The middle-aged detective clearly noticed the embarrassment on Jason's face.
He had never expected that a probe would yield results, a truly unexpected surprise.
Faced with such a surprise, he definitely wouldn't let it slip away.
"Mr. Jason, are you in some kind of trouble?"
"If possible, please tell me."
"I will do my utmost to help you."
Davide became increasingly sincere.
It seemed that such words had moved Jason; he stood up and walked toward the bedroom that doubled as a study.
Davide and Hunter exchanged glances and immediately followed him.
The two tiptoed, very carefully avoiding the piles of books on the floor, and when they reached the desk, they saw that Jason's hand now held a kraft paper envelope.
"This was what I found in my mailbox this morning when I was getting the newspaper."
"No signature, no address."
Jason said, passing the kraft paper envelope over.
The middle-aged detective's eyes lit up.
The young man also stopped surveying his surroundings and stared intently at the envelope.
"I was startled at the time myself," Jason continued.
"Can you confirm when you received it?" the middle-aged detective asked.
"It should have been between 7.10 and 7.17, I can't be sure of the exact date."
"I am a writer, and I've been in seclusion working on my writing these past days," Jason answered.
"Don't worry, leave it to us, we will find this person for you."
"If there's anything else, please contact me."
With a lead in hand, the middle-aged detective was not inclined to stay any longer; he handed Jason a business card and then got up to leave with his assistant.
"Please wait a moment."
At the doorway, the detective nodded and spoke.
Jason cooperatively halted, watching as the two men left before closing the door.
His perception, which was beyond that of ordinary people, continued to listen in on the conversation between the detective and his assistant.
"Chief, why didn't you ask more about the case?"
"Do you think he would tell us?"
"Even if he doesn't tell us, it's also a contest; we can look for loopholes in this exchange."
"I would only think it's a case of startling the snake in the grass; keep an eye on this writer, I want to know his every move, and then, check the nearby surveillance; I hope to find out who sent our writer the blade."
"Right, bring me a copy of the book he wrote called 'Cross Street Pervert.'
"Chief, it's not 'Cross Street Pervert;' it's 'Cross Street Stalker.'
"Aren't stalkers perverts? What's the difference."
The assistant corrected the chief's words.
The chief, however, appeared indifferent.
Listening to the chief's orders, which were so coldly different from his earlier smile, Jason felt no surprise.
Before strangers, everyone wears a disguise.
What's shown is only a mask.
Only in front of one's own people does the mask peel back just a bit.
As for taking it off completely?
It's self-protection, something everyone does, and he did too.
"'Cross Street Stalker,' huh?"
Jason muttered to himself as he began to search the room.
Although he was not a writer, a writer would definitely keep copies of their published work, and the more successful ones would surely be displayed in a visible spot, carefully preserved.
Even when living away from home, one would take the opportunity to bring them along.
And just as Jason predicted, among the bookshelves, on the one in the middle, he found that very book, right in the most conspicuous position.
He reached out and took the book.
Jason sat at the desk and started to read it closely.
Someone had already committed a murder imitating his book; as the 'author,' he certainly needed to understand what was going on.
Sitting beside the desk, Jason began to flip through the book.
For the next four hours, the only sound in the study was the turning of pages.
'Cross Street Stalker' was a book of mystery tinged with a bit of fantasy.
The protagonist was a down-and-out detective, quite a failure in life; after divorcing his wife, he lived alone in a two-story house on the outskirts, with a detective agency on the ground floor and a living area on the second floor. The house was rented, and he was a month behind on rent. By agreeing to help the landlord find a lost dog, he had avoided being kicked out.
And the story began with a cat.
To find the dog, the protagonist had to post a lost dog notice.
He was just trying it out.
Who would have thought that someone really would call, claiming to know the whereabouts of the dog?
The protagonist rushed to the location, but saw no one; however, he found the dog, leashed and tied to the railing on the side of the road.
Without giving it much thought, the protagonist returned with the dog and handed it over to the landlord, who, in return for the previous agreement, waived the one month's overdue rent and even gave the protagonist a two-week grace period.
In hopes of gathering the rent for the following month within two weeks, the protagonist wished to take on more cases.
Then, someone did come to him with a task.
It was a husband looking for evidence of his wife's affair.
The protagonist accepted the job on the spot and took a deposit.
But the protagonist's competence was poor, and he made numerous mistakes even in such a simple affair investigation.
Just as the protagonist thought he was going to fail, he received another anonymous call, which again directed him to a location. There, he found an envelope containing evidence of the affair of his client's wife.