“We’ve confirmed that all six investors are dead.”
Their only option had been to relocate to a cramped hotel room in central Enontekiö and set up a flexible screen, which made the place feel rather oppressive. The video feed showed Chief Totoki in the Lyon headquarters, as well as members of the Special Investigations units from different countries.
None of the attendees could mask their shock. Bigga and Gardener, sitting on a cheap sofa, were no exception.
“You’re joking.” Bigga whispered. “How is that even possible?”
“All of the people we zeroed in on turn up dead… That’s ominous, yes.”
Investigator Gardener frowned next to her. Bigga glanced at Harold, who was standing by the sofa. His handsome face was fixed on the screen, and he didn’t seem to be listening to their exchange. His expression was a mask of calm and composure, which only made her more anxious.
Just when they’d been on the verge of finding a lead on the Alliance, everything had gone up in smoke.
“About half an hour ago, the investors being investigated by Fokine’s team, Pergrand’s team, Jeff’s team, and Fassbender’s team were provisionally declared dead.” Totoki shared the data for their autopsy report as she spoke. “Each and every one of them passed from sudden, unexplained heart failure caused by an ischemic heart disease that can spontaneously appear even in healthy individuals. In other words, sudden death.”
“It’s a little hard to believe it’s just sudden death when they all croaked at the same time.” Fokine, whose image was in a corner of the screen, raised a hand and cut Totoki off.
His team was in Saint Moritz, and judging by the background, he was currently in a share car.
“Investigator Fokine is right.”
“This has to be intentional.”
“The Alliance picked up on the fact we’re going after them and killed the investors to silence them, right?”
Members of the other teams burst into the conversation.
“Settle down.” Totoki waved her hand to silence them. “Yes, this could be the product of a conflict within the Alliance. And if it was, then it would explain why some of the investors cut off their online connections and fled to technologically restricted zones to hide their GPS positions.”
The report noted that Banfield—whom Bigga and Harold were looking for—and Quine—whom Fokine was in charge of—had moved to designated limited communication zones. Until now, they’d theorized the investors had fled there to hide from the bureau, but if Totoki’s theory was correct, then they were actually fleeing the Alliance.
“But it’s hard to deny that the state of the corpses makes the possibility of this being homicide seem very unlikely. We’ll need to look into this more carefully before we can conclude this was murder.” Totoki cradled her forehead. As tough as she may have been, she was on the verge of exhaustion. “Our only hope for the time being are the two investors who are being autopsied right now… But in Banfield’s case, it seems his cause of death was some infectious disease that caused a high fever. Right, Lucraft?”
Bigga’s heart sank at Totoki’s roundabout question. Now that Harold was no longer working as a Belayer, he was no longer “Aide Lucraft.”
“I sent the sample we collected from Banfield’s body to Saint Petersburg, using the transport drone that Investigator Gardener arranged for us,” Harold answered indifferently. “It should arrive at a forensic medical center sponsored by the bureau by morning. The results should come straight to us.”
“We might need to consider the possibility of Banfield alone dying in a manner unrelated to the Alliance.” Totoki raised her brows. “Hieda, now that the lead on the investors has run dry, consider looking into your father again.”
Bigga squinted, peering carefully at the screen. Echika’s suspension should have still been in effect. But to Bigga’s confusion, when Fokine readjusted the camera, she saw Echika sitting next to him in the passenger’s seat. Bigga had heard that the bureau was short on agents, but when did this happen?
Is everything all right?
But the thing that came to Bigga’s mind was concern for Echika’s feelings. Echika clearly felt conflicted over the matter with Harold, so she must not have been wholeheartedly enthusiastic about returning to work.
Yet Echika had never consulted Bigga about this, despite how she’d felt at the Christmas market. Maybe she’d decided to bottle it all up because she didn’t want to make Bigga worry.
“Understood.” Echika replied, her expression firm. “I think if there is a clue somewhere, it would be in Rig City, where my father worked… but I’m not expecting much. We already combed through it during the sensory crime incident.”
“Just focus on that for now, all right?”
Totoki told the other members of the Special Investigations units to end their expeditionary investigations and adjourned the meeting, telling everyone she would share the results of the remaining two autopsies once she got them. The attendees gradually exited the call, and the screen eventually turned into a dull white.
Bigga’s shoulders felt awfully heavy. All the progress she’d thought they’d been making this past month had evaporated in an instant.
“Well, dammit.” Gardener scratched his cheek. “Being back to square one so soon is honestly really bad.”
“There’s still two autopsies left. Well, no, if Banfield really died from disease, it’s just one…”
Either way, getting despondent wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Bigga got up from the sofa, rousing herself. Her stomach suddenly growled—she hadn’t eaten anything since the light breakfast they’d had in the airport lounge.
“This hotel has a restaurant, right?” she suggested, trying to lighten the grim mood. “Why don’t we take a break and have dinner?”
“I’d love to,” Harold said. “Investigator Gardener, what about you?”
“I have to draft my report, so I’ll order room service. You two go on ahead.”
Bigga and Harold parted ways with Gardener and left the room. The hotel was a single-story building, with dust balls rolling around the wooden floor of its corridors, but the building itself was newer than the lodging facility Banfield had been staying in. The other guest rooms were silent and empty. When they’d checked in, they spoke to the manager of the hotel, who told them they kept staff members low to cut costs, which wasn’t uncommon here. Apparently, they would be the only guests that night. Most tourists went to the coexistence zone in Rovaniemi.
Unsurprisingly, the restaurant at the end of the lounge was empty. Bigga and Harold took a seat at a table by the window, and a middle-aged chef stepped out of the lit kitchen. There were no Amicus around, of course, and he was the only worker here. Bigga and Harold browsed a menu full of crossed-out items and ordered reindeer meat stew.