Could Morey be the "Fog Murderer"?
As this question surfaced in his mind, Gawain began to consider its possibility.
As long as one cleverly utilizes the information gap, it's not impossible to achieve such a thing, Gawain thought.
And given the behavior of someone like Swart, it would make things even easier.
Therefore, Gawain had to be cautious.
After all, he was supposed to meet Morey that evening.
He didn't want the night's "Answering Night" to turn into a "Night of Death."
"I'm going to send a telegram."
After a moment of thought, Swart stood up and left.
The sheriff didn't provide any further explanation, clearly indicating that this matter required confidentiality.
Or perhaps Swart was just being mysterious, hoping to gain more leverage in future cooperation.
Gawain didn't mind.
He just needed a definite answer.
If Morey really was the "Fog Murderer," it wouldn't be the worst thing.
At least the truth would be revealed.
After spending so many days in Rust and appearing at the police station, there should be enough clues left behind for the official investigators to track him down. Gawain could then discreetly distance himself from the situation.
If Morey wasn't the murderer, Gawain would meet him according to the original plan, learn more, and then decide on the next steps.
Whether Morey was or wasn't the murderer, it would benefit him.
So, Gawain waited patiently.
An hour later, Swart returned with two blankets and two sleeping bags.
Seeing this, Gawain immediately knew the answer.
Morey was in the clear.
If Morey had been a suspect, there was no way Swart would be so "relaxed."
Indeed, that was the case.
"Lord Morey is innocent."
As soon as he entered the office, Swart announced.
Then, in a fawning manner, the sheriff handed a blanket and a sleeping bag to Gawain.
"Although sleeping at the desk is an option, I prefer lying down."
"A wool blanket can insulate you from the dampness of the ground."
"And the sleeping bag will give you the illusion of lying in bed."
After saying this, the sheriff spread out the blanket, crawled into the sleeping bag, and continued, "Of course, it's just an illusion, not an actual bed, but it's better than lying in a 'one-copper coffin.'"
"I can't fathom how those bastards came up with the idea of renting a warehouse, placing rows of coffin-shaped beds, and renting them to the homeless for one copper each."
"If someone dies, they just cover the coffin, and the body is taken care of."
"Of course, it's better than the half-copper option, where people sleep with just their upper bodies suspended by ropes. I saw it once—just at dawn, as everyone was snoring away, the attendants cut the ropes, and all the sleeping people fell to the ground. The sensation… tsk."
Swart shook his head at the memory.
"But that's still better than those who pay a quarter-copper, who can only sit on the floor or lean against the wall, not even allowed to lie down. And there are constant patrols."
"But the ones who can't even enter such a 'shelter' are the truly miserable ones. Rust's winter is colder than one would imagine..."
As he spoke, the sheriff's voice gradually faded.
Snoring began to fill the room.
Gawain glanced at Swart, spread out his blanket, and crawled into his sleeping bag, but he didn't zip it up.
It was June, and it wasn't cold.
This was enough.
Gawain half-leaned, half-lay down, keeping his two revolvers close by.
He even positioned himself closer to the wall.
He didn't know if danger was coming, so he had to be prepared.
Just like Swart.
Why had Swart chosen to sleep in the police station's office with him?
Naturally, because he sensed danger.
Could it be because the office was more comfortable than a bed?
To become a sheriff in this world, one might have many flaws, but stupidity wasn't one of them.
And the idle chat before sleep?
That was likely to highlight the effort it took to acquire the blankets and sleeping bags, further strengthening their bond.
As for testing or sympathizing with the poor?
The former was possible.
The latter?
Gawain smiled and closed his eyes.
Soon, light snoring could be heard from him as well.
When Gawain woke up again, it was already 6 PM.
The sound of the grandfather clock in the police hall helped him judge the time precisely.
Gawain got out of the sleeping bag, put on his shoes, and went straight to the washroom.
Five minutes later, he was done washing up.
When Gawain returned to the office, Swart was awake too.
"Are we going to the Garden Club tonight?"
Gawain asked Swart directly as he saw him groggily waking up.
Swart wasn't particularly capable, but his position was useful, especially in handling routine problems.
"Of course!"
As soon as he heard Gawain mention the Garden Club, the sheriff perked up. He quickly dashed into the washroom to freshen up and even had one of his men call for a carriage.
"I haven't been to the Garden Club in a long time."
"I wonder if Miss Sila will perform tonight. Have you ever heard her sing?"
"She's truly amazing."
Once in the carriage, the sheriff began talking excitedly.
Sila?
Long legs, a beautiful voice, a mole at the corner of her mouth.
At the mention of this name, an image of a woman in a white dress standing beside a piano instantly formed in Gawain's mind. She was the star of the Garden Club, renowned throughout Rust.
She never danced with anyone and would only occasionally sing.
And to hear Sila sing required an additional fee.
1 gold krone.
A fortune for the poor.
But it was sought after by the middle class.
Spending that 1 gold krone seemed to set them apart from the poor and gave them a sense of elevated status.
Gawain had spent that money before.
And it left a lasting impression of Sila.
At least in the memories Gawain recalled, this Miss Sila was quite dazzling.
Men.
They always focus on the highlights.
It's like when a beautiful athlete appears, she instantly grabs all the men's attention. But if you ask those men for her bib number, they probably wouldn't know.
They're all focused on what matters.
### No Doubt, Gawain Used to Be Just Like This
Swart, who kept mentioning Sila repeatedly?
He was already deeply captivated by her.
But Gawain, on the other hand, didn't care.
It wasn't that he was immune, but rather that he had seen better.
Having been exposed to the transformative effects of makeup, beauty filters, and editing, Gawain's resistance to such charms had increased significantly.
"If Miss Sila doesn't sing, we can always find a couple of lovely ladies to dance three times and then... hehe," Swart said with a knowing smile that every man understood.
The Garden Club offered some special services, but even those came with certain conditions.
First, you had to dance three times. Only if the lady you danced with didn't mind could you proceed further.
Money?
Naturally, it was indispensable.
Or rather, money was the most important thing.
"We're here! We're here!"
Without waiting for the coachman, Swart jumped off the carriage.
Gawain followed him down.
Their appearance caught the attention of the doorman at the entrance of the Garden Club, who immediately came forward to greet them.
To be a doorman at the Garden Club required a keen eye.
He recognized Swart.
He also recognized Gawain.
The former was known for his status.
The latter was known for his frequent visits to the Garden Club and... some incidents that had occurred in his family.
"Good evening, Sheriff Swart, Master Gawain," the doorman greeted them with a smile and a bow.
Even though he was deeply curious about why these two were together, he didn't show it.
Swart handed over two silver coins for their entrance fee.
Gawain handed over two silver coins for their tea table.
They didn't need the doorman's guidance. They knew their way around the Garden Club well enough.
The flickering neon lights gave the place an extraordinary feel.
White walls, striped columns, and clean steps became even more dazzling under the colorful lights, just like the legs and cleavage that would be seen upon entering.
Groups of heavily made-up women gathered in the hall inside, under the large crystal chandelier that hung high above. The entire hall was bright and luxurious, completely cut off from the impoverished world outside.
Chairs were scattered along the walls, each with a small tea table beside it, holding a pot of tea and a plate of snacks.
But aside from Gawain, no one paid attention to these things.
Even Swart was no exception.
The sheriff was on the hunt for a target.
This was the interval between dances—the best time to find a partner.
Everyone in the hall was doing the same.
Men and women alike.
So when Gawain sat alone, sipping tea and nibbling on snacks, he naturally drew attention.
The tea was bitter.
The snacks, slightly sweet.
Not worth the silver coin.
Gawain was certain of that.
But it was tolerable. After all, no one came here for the tea and snacks.
As long as the tea quenched your thirst.
As long as the snacks staved off hunger.
Gawain picked up another snack, and just then, a young maid approached him.
Seeing the maid, if Gawain had drawn attention before, he was now the center of it.
Because she was Sila's maid.
"Gawain! Gawain!"
"Look, it's Sila's maid, Susan!"
"She's coming toward me!"
"Could it be that Miss Sila has noticed me?!"
As the maid drew closer, Swart grew excited, while Gawain merely glanced at her, then casually popped the snack into his mouth and took a sip of tea to help it go down.
There was no doubt she was here for him.
This was clearly arranged by Morey.
With this in mind, Gawain prepared to stand up. But the maid didn't stop in front of him. Instead, she walked past him and stood before Swart—
"Are you Sheriff Swart?"
"Miss Sila wishes to see you."
The maid said softly.
Swart was overjoyed.
Gawain, on the other hand, froze mid-action.
(End of Chapter)