— COMMISSIONER SIEGMUND —
Siegmund Herz lit a cigarette and took a slow, indulgent drag before exhaling. With a faint headache, he turned his gaze back to the table in front of him.
Several photographs lay spread across it, taken by him and his colleagues with the newly introduced camera device.
They depicted the strange incidents from the day before: a dead woman lying in a pool of blood—apparently having fallen from a rooftop. A knife hidden in the bushes. An old man who had passed away quietly in a child's bedroom. Everything about it felt… wrong.
The commissioner leaned back in his chair and looked at his colleague, a man who had clearly seen better days. The three-day stubble and alcohol-worn eyes did him no favors, yet despite that, he was still trying to fulfill his duty.
"Wilhelm," Siegmund finally addressed him, "was yesterday too much for you?"
"You mean the two corpses in Straßn–Moorfeld?" Wilhelm replied. "Somewhat… but that wasn't the reason."
He seemed embarrassed that his superior had noticed his condition.
"Either way, it's strange," Commissioner Siegmund continued. "I went through the records of the dead woman. Her name was Gertrude Albain. She completed school successfully, trained as a seamstress, and later married a wealthy manager named Marcel Bernheim. But shortly after that, she was raped…"
"That's the reason—" Wilhelm began.
"No," Siegmund cut him off. "That was fifteen years ago. What's interesting is that her trail ends there. There's no record of her ever giving birth—or whether she even had a child at all. There's not even any documentation of her continuing to work. She was still listed as employed at 'Sew&Co,' but without any further entries."
"Interesting," Wilhelm murmured, his eyes fixed on the photograph of her corpse. "That would mean if she gave birth, it was done secretly and never registered."
"Exactly. But what's even more interesting is who raped her," Siegmund said, pulling out a newspaper article that confirmed it—despite the fact that it wasn't mentioned in the official files.
Wilhelm briefly held his breath. "That means…"
"If my conclusion is correct," Siegmund continued, "then the child was a beastman."
Shock—at least in Siegmund's imagination.
"But then why did Mrs. Albain fall from the roof?" Wilhelm questioned. "Why now? Why after fifteen years?"
"Hm…" The commissioner stroked his gray hair and set the newspaper aside—the one he had painstakingly searched for all night at the city guard.
"Gustav Bernheim was found dead in the apartment," Siegmund said thoughtfully, "right next to Gertrude Albain. What do his records say?"
Wilhelm pulled out his notebook, filled with hastily scribbled notes. "I jotted down a few things yesterday. He was an eccentric from early on and quite gifted in mechanical engineering. He supported Preußtland in its investment in vehicles and worked there part-time until he retired fifteen years ago. He married Magdale—"
"Stop!" Siegmund interrupted sharply, as if he needed silence to catch a fleeting thought. "Fourteen or fifteen years ago… that's when Gertrude would have given birth to that abomination, correct?"
"Chief… you can't just call the child—"
"Silence!" Siegmund roared. "Beastmen are filthy monsters that deserve to be exterminated!"
Wilhelm fell quiet. Apparently, lecturing his colleague had its effect. Satisfied, the commissioner continued.
"That means… Gustav Bernheim hid the child. And once it was old enough, it killed him—and its own mother!"
"Chief… that doesn't fit—"
"Shut your mouth!" Siegmund shouted, jumping to his feet. "You! Speak in favor of beastmen one more time, and I will personally report you to the Highest Countenance!"
His heart was racing. Siegmund hated losing his temper—but no one understood his brilliance, let alone his devotion and ideology toward the fatherland.
"Tomorrow, we set out to interrogate Marcel Bernheim," he declared triumphantly, scribbling into Wilhelm's notebook. One note irritated him—it contradicted the conclusion that had to be correct.
'Gustav Bernheim died of natural causes.'
Furiously, Siegmund ripped the notebook from Wilhelm's hands.
"Don't write so much! I do the thinking!"
He stormed away from his desk, preparing himself for the day to come.