Delis in Wonderland, Part 3
First, there is one fact that must be made absolutely clear: I was by no means the culprit who murdered Delis Bloomfeld's father, an officer of the London Metropolitan Police.
I wasn't playing word games, either. I had questioned my subordinates one by one, asking if any of them had acted rashly without my orders. In the first place, I didn't even have a motive. After executing the five big-shot commies, I had been keeping a low profile, quietly consolidating the syndicate's foundation.
Of course, "keeping a low profile" merely meant we carried out our usual smuggling operations. For a criminal syndicate, smuggling and trafficking were as essential as breathing. Since our expansion into the financial district of the City of London had yet to yield any tangible results, the syndicate's financial health for the very next month would be in jeopardy without those illicit trades.
Even so, the reason I had kidnapped Delis was simple: it would be highly troublesome if she went poking around. There was no guarantee my syndicate would be exposed, but who knew if she might indiscriminately lash out and expose everything to the world in a desperate bid for justice? I had taken this preventive measure fearing that some careless slip-up had compromised a corner of our operations, but judging by her reaction, it seemed my precautions had already served their purpose—especially since the detective had just screamed my alias and accused me of being her father's killer.
In any case, the current situation was rather intriguing. Despite all my painstaking efforts to remain in the shadows, this was proof that someone driven by pure obsession and passion could ultimately track me down. And so, I asked her, filled with genuine curiosity.
"Tell me, Delis. Why exactly am I your father's killer?"
Delis muttered, looking at me as if I were speaking utter nonsense.
"Why...? Irene Lonska, you... you killed my dad... and disguised it as a car accident... Are you seriously trying to deny it now...?"
"..."
Her voice lacked strength. Yet, rather than a lack of confidence, it was more accurate to say her voice trailed off because the subject was too painful to bear.
I had already finished my investigation into Delis Bloomfeld long ago. The state-level organizations my syndicate was currently most wary of in Britain were undoubtedly the Ministry of Magic and the Metropolitan Police. Since a high-ranking official of the latter had been brutally murdered in broad daylight in the middle of London, it was inevitable that the details of the "accident"—which was clearly a homicide—would reach my ears. Amidst the chaotic aftermath, plenty of information had leaked out, including, of course, the victim's family relations.
Although the syndicate's scale had shrunk and our intelligence capabilities had weakened somewhat, digging into a civilian's background was not particularly difficult. I knew that the woman tied up before me was on the verge of graduating at the top of her class from Oxford Law, and that she had frequently assisted Scotland Yard with investigations since her childhood.
I had even discovered that a few days before her father's tragic accident, he had handed Delis a classified document inside the Metropolitan Police headquarters. If there was a secret, it would surely be in that document. Even during her self-imposed isolation at home after her father's death, she had been confirmed to have requested the release of several files. However, hearing it directly from her would be the most reliable way.
Just because my Charm didn't work didn't mean I couldn't extract the information. Softening a person's heart and bending their mind was something that could easily be done without resorting to mental contamination. Why on earth did the term "gaslighting" exist, after all? First, I decided to clear up the misunderstanding.
"Donald Maclean, Guy Burgess, Anthony Blunt, John Cairncross, and Kim Philby. You know whose names these are, right?"
"..."
"Hmm... If you stay silent, we won't be able to make any progress. Am I wrong?"
In any case, she was the one with everything to lose. Even if I didn't hear it directly from her, I could piece together the context by fitting the information together. It would just be slightly more troublesome. Delis, who believed me to be her father's killer, must have realized long ago that she was in a position where she could be silenced at any moment. With an Oxford-level brain, her thoughts would naturally lead there. After hesitating, Delis finally answered.
"...Yes, of course I know. As it turned out, every single one of them was a communist traitor...!"
"Oh?"
I was slightly surprised at first, but only for a moment. The Metropolitan Police would naturally have figured out that the Cambridge Five were actually Soviet agents. I had always assumed it was only a matter of time before the authorities realized it. That fact itself was a constant; the real variable was whether any magical traces would leak to the Ministry of Magic. So far, there was no sign that the Ministry had noticed anything. The fact that the case was still handled by the Metropolitan Police was proof of that. Though, looking at how things were going, it was doubtful whether they even had the will to push the investigation any further.
Delis continued, tears pooling in her eyes.
"I already know that you, Lonska, returned to the country in early May after passing through Poland and Denmark! You must have received instructions from the Soviet authorities to contact those five informants!"
"But then they suddenly died one by one! Believing this was the work of the British government, you brutally murdered my dad... my dad, just to send a warning to the British government!"
Listening to her rapid-fire deduction, I tilted my head in confusion.
"Excuse me...?"
"Don't deny it! Do you think I don't know that you're actually a Soviet spy with a fake British citizenship?"
"The fact that you were speaking Russian to that brute behind you earlier, and the subtle Russian accent in your English, are proof of that!"
Hmm. Hmmm. Hmmmm.
Where do I even begin to correct this?
After thinking it over while repeatedly switching which leg I had crossed, I realized that based purely on circumstantial evidence, it was indeed a situation where she could easily mistake me for being in league with the Cambridge Five. If she had access to my travel records, she would have seen that my alias had arrived in Southampton after passing through Poland and Denmark. And, by coincidence, immediately after that, the deaths of the five secret materialists had occurred one after another.
On its own, it was a wild guess filled with logical leaps. Furthermore, there was no record of me doing anything in Poland. That was natural, since I actually hadn't done anything. Irene Lonska, as an alias, was a character with a vague persona of helping her businessman father with his business in Poland. Most of the additional work I did while building the foundation of the syndicate was business-related. With a little manipulation of smuggling documents, it was easy to fabricate ordinary trade. In the first place, this was exactly what the London branch, which had now become our headquarters, did. No matter how deeply she dug into this blank period, she wouldn't have been able to find any suspicious points, so it was understandable for Delis to think that way.
But putting all that aside, the fact that she had stumbled upon me like a blind pig finding an acorn made a slow anger rise in my chest. Despite her process being a complete mess, she had gotten half the answer right. Was this what they called a detective's intuition? A person so free of prejudice that they could place a mere teenage girl on their suspect list and spin a seamless deduction was the most troublesome kind. I had thought that as long as I maintained my current appearance and age, I would be safe, almost immune to most suspicions.
Although I wasn't the direct killer, it was hard to deny that I was the root cause. If there was any consolation, it was that Delis only knew about Irene Lonska and knew nothing of Yerina Bronska. Thus, she hadn't reached the syndicate itself. Either way, I had no intention of letting this slide. Until the day Moscow fell, no outsider who knew the person behind the veil could be allowed to live.
Meanwhile, Pavel offered his opinion. "My Lady, what shall we do with this woman? It seems we cannot let her leave alive."
I nodded slowly, signaling my agreement. Since I had to remain a ghost in the shadows, even if only Irene Lonska had been exposed, I couldn't let a risk factor go free. So.
Should I just kill her?
Even without using magic, burying a young woman was terribly simple. Or, instead of killing her, I could confine her within the syndicate forever. The latter was particularly attractive because, if I put my mind to it, it could be used as a tool to boost the syndicate's solidarity. Since the syndicate's work was quite grueling, having a place where the male members—who made up the majority—could freely relieve their desires would be a huge help in boosting morale and overall efficiency. No, this wasn't a matter to be decided so impulsively. It definitely required more deliberation. Thus, I corrected my previous nod.
"No, Pavel. It's true we can't let her leave alive, but that just means we can't let her leave alive, right?"
"Which means..."
"Yes. It also means we can keep her alive, as long as we don't let her leave."
"Understood. I will do as you wish, My Lady."
My instructions held inviolable authority within the syndicate. Pavel complied as if he understood immediately. Now that I had found out the reason for her absurd hostility, clearing up the misunderstanding was the top priority. It was easy to overlook since I had only been sharpening the blade of purging since settling in London, but there were countless ways to utilize a person without killing them. I ordered Pavel to bring something from upstairs. I hadn't brought it because it was particularly useful, but rather because I felt more at ease keeping relics close to me, and I hadn't expected to use it like this. What Pavel quickly brought down was a common leather pouch. A mundane item that, in the Middle Ages, might have held a few gold coins. I took the contents out of the pouch, hung each item on my five fingers, and held them out to Delis.
"Now, do you know what these are?"
"The Order of Lenin...?"
Since she had little to do with the Soviet Union, she might not have known, but perhaps because she was sharp-eyed, she recognized them immediately. I put the medals back into the pouch and continued.
"Five medals. Five murdered people. What do you think this means?"
Without waiting for an answer, I immediately went on.
"Your deduction that I tried to contact those five is actually true. But isn't it a bit much to condemn me as a Soviet spy just because of that?"
If I had been even slightly less patient, it wouldn't have been strange to slice her throat right then and there. This woman with disheveled black hair should be thanking my ocean-like patience this very instant.
"I contacted them not because I'm a Soviet spy, but because I was the one who needed to kill those commies. I'm in the same boat as you."
Yerina's smoldering anger, having lost her only blood relative due to the thoughtless decision of the Soviet high command, would surely remain a deeply driven nail in her heart forever. It would be a lie to say I felt no sense of kinship. But if there was a difference between Delis and me, it was that I possessed the dark power to put my revenge into action, while Delis had to navigate all threats with nothing but her brilliant intellect. I gently swept back my bangs with a finger and curled the corners of my mouth slightly.
"Yes, that's right. I am the one who killed those five."
Delis's expression contorted in shock.