyle. But he digressed.
Inhaling deeply, the smell of roasted coffee beans permeating all his sides soothed his nerves. Maybe he was addicted to coffee. Nothing wrong with being weak to temptation. At this point, the desire for caffeine was woven into his natural instincts.
. . . /
The contrasting shift from the ambient cafe to the bleak grey walls of the police station was jarring. Finishing off his Blini, he disposed of its paper bag in a rubbish bin like the good, responsible citizen he is.
Surprisingly, he wasn't the first to clock in. Odette greeted him as he walked past the forensics lab door window. Valeriy nodded courteously in response. Getting to his desk, he opened the top drawer, pulling out the case files from the previous day. Today, he would question the landlord, the neighbours on the same floor of the decedent’s apartment, and hopefully find a new break in the case through Odette’s lab work.
Knock, knock, knock. “Valeriy, the Thin-Layer Chromatography plate is clean. I couldn't match any substances from the samples to any poison controls.”
Valeriy’s jaw slackened in shock. The perpetrator didn't kill with the usual poisons. How did they manage to artificially engineer a heart attack without leaving any trace at all? Someone had taken a life, and the police didn't even know how.
“Did you find anything at all from the autopsy?” Valeriy tried, desperation laced thick in his voice.
Odette shook her head solemnly. “The body's a clean slate. Zero signs of struggle, no bruises, no injection sites, nothing.”
The Police Major felt a wave of nausea wash over him. How were they supposed to catch a killer if they couldn't convict them of a crime? The police would have no grounds to arrest a suspect for questioning.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. Valeriy went through the usual motions of work. He ended up digging through different deaths by natural causes in the province. After ruling out the elderly who died from natural causes (since those were probably authentic), he found over a dozen different people from different towns who all died from heart attacks too. Although Valeriy couldn't say for sure that they were all caused by the same perpetrator, or if there was any link at all, the high number of healthy adults dying of just a heart attack alone was enough to warrant suspicion.
Throughout the day, he didn't just go to the recent crime scenes. Valeriy also went to question people of interest from the different cases, driving all around the province. Of course, he'd have to factor in that the related people's memories were unclear after months, but they'd help in cracking down on case 313-74.
However, his mind lingered on a question: How did they kill?
Before Valeriy knew it, he was back in front of Senior Police General Danica’s office door. Despite the past day spent on preparation for this “casual conversation”, Valeriy still had no proof of case 313-74— or any of the other natural deaths for that matter— being homicide, nonetheless committed by the same organisation or even person. Here goes nothing, he thought as he gently turned the handle.
Danica didn't even spare a glance as he walked in, still metaphorically drowning in piles of paperwork. “What did forensics say?” she asked, tapping the ash off the cigarette butt into a conveniently placed ashtray.
Valeriy resumed his previous position of standing awkwardly in front of her mahogany desk. “Forensics and autopsy couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary, ma'am. It's almost as if the man died naturally. But—”
“—I know, I know. The timeline says otherwise,” Danica cut him off, waving the cigarette in her right hand before placing it in her mouth. She rhythmically dipped the nib of her black and silver fountain pen, pressing a button that drew dark blue-black ink into its internal sac, then wiped the metal nib clean with a cloth she pulled out from her pocket that had seen much use throughout the years.
“We're dealing with a perpetrator who kills without leaving a trace anywhere. Fuck, I was hoping it'd be another arsenic poisoning or something normally used. If we can't see how they were killed, we can't track down any supplier or manufacturer of the weapon or poison. The perpetrator is too smart for their own good,” She muttered at the end while signing something.
Valeriy decided to add his two cents to the conversation. “The public has to know so they can protect themselves, ma'am. I've connected at least twelve different people from different towns dying in the same way. They all died from heart attacks, with ages ranging from 23 to 57. They're all connected, and it's all happening here, in this province.”
Danica looked up at him incredulously. She capped the fountain pen dexterously with one hand, her right hand holding a cig between two fingers. Then, she took a long drag of the cigarette, as if purposely making Valeriy wait for her reply. “You can't be serious. Sure, let's go and tell the public there's possibly a serial killer on the loose, and that the authorities have no clue how they choose or even kill their victims. Let them know the people in power are pulling their hair at this and that we have zilch control over the situation. The press would have a field day with this,” the Senior Police General said deadpan.
She exhaled the smoke languidly in the space between them, before harshly jamming the cigarette into the metal ashtray, giving Valeriy whiplash. “Do you even know the consequences that could have on Snezhnaya as a whole? Archons, I thought you were smarter than this, Major Valeriy.”
Valeriy leaned back slightly, the musty smell of tobacco irritating his lungs. I should've gone to Senior Police General Vesna instead. He himself never saw the appeal of smoking— but to each their own. Unfortunately for him, here he willingly was in a room filled with that revolting stale odour. Though he just might leave soon of his own accord.
“Senior Police General,” Valeriy said after a pause, "I am well aware of the consequences of revealing such information to the public. However, please understand that more people could die at the hands of this silent executioner.”
“It's povesit visyak(hanging unsolvable case). We don't even know for sure if there is a perpetrator of these so-called homicides,” Danica shot back without missing a beat.
“General Danica, I joined the justice system to serve the people and Snezhnaya. If my values conflict with the current police force’s, then I will resign from my position.”
Danica paused, weighing the options. She picked the glossy fountain pen back up. “You're not bluffing, are you? Tch, you know how understaffed we already are. The high turnover rate is no joke.”
Her gaze fell onto Valeriy. “I'll arrange a meeting on Friday at 1745 hours, between you and us Generals. If you can convince both of us that the different records of heart attacks are all connected, then we'll personally look into this case. Otherwise, you'll drop this glukhar(cold case). We don't need more cold cases sullying The Tsarista’s country.”
Valeriy acquiesced to General Danica’s order, knowing that this was the most he could push for now. He had already bitten off more than he could chew.
Valeriy left her office with a sober look on his face. It was already Tuesday. He only had a little under two days to prepare to articulate his viewpoint to the two Senior Police Generals. On top of his current work responsibilities as Police Major, he still had to research and compile enough evidence to convince the two Senior Police Generals. No sweat.
- -
It wouldn't be an understatement to say Valeriy was sweating buckets. The blazing ball of fire in the sky was practically roasting him in his already thick work clothes. Deadline-driven, Valeriy jumped from place to place.
He would go to a crime scene; then drive down to the mortuary to check logbooks, identification records, cause of death certificates, autopsy and toxicology reports from the past three months, before eventually being radioed to go back to the station because some complication arose. Following that, he still had administration matters back at the office— auditing open investigation files, drafting warrants, and spending a few hours on tracking statistical data for the Palochnaya Sistema(Russian KPI).
To his dismay, when he read the analog clock in his office, it was already 1930, and he hadn't even finished his takeaway lunch yet. Valeriy’s desk looked as if a hurricane had passed through it, with paperwork strewn across every available surface. Its only mercy was the two empty cups of coffee sitting neatly on his desk, nestled between budget reports. He absent-mindedly heard Odette announce that she was finishing up, then the telltale sound of receding heels clicking against the linoleum floor.
Work was consuming him, both in body and mind. Yet, he had to keep going. For those who have been killed by the phantom perpetrator. For the safety of others. For his own peace of mind. For his own sense of justice, he felt he had to uphold. For the sake of it.
The grind was never ending. Valeriy knew that he needed to sleep, eat, or perform some other basic human function, yet he couldn't let anything but the case files occupy his every waking hour. The reality was— if Valeriy didn't burn the midnight oil for one night, he wouldn't be able to finish up the report for Senior Police Generals Danica and Vesna.
Sighing deeply, the Police Major dove back into sorting the endless details regarding recent deaths by medical events, praying to The Tsarista that he'd find a breakthrough soon. Hm, he ought to buy himself another cup of cappuccino for tonight.
Considering the conspiracy board (that took up a large portion of the wall behind his chair), Valeriy gave himself a pat on the back and decided it was due time for a break.
He walked briskly to The Demetrios, mind set solely on getting that cup of coffee. Seeing that the store was near empty except for a few customers, it seemed Valeriy arrived just in time before they closed shop. He drew in slow, short breaths despite the exertion from the walk over, since a few customers were still there smoking freely. Good grief, this is why he usually dropped by in the morning. Most people preferred lighting a cig at night rather than when they just woke up.
Valeriy minutely wrinkled his nose as he ordered a double shot Lavender Cappuccino, with leftover sour cream syrniki, which would have to suffice for dinner and supper. While waiting for his syrniki to be heated up by the staff, he flipped through the mortuary logbooks, trying to spot a pattern in the deaths to no avail. To be frank, Valeriy didn't even know if some of the “death by natural causes” were even related to the case; he was grasping at straws.
Then he realised something. Since all Snezhnayan citizens need an official travel document to move between cities, the killer would likely only concentrate on victims in one place. If not, they would be easily tracked down if the record of their travel suspiciously matched the timeframe during which they committed homicide. However, this decision would in turn place another burden on the phantom killer; after all, now that Valeriy knew the murders would only take place in one region, he could narrow down the “natural” deaths related to his phantom killer.
The murders would be sporadic, sure, but the one constant? With the existence of Case 313-74, Valeriy knew that it all had to be happening, right here, in the Everfrozen Earth region of Snezhnaya.
Maybe breaks aren't such a bad thing after all.
. .
Using this newly realised information, Valeriy spent the night (and the subsequent Thursday early morning) narrowing down the pool of “natural” deaths to those in Snezhnograd. He was left with over a dozen people who had no concerning medical history and suffered from a sudden medical event, which ultimately killed them, ranging from organ failure to respiratory paralysis to cardiac arrest.
Although this wasn't anywhere near finalised yet, the Police Major could proudly say, with certainty, that it was a start in the right direction. He wasn't chasing shadows anymore— he had something solid, something real, to latch onto.
Looking at the conspiracy board, back turned to the office door, he vaguely heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind him. Twisting around swiftly, he saw that Lieutenant Odette was behind him, her baton mid-swing. Even though Valeriy was already face-to-face with Odette, she didn't seem to recognise him as she swiftly brought her baton down. Maybe because none of the lights in his office was turned on except for his small desk light, leaving the room (and his face) shrouded in darkness. In response, Valeriy dodged to the best of his sleep-addled ability, narrowly avoiding the strike.
“Lieutenant Odette! It’s me, Major Valeriy,” he exclaimed, raising his arms in a placating gesture. Hearing the plea, Odette slowly lowered the baton, still wary of the suspicious figure in front of herself.
Odette slowly backtracked to his office door, eyes remaining fixed on Valeriy’s tall figure. All of a sudden, there was a flick of a switch, and Valeriy experienced what could probably be considered as a flashbang. The bright fluorescent lights overhead bombarded and assaulted his senses. Odette is a hazy blur of featureless shapes and colours to Valeriy. He shakes his head, willing away the dark spots in his vision.
“Major Valeriy?” Odette probed, voice unsure (wow, that’s a first). Her light blue eyebrows were drawn tight. “Oh, that is you. Apologies, I had thought you were an intruder.” Pausing, she scrutinised Valeriy’s rough appearance. “Excuse my manners, but frankly, you look as if you've been through hell and back.” She commented in a monotone.
“Been through hell and back? I just had one of many sleepless nights, how bad could I possibly look—” Valeriy was interrupted by Odette holding a pocket mirror into his line of sight.
Looking at his own reflection, Valeriy saw a shell of himself. Odette was not exaggerating. The dark circles under his puffy eyes were sunken deeper than usual; multiple stray locks of black hair framed his face; his work clothes had multiple creases; his coat and two belts were hanging on his office chair.
“Shit— what time is it? I have to go for a district department briefing by the Lieutenant Colonel.”
“The time is currently 8 a.m., Major.”
“The one time I don't follow my schedule to a T, and all goes to hell. Celestia, reincarnate me into a door so I don't have any responsibilities.” Valeriy muttered while rubbing ink-stained fingers on his temples in a futile attempt to relieve his headache.
“If you'd be agreeable to it, I could help cover up most of the sleep deprivation on your face through makeup.” Odette offered, already holding up a small pouch.
Thank The Tsarista for Odette, she's a blessing. Without hesitation, Odette dragged Valeriy to the station’s communal bathroom, shoving a small bottle of mouthwash and a facial bar into her colleague’s hands. Valeriy thanked her as he quickly got ready— the splash of ice cold water did a good job of waking him up.
Subsequently, when they returned to his office, Odette set Valeriy down on his chair in front of a large window, instructing him to close his eyes and relax his facial muscles. The Lieutenant spread moisturiser on his face before dabbing her cream stick concealer onto his dark circles. He heard her mutter “the shade is a little off, but it'll do just fine” under her breath, light blue eyebrows pinched in concentration. Valeriy felt a light pull below his eyelid as Odette applied white eyeliner along the lower waterline. It felt uncomfortable, but the Police Major didn't dare disturb an expert’s work.
Nonetheless, his eyelids were uncooperative. “Stop fluttering your eyes,” Odette remarked, and the hand that held his face in place tightened. Valeriy winced from being manhandled. It was way too early for this sensual assault. How did Odette and other people go to work every morning with make-up on? He gained a deeper respect for them.
Following the release of his face from her cold hands, Valeriy could breathe freely again. As he got up into a half-standing position, Odette firmly pushed him back onto the hard leather chair. “Valeriy, sit.” He obeyed accordingly. Odette applied a light brush of bronzer to give his pale, ghostly face some colour.
“Major Valeriy, it's done. I expect compensation for carrying out duties outside of my job scope,” Odette stated, deadpan. He pulled out thirty dollars, which Odette gracefully accepted.
The Lieutenant even let him use her small pocket mirror to see the final product, and Valeriy was eating his own reflection up. His usually pale skin was exuding warmth; all scars and blemishes had been covered up; his usually sharp eyes looked bigger and less intimidating. He looked like a fresh, new man. “I've got to pay you to do this for me more,” Valeriy said in awe.
Glancing at Odette, he saw a small grin on her usually blank face. “If you're amenable to it, I could teach you the basics of makeup,” Odette said. Valeriy eagerly nodded his head in response, promising monetary compensation for her time.
When Valeriy arrived at the meeting (a few minutes before it was about to begin), he received multiple compliments on how clean he looked.
-
Now that Valeriy had narrowed down the number of “natural” deaths, he went around the district to question the deceased’s families and caretakers between crime scenes.
By the end of the day, he'd found a common factor. Some would answer that it started with vomiting three weeks prior, followed by hair loss, hallucinations, a constant state of lethargy, and then death. Others would answer that respiratory issues came all of a sudden, even though the deceased were non-smokers. One thing was clear. They had all answered that these incidents occurred after the person ingested something, be it food or beverage.
Which meant they were dealing with someone who could poison victims in their own homes, even in the presence of multiple people.
Wasn’t that fun.
The following day, Valeriy found himself knocking on Police General Danica’s door at 1740. Unfortunately, he was met with neither answer nor acknowledgment, so he resigned himself to waiting outside the door like a lost puppy. The past few days passed by in the blink of an eye, with him wishing he had more time.
On the contrary, the few minutes of waiting outside the dreaded office were crawling by excruciatingly slowly. The usually cold weather of Snezhnaya didn't seem to exist in the corridor, as the air felt thick, warm and stagnant. The Police Major shifted his weight from one foot to another. When were these interminable five minutes going to pass?
At 1745 sharp, Valeriy heard a gruff voice say, “Come in”. Of course Danica had been in her office the whole time. The Police Major smoothed out his hair; took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. This was it, his make or break meeting.
Opening the door firmly, the Police Major strided into the room. As soon as he set foot in, the scent of tobacco hit him, making him scrunch his nose slightly. Surprisingly, the chain smoker superior didn't have a cig out. General Vesna was already in the office, seated demurely on the plush leather chair opposite General Danica. He stood at attention, bowing towards his superiors. “Good evening, Senior Police Generals. Thank you for making the time for this meeting.”
“Good evening to you too, Major Valeriy! Now that I’m thinking about it, I don't see you often, even though you've been serving for— how many years now, Danica?”
“Twelve,” Danica replied. The contrast between the two Senior Police Generals’ personalities was like night and day. If Valeriy didn't know any better, he would have thought Danica was the older one of the two, given her professional and aloof way of speaking.
“Twelve whole years! Wow, thank you for your service,” General Vesna exclaimed. Her fae scales caught Valeriy’s eye, scintillating in the fluorescent light.
“Stop licking his boot, Vesna,” Danica reprimanded. She turned to face Valeriy, meeting his eye. Despite the fact that she was sitting down while Valeriy was standing, he felt as if he was dirt at the bottom of her combat boots. “We’ll cut to the chase— when you don’t convince us that case 313-74 is something worth our time and effort, you'll be removed from your position. No more criminal investigation, or Major Valeriy, you'll be a security guard here. End of story.”
Valeriy held General Danica’s strong gaze, refusing to give in. She was trying to assert her authority and intimidate him; he knew this. Yet the dead stare of hers felt like a weight putting him down, forcing him to submit.
“Danica! Even if it's true, you don't need to say that. Humans are delicate creatures,” Vesna scolded. Danica returned her attention to the stacks of paperwork on her desk, disregarding Vesna. Valeriy took his previous statement back— he would rather deal with the indifference of General Danica than the oblivious condescension of General Vesna.
“So, Valeriy, what’s the holdup on case 313-74? Doesn't sound like something worth opening a case over to me,” Vesna asked, turning the leather chair around to fully face him.
Valeriy began presenting his thought process to the two Senior Police Generals, clearing his throat. “I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with you, General Vesna. 313-74 is more than the usual case of cardiac arrest. The 57 year old man, Shishkin, didn't die of natural causes. He suffered from an artificially triggered heart attack. His body was discovered Monday, 1531 hours in the Everfrozen Frost district.” Valeriy passed the case files and photographs of the body to Vesna.
“Hm, why do you believe the heart attack was artificially triggered? Not that I don't trust your judgement— since you've only been on Teyvat for 29 years— it's just that I don't really buy into this,” Vesna questioned while looking through the files.
“He's delusional,” Danica added off-handedly, surprisingly participating in the conversation, “doesn't even have forensic evidence. He's just basing his conspiracy theory on the timeline.”
To ward off the urge to fidget, Valeriy started pacing the five by five meter room. “Yet despite my assumptions being baseless, you heard me out, and even arranged this meeting, General Danica. You know there's more to this case,” he tried, pausing to think of his next words. Danica shot him a look from the corner of her eye before returning to reading paperwork.
“So the only evidence you have to suspect foul play is a shaky timeline? Major Valeriy, not to come off as mean, but is that all I'm here for? I expected better from you,” General Vesna chided, wagging a finger in the stuffy office air.
Valeriy stood his ground. “There's more ground to prove that 313-74 is an expertly disguised homicide. Over the past few days, I've visited mortuaries and district borders, checking logbooks. Although the border logs were a dead end, it means the perpetrator is in this district— the Everfrozen Earth— which narrows down the search area for the perpetrator. Following the natural deaths recorded, I went around the district investigating and have collated data of firsthand accounts. Family and caretakers of the deceased all said that the sickness started with a stomach bug.”
Vesna clapped her hands together, shifting all the attention in the room to herself. “It's endearing that you tried and gave it your best shot, but you see, Valeriy, we can't just go around arresting suspects on a half-baked warrant now, can we?” She tilted her head, speaking bubbly.
“Oh, correction,” Vesna raised Valeriy’s provided study on 313-74, “reading through the case file and those little notes you made, it seems you don't have a suspect yet. We'd look ridiculous— running around like a headless chicken, trying to catch your mysterious perpetrator. Dear, it'd be an insult to The Tsarista.” She finished with a saccharine smile on her face.
Fucking hell, Senior Police General Danica was the lesser of two evils. The superficiality of Vesna needed to be studied. Valeriy shook his head, simultaneously shutting down his train of thought and refuting Vesna.
“The circumstantial evidence is solid. We can't afford to let this case go cold, it'd be sending a message to a possible serial killer that they can get away scot-free with homicide,” Valeriy refuted, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“Whoa, hold your horses! You're not thinking of consequences here, silly. Love the passion though. Let me lay it out in simpler terms for you, okay? Why should we waste our time tracking down your possible killer?” Vesna said in a patronising manner with wide eyes. Valeriy stiffened— Tsarista give him the strength to resist the urge to slap that sickly-sweet smile off his superior’s face.
All of a sudden, the large radio at the corner of Danica’s office crackled to life.
“Chk— proceed to Central Station, Everfrozen Earth, exit level. A young adult, approximately 24 year old man, has collapsed. He's unconscious, experiencing seizures. An emergency medical response team has been dispatched. Proceed with sirens to assist. Over.”
There was a short pause where the radio frequency hummed lowly in the background.
“Let's go,” Danica commanded, already standing up and marching towards her office door, not bothering to look over her shoulder to check if they were following her. Valeriy trailed behind her, posture strung tightly like a bow string. Was it messed up that he was mentally thanking the killer for perfect timing? Probably. Yet this provided the opportunity to prove his case to both Senior Police Generals and finally get them to acknowledge the homicides. The ends always justify the means— or so they say.
Unsurprisingly, Senior Police General Vesna was not ecstatic about Danica’s decision.
“Danica, honey, follow the protocol! Why are you going on site for a mere medical event? Let's not forget the purpose of this meeting,” Vesna objected with a tight smile on her face. She remained standing in Danica’s office, high heels planted firmly to the ground.
Danica continued striding through the corridor, not even acknowledging her equal’s opinion. Valeriy quietly followed, unwilling to get involved in his two superiors’ quarrel. Meanwhile, Vesna stood unmoving— now at the office door— wide eyes tracking their path. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object; neither Danica nor Vesna wanted to give in to the other. After the Senior Police General and Police Major rounded the corner, the imposing figure of Vesna at the doorway was left behind.
Danica wasted no time unlocking the police car and urged Valeriy into the back with a prompt “enter”. As Danica shifted the gear into drive, a vibrant figure emerged from the Zapolyarny Palace building, sticking out like a sore thumb against the grey walls. The bright figure was waving and calling out to them.
When the figure approached closer, Valeriy could identify that it was Senior Police General Vesna. It was at this exact moment that Danica pressed hard on the pedal, leaving the fae in the dust.
Valeriy wanted to bring it up, but decided against it. Senior Police General Danica had definitely noticed her and chosen to leave anyway. No point in stirring the pot.
Speaking of pot, man, Valeriy was dying for a pot of Borscht. It was already dinner time.
With Senior Police General Danica putting pedal to the metal, they reach the Central Station in no time. They head to the exit floor and manage to spot the cordoned off scene easily. Some passers-by stopped to take a quick look, while some commuters hurried past the scene. A small crowd of reporters with their kamera crew was circling the perimeter like hungry wolves.
“Look! It's Senior Police General Danica and another officer!” Someone shouted. In a matter of seconds, the reporters shifted all attention to Danica and Valeriy. Black kamera lenses glint under the harsh glare of flashing lights; the shutters clicked constantly. Compact silver-grey microphones were shoved in the two’s general direction, while journalists shouted over one another in hopes of holding Senior Police General Danica’s attention.
The bright overhead lights and swarm of reporters were overstimulating Valeriy. Looking over at his senior, he saw that Danica clearly wasn't doing too hot either. How could they focus on the incident when there were multiple voices talking over one another?
Attempting to ignore the reporters, Valeriy followed closely behind Danica— who had already stepped into the cordoned off perimeter— and joined her in standing beside the unconscious man. The victim’s face was ghastly pale, his glasses askew; his black hair stuck to his sweaty forehead; his skin was a pinkish hue.
Danica went through the usual motions of talking to the emergency medical response team and other officers already on site. Meanwhile, Valeriy clinically observed the man in front of him. There were no obvious wounds on the bodies and no signs of a struggle.
How in the ever loving fuck did the killer execute this during rush hour at the largest train station in Snezhnaya? It was an impossible crime. Yet Valeriy’s gut was telling him otherwise. The perpetrator must have left the crime scene not too long ago.
“Did anyone spot any suspicious individuals?” Valeriy spoke up in Danica’s direction. She was in the middle of talking to another officer; she didn't respond until after finishing her rounds.
“No suspicious person spotted when the man collapsed. Your phantom killer has already fled the scene,” Danica said detachedly. She monitored the surroundings, her sharp eyes landing on the unconscious body near their feet.
“Medical team says he's in a comatose state; blood pressure is extremely low. He was experiencing seizures, then cardiac arrest. They predict he'll die in the next hour,” the Senior Police General added, “if there's any chance of catching your guy— it's now. The perpetrator can't be too far away and is probably somewhere in the capital.”
Valeriy nodded sharply and requested for a follow up forensic report before hastily running to Snezhnograd. Where would a killer go immediately after the kill? Just as the Police Major left the crime scene, another Senior Police General joined Danica. He was glad he didn't have to deal with that ball-of-sunshine fae.
Valeriy was carefully scanning public spaces in Snezhnograd. The Police Major arrived at the conclusion that calculative perpetrators— such as his phantom killer— usually hid in plain sight where they could blend in with the crowd. Unfortunately, this meant that it was difficult for Valeriy to take note of anyone suspicious. The killer could be anywhere in the constany moving mountain and sea of people.
Valeriy asked some civilians if they'd spotted anyone suspicious in a rush or loitering in the area. Even when asking around in one area, say the central plaza, they'd all point out different suspicious individuals. Of course there were people hustling and loitering; this was a god damn public space. Combing through Snezhnograd to search for his phantom killer was like finding a needle in a moving, ever-changing haystack.
He had already approached five “suspicious individuals”, and they were either scurrying to an appointment or waiting for company. There isn't a snowball’s chance in hell that Valeriy could catch his killer today (or anytime soon by the looks of it). He took a deep breath, relaxing his internal intercostal muscles and contracting his external intercoastal muscles.
He would get a cup of coffee and his borscht after this.
After half an hour away from the crime scene, he returned to be swamped by a larger crowd of journalists, reporters and kamera crew. Seeing Valeriy’s approaching figure, kamera lenses shifted to focus on him, while reporters and journalists surrounded him.
Valeriy was not getting paid enough for this.
“Ahem! I believe there was a question on the Kresnik Kristall deficit in rural areas?” Vesna said loudly, head tilted to the side. Hearing that, the journalists apparently decided Vesna was the bigger fish to fry and the kamera crew shifted their lenses back to Senior Police General Vesna.
Forget aught the shit Valeriy thinks about Vesna— she's the best.
The Police Major covertly entered the premises, spotting Danica standing poised away from the victim, a book and a cigarette in hand. At this point, Valeriy was astounded that Danica had no major health issues yet, but he digressed.
“I'm guessing no luck on your end?” Danica asked, eyes still on the book in her left hand. Valeriy wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of tobacco. It seems this has become their usual song and dance.
“Couldn't find anything, ma'am. Is the man—”
“—Dead. Judging from the physical state of his body, forensics think it's cyanide poisoning. Odette has already brought back a sample of his blood for testing. All that's left to do is wait for lab results,” Danica said not unkindly.
Valeriy nodded, then stood beside her stiffly. Now that he was waiting for someone to get back to him, there was nothing else for him to do. He watched absently as Danica scanned through pages. Maybe now would be the time to get that cup of coffee.
Gradually, the reporters and their kamera crew left the area, wanting to commute home or eat their dinner. There was only one insistent pink-haired journalist remaining. She continued asking questions, but kept a respectful distance and didn't push boundaries. The authentic bubbly personality of hers outshone Vesna, making even the Senior Police General feel drained keeping up with the journalist’s endless onslaught of questions.
“Sweetie— Cherilyn was it?” Vesna quipped. “It's Charlotte!” The journalist chirped in reply, holding up her pen. Vesna placed a hand on her shoulder. “I really did enjoy answering your questions, but I do have a job to attend to, so if you'd excuse me,” the Senior Police General said, walking towards the cordoned off area.
“I understand, thank you for your time!” Charlotte frowned slightly, but wasn't persistent. She resigned herself to reviewing her notepad and adding other quick notes.
With the reporter out of the way, General Vesna let out a soft sigh of relief. “Thank The Tsarista that all the other media people left. I was getting tired of entertaining their silly questions. Oh, how do I nail it every time?” she enunciated, tilting her chin up as she approached her pair of colleagues. Neither of her colleagues humored her.
“Danica, honey, what're you reading?” Vesna asked, sliding herself beside the Senior Police General, pressing against her to get a better look at the content of the book.
Surprisingly, Danica didn't recoil from the physical touch, but instead remained standing there with impossibly good posture as always.
“It's the station logbook. I'm attempting to narrow down the pool of suspects. Nevertheless, the perpetrator could've been in Snezhnograd the whole time; only coming to the station to execute their murder,” Danica responded coolly.
Right. The killer that Valeriy hadn't yet convinced the two Senior Generals was worth pursuing. Sensing the opportunity to circle back to this topic, Valeriy spoke up.
“I suppose this man’s natural death provides enough ground to open a case?”
The two Senior Police Generals exchanged a look, communicating silently through their gazes.
“No,” Vesna said before she could even process what Danica was saying. Then she looked at her equal with surprise. “Yes,” Danica repeated firmly, this time her words not lost under Vesna’s own exclamation.
Vesna’s fixed smile grew taut. “What do you mean, ‘yes’? Danica, you're not thinking straight. You're letting your emotions over death cloud your judgement. Trust me, you're not as experienced as I am.” The fae scoffed, patting Danica on the shoulder.
“You can cut the patronising crap. You know that shit doesn't work on me. As for the case, we both know we're just delaying the eventual fallout.” The human took a drag of her cigarette, exhaling sharply. The fae stood her ground, seemingly familiar with acrid tobacco.
“Sooner or later, the public will know. Suck up your pride and admit there's a serial killer on the loose in The Tsarista’s country— or don't; either way, I'll be carrying out my due diligence,” Danica said dismissively, eyes back on the station logbook. Valeriy silently celebrated in his mind.
There was a pregnant silence, and the station air was tense.
Vesna wordlessly stretched out her fae wings and took off in the direction opposite Danica. The human didn't even bat an eye at her equal’s abrupt departure.
“Was there any motive behind the homicide?” Valeriy asked in an attempt to break the awkward silence. Danica gave a prompt, “Haven't found any person of interest,” and that was that.
At least Valeriy would have definite evidence of cyanide poisoning come the following morning.
- . - -
Her hands flew frantically across the handheld notepad. Ink bled across the page in a jagged scrawl of shorthand. Every sweep of her wrist was hasty, leaving a barely legible page documenting the police officers’ conversation.
Charlotte originally planned to leave; actually had been at the platform. However, to her dismay, she had just narrowly missed the 2000 hour train back to her lodging in Morepesok. Which meant she would have to wait another half hour for the next train. This was unacceptable to Charlotte— the ever so busy journalist could not spend so much time simply twiddling her thumbs.
So she headed to the Central Station exit, in hopes of buying her dinner from a restaurant in Snezhnograd— regardless of the steep pricing. Charlotte was beyond starving. It was by chance that as she left the station, she had overheard the two Senior Police Generals— Vesna and Danica— in a dispute.
Jumping at the opportunity to write about a possible argument between The Tsarista’s trusted aides, Charlotte leaned inconspicuously against a cornerstone nearby. Despite only catching snippets of their disagreement, the journalist heard some pretty controversial words. Basing her assumptions on the general passive aggressiveness from the fae— General Vesna was patronising General Danica, and Charlotte heard the words ‘Serial killer’ uttered disdainfully from General Danica’s mouth.
This was the next big scoop. However, she couldn't publish an article on it yet. First, Charlotte needed to further inquire for information— she'd probably ask General Vesna. Then, she needed to seek permission from the police to publish it. Finally, her name and The Steambird would be known across Teyvat. She could already picture it.
‘Mysterious Serial Killer On The Loose In Snezhnaya’
Published by Charlotte from The Steambird
Charlotte would get back to her lodging and begin her research on recent deaths in Snezhnaya, possibly linked to today’s one. She would not stop until she found out the truth.
Unknowingly, in her rush to get back on her typewriter at her lodging, the notepad she had put into the pouch at her thigh had fallen out onto the station floor, lost and forgotten.
. -
Somewhere in Snezhnograd, a young man is perusing through the latest newspaper while he leaves the television running in the background.
He's not consuming media mindlessly. He's looking for something— something specific. He wants to see the people's opinion.
“At 1803 hours today, a 24 year old man was found on the floor of the Central Station exit. The man, Urusov, was convulsing from seizures and cardiac arrest. Authorities pronounced him dead soon after. We mourn this young man who had so much of life left to live.”
MEDICAL EMERGENCY ENDED IN TRAGEDY
A man collapsed in Central Station. Investigations ongoing.
It was the headline he was supposed to get, but not really what he wanted to read. Sighing dramatically, he turns off the television and tosses the newspaper to some corner in the room.
How boring. Staying discreet was necessary, but it wasn't fun. Nevertheless, he wasn't foolish enough to do it rashly and messily like the other flashier killers. Gangs and the like loved to paint the walls red. Disgusting, inelegant animals. He'd prefer to keep his jobs clean and orderly, thank you.
He yawned loudly, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back. Today's kill was more exciting than the previous ones. The rush of exhilaration he got from taking a life in the midst of multiple people without being spotted was like a drug.
Maybe it was a bad idea to have such a brazen kill, but anyway, he didn't use cyanide often— it was effective yet left a distinct signature. This would be the only time. The police would scramble to find cyanide suppliers and track down the substance’s sources, while he could focus on playing with his victims in peace.
While walking around the Central Station, he spotted a stray notepad on the floor. All the writings were in messy shorthand. Lucky for him— he knows shorthand.
“Justice for Urusov,” he read, his scarf helpfully holding the notepad above him while he lay down on the sofa. He flipped through it as if he were the owner of the book. Speaking of, he should probably find out the identity of the owner who connected his multiple murders. His scarf assisted in turning to the first page, where ‘Charlotte. Please return to The Steambird’ was written in neat Fontanian Script. Huh, whaddya’ know— this journalist is a far way from home. He bets they're here alone. It wouldn't take much effort to silence them.
“The Silent Executioner,” he read aloud, trying the title on his tongue. He preened at the name. It's nice to be acknowledged. Even if it is by a journalist from another nation across the sea. Committing homicide undetected was a tough side hustle, he'll have you know. Surprising that they connected the dots faster than the police. Geez, what were they spending the taxpayers’ precious dollars on? Cigarettes? He digressed. The title didn't quite hit the nail on the head for him. Eh, he'll workshop names for when he's actually on the news.
He would strike soon. Undoubtedly, the poor journalist was top priority. Alas, the first person to connect his series of homicides would be doomed to die like all the previous unremarkable faces.
He yawned again. It was getting late, and he needed his beauty sleep if he were to grow any taller (he's aware that he's in his twenties, but that's irrelevant). He ambled to the bedroom, securing the notepad under his scarf.
Tomorrow will be a brand new day. He'll deal with the journalist by the end of the week. People always let their guards down on weekends.