On the way I wrote some short reports to help Miss Beagle. At least I also understand police procedures. Not much different from the students. Where the teacher will definitely give homework to do. Life is indeed troublesome.
I'm a little uncomfortable with the glances in her eyes, guessing who really I am. Well, frankly it means nothing because I'm just an ordinary high school kid who longs for peace in the suffocating life of Widehope School. However, if someone snatches that peace, I will definitely drag them down and hold the accountable fairly.
Time was of the essence, especially as I had to be back before six in the evening. It wasn't the police watching, but I was wary if it was my friends or other teachers. Suspecting those closest was the most difficult, especially since I was carrying a myriad of secrets.
Meanwhile, the agenda is to go to the three addresses earlier. Fortunately from Wakefield to Tadcaster about 30 minutes.
"So is this the secret to being a smart diligent boy?" The Miss Beagle glanced at me again but a bit sarcastically while holding the steering wheel.
"Diligent? Not. Of all the specimens, take the fact that I am the laziest,"
“Oh? Is this what it means being more humble is, the more precious?”
I shook my head and refused one hundred percent.
"Not at all, you are exaggerating, Miss Beagle," I added in a low self-esteem, after what I had written reached a full stop. "Well, at least this one's done."
After that, I folded the paper I wrote on and put it in the bag.
“Ow? You did my homework well? You might have potential in the future, boy!” she said surprised.
“Are there places that accept lazy guys like me?”
Our conversation grew calm and relaxed as if coworkers fit together. The boundaries are increasingly invisible. Either Miss Beagle was desperate for a clue she had been looking for for so long, or only I was able to match the frequency with her words.
“By the way, what do you know about Widehope in the past? I mean about the worst issues?”
She explained some of the information I learned from Gwendoline and the newspapers I borrowed from her.
"Have you heard? After Vera Hasselbein's death, the three kids who bullied her also killed themselves after just graduating from Widehope?"
Our car stopped at a red light.
"Yeah, in newspaper writing. But I did not understand the results of the police investigation at that time,” I answered.
She opened the side car window, then lit her cigarette.
"Well, I wasn't on duty then. But the report from Constable Peard, the result of interrogation to their parents was that there was no suicidal tendencies. The problem is that when they were searched, candy was found which when examined contained fentanyl.”
"Fentanyl? Again?"
Obviously this “Fentanyl” thing is sinking me so much. Is it a coincidence? I said to myself.
"Strange coincidence," Miss Beagle stepped on the gas as soon as the light turned green.
It didn't feel like we had arrived at a flat that was not too big. The Beagle showed the badge to the porter, then we asked about Erica Hutchins. He then ordered the owner of the flat to come down and explain everything.
Meanwhile…
It didn't feel like we had arrived at a flat that was not too big. Miss Beagle showed the police badge to the porter, then we asked about Erica Hutchins. She then ordered the owner of the flat to come down and explain everything.
After five minutes, someone brought a thick hard cover black book.
“Eric Hutchins? Hmm… that's weird. We only found out the name Monica Hutchins," he said as he opened the book and handed it to us.
“Is this person the one with the slightly purplish pigtails?” I asked.
He shook his head in disbelief because the woman mentioned earlier often changed her appearance. Monica Hutchins is a long time hairdresser.
"She died several years ago. People said she had a weak heart,"
168Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF2dJtXtVF6
Miss Beagle, who became confused, immediately handed the local newspaper the name of the missing person Erica Hutchins. The flat owner and porter didn't understand that either. But they added that there was once someone strange. They said the person asked about her family, then they lent her a history book for the residents of the flat. The person had slightly purple hair in pigtails. We find it odd but it's also still unclear. Then we decided to go to the next address, Dunnington.
I borrowed the newspaper that she had handed over to the porter and the owner of the flat. My eyes don't stop looking at it.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"Who knows. I'm not sure, but I feel something strange,” I added, quoting the newspaper title. “A killer without face, smell, and guns. Why is the title like this?”
"What's so strange about that, boy? I think that's the language journalists use?”
I can't explain specifically.
Again I hear excuses that do not satisfy me at all. That's exactly what Gwendoline said. But if the action is really done, is it possible? I mean 'faceless and smelless' aside which I would interpret as normal. But without weapons?
About 18 minutes, our car arrived at the Petercroft Street housing complex. We headed for one of the smallest houses, according to the written address.
As usual we knocked on the door, then Miss Beagle with her police badge. We explain briefly so as not to take up much time.
“Blewett? Oh, we bought this house from them a year ago.”
"If we may ask, why did they sell the house?"
“Hm… I don't really understand. They are just husband and wife. But they ever said the rest was for medical expenses. We didn't dig too deep."
“Ah… thank you,” Miss Beagle muttering. “No clue at all, huh?”
We return to the car. After reading the third agenda, I refused. That's natural because Dunnington to Edinburgh approximately four hours. I tell Miss Beagle to the address after driving me back to Widehope.
"So how was it, boy?"
"Do you know where this local paper is printed?" I asked while holding out the newspaper.
“Newsmongerstern Yorkshire...,” she added. “Ah, Malton!”
"What? It is close to where we fish and sell fish!”
"Fishing? Where?"
“Derwent River.”
Miss Beagle turned the steering wheel and stepped on the gas without hesitation.
"It's not close, but it is one area."
From Dunnington to Malton approximately half an hour. It was time for lunch. When hunger has entered within yourself, nothing else can even be an idea. Well, that's not the only reason. The problem is I heard the woman next to me her breath a bit out of breath. Even I can notice that the speed of this car has decreased slightly even though it's not crowded.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She looked sweaty, I even held her wet hand.
“It's so cold! Hey, hey, I've got a long way to go, Miss Beagle! Tell me honestly, what's the problem?" I said panicked and horrified.
It's obvious when you're in the car with the driver whose eyes are a bit glazed, cold sweat, irregular breathing rhythm.
“Y-yeah… small problem. Do you have something… sweet…?”
Without long thinking I grabbed my pants. I felt something long and hard. I handed the thing right in her hand. The car pulled over briefly, while she tore, bit, and swallowed the long, hard object I gave it. Then I handed her a bottle of mineral water taken from the back seat.
"My fault, sorry," she added. "My hypoglycemia relapsed."
Don't think weird things. I just gave chocolate that I forgot to eat. The chocolate was from Prestone after exchanging it for Verdamant lipstick.
I nodded in relief. At least my youth can still be continued. After that I decided to look for the nearest cake shop. Through the GPS of Miss Beagle's cell phone, there are lots of shops and taverns near the Newsmongenstern Yorkshire building. After buying some cakes, we went straight in.
As usual we were at the reception desk, showing police badges, showing newspapers, then we were directed to the journalist that wrote the article.
Well, I guess this time I met too many middle-aged women? By far the best is still Miss Beagle. A little disappointing.
I asked her what was the reason behind the headline of the paper 'A Killer Without a Face, Smell and Guns'.
“Ah, I really like that one! It's the most precise one I've ever made. The police have confirmed that it was a murder. And again, no traces, smells, and weapons were found. I mean like a knife, blood or maybe a mark of violence on the victim like a bruise?” she explained energeticly and enthusiastically.
"But instead of needles and drugs were found? Doesn’t that include weapons, Miss Hall?” I asked.
She sighed with a tired face. A condescending view of us who know nothing about language arts.
"No! We don't do that! I mean, boy, it's written in the article. That's the content, but not the title,” she added angrily. “The title must be more valuable in the eyes of the readers. To be honest, syringes and the like refer to suicide. As long as the fact has not been answered, then keep it like that. the rest? Let the reader's imagination guess. ”
I nod in agreement. As Gwendoline said, the language of reporters and journalists.
I handed her two other newspapers.
“Has this one been confirmed to be a suicide?”
She narrowed her eyes and fingered the paper. The middle-aged woman said she was amazed to see the newspaper she wrote 20 years ago still in such good condition and intact.
“Putting that three students aside. Madame Hasselbein, when I was there to interview her, in a fairly large house, she was very friendly and polite. If I'm not mistaken it was about two days after her daughter's death, well to be honest it was like scratching a wound that was just about to dry. She did not at all, not in the least, blame Widehope. She just said she would find a way out on her own… maybe meditation? Or keep quiet? I don't know," she added. “You can imagine yourself, being the only Hasselbein left. Her only child who just disappeared. I actually wanted to visit her, but the house was empty.”
"But what do you think of this Madame Hasselbein?" Miss Beagle asked.
“Calm person. Well she was a little shaky when I brought it up, but very friendly and polite."
Regarding the three students, Miss Hall said it was just an ordinary case. A cliche story where their parents don't educate their children properly. As a result, entangled with things that are detrimental.
"Thank you, sorry to interrupt."
We were out of that place when it was enough. Some reports I have prepared while on the way to Widehope. About an hour, the change from noon to evening, the car arrived. But Miss Beagle headed straight for Edinburgh after I got off.
My head is spinning with the facts I discovered today. I intend to lay down my body. The saying goes, there is no day so bad that sleep can't fix it. At least I still hope for something good after waking up.
ns 15.158.61.54da2
