Mystery: The Witch of Desire

Fors blushed slightly, unsure whether Livre's words were a compliment or a mockery.

She tucked her long brown hair behind her ear and said slowly:

"I think you still have something to say to me, please speak."

“Yes.” Livre didn’t keep him in suspense. “You seemed to be eavesdropping on the conversation between those police officers and Mr. Bright just now?”

Fors nodded, making no attempt to hide anything:

"Yes, it's just out of a writer's curiosity about material. Although it may sound a bit unethical, details of criminal cases are undoubtedly one of the most desirable sources of material for a writer."

"So, what did you hear?"

Livre raised an eyebrow, asking with considerable curiosity. Fors was eavesdropping by pressing himself against the wall, a spot closer to Mr. Bright's desk.

Fors shook his head:

"I didn't hear much of value; Mr. Bright's office is very well soundproofed. It's just..."

Fors continued, recalling the events as he spoke:

"However, I seem to have heard that the murdered woman died a very gruesome death, her body was burned beyond recognition, and there were strange black marks on her body?"

"Strange black marks?"

Livre repeated it, her brows furrowing slightly.

“Yes.” Fors nodded. “I think the police are very likely aware that this case involves extraordinary factors, which is why they are taking it so seriously. However, they will not reveal any details about the extraordinary to an ordinary person like Mr. Bright.”

Livre nodded slightly, finding Fors's words quite reasonable. Just as she was about to exchange a few more words with Fors, there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Which one?"

Fors raised his voice and asked.

A waiter's voice came from outside the door:

“Ms. Fors, Inspector Clivell of the Jowood Precinct requests that everyone assemble in the rehearsal room on the third floor. He has some questions for you.”

"Okay, I know."

Fors and Livre exchanged a glance, then Fors stepped forward, opened the door, and went out. Livre, on the other hand, darted out from the window and disappeared into the shadows, quietly slipping out of another empty room and making her way discreetly to the third floor.

Just then, Lucy, who had been looking around, saw Livre and immediately breathed a sigh of relief. She walked over and asked with concern:

"Miss Marilyn Monroe, where did you go? I couldn't find you."

"Sorry, I just went to the restroom."

Livre spoke calmly, and thanks to the properties of the Instigator's Potion, her words naturally carried a convincing and approachable power. Lucy had no doubts and immediately nodded, relieved.

Inspector Clivell and one officer occupied a dressing room as an interrogation room, while two other officers maintained order outside. Members of the troupe and some other staff members of Paria were summoned in turn, taking anywhere from a few minutes to several tens of minutes to come out. Outside, everyone whispered and discussed what had happened.

Lucy carefully leaned close to Livre's ear and whispered:

"Miss Monroe, do you know what happened?"

Livr shook her head, her eyes filled with sincerity:

"do not know."

Lucy said in an even softer voice:

"I heard that Ms. Isabella is dead. Oh my god, that's terrible! We saw her at the theater yesterday, and now she's gone..."

Livre nodded solemnly and waited quietly in her seat in the rehearsal hall. She silently reviewed her response script in her mind, preparing herself for all kinds of questions from the police.

Isabella's death was unrelated to her, which she wasn't worried about at all. What she was truly worried about was the police discovering that she was a Superhuman. After all, since this case might involve Superhuman factors, it was quite possible that one of the police officers investigating was a Superhuman.

At this moment, Fors slowly stood up from her seat, walked gracefully to the police officer maintaining order, and asked in a calm tone...

"Officer, I'm just here to give a lecture. Do I have to stay and be questioned as well?"

The officer nodded seriously.

"Yes, Ms. Fors."

Fors smiled serenely:

"I want to know the reason."

The officer looked around and whispered in her ear:

"You should already know about Ms. Isabella's murder, right?"

Fors nodded in agreement. Isabella's death was no longer a secret, and whispers of discussion could be heard everywhere.

The officer continued:

"Your script may be related to Ms. Isabella's death, so please stay here for questioning."

Fors' smile froze instantly, his eyes filled with disbelief. The young officer's words were simply too outrageous.

But she also knew that it was not the right time to confront the police directly, so she could only suppress her frustration and silently walk back to the corner of the rehearsal hall, patiently waiting for Inspector Clive's summons.

Most people finished their questioning in just a few minutes, and soon it was Mr. Coleman's turn.

He walked into the interrogation room with a gloomy expression, but he stayed there for almost an hour. During that time, angry arguments and heavy table-slamming could be heard from inside, drawing frequent glances from people in the hall.

Finally, the interrogation room door was flung open, and Coleman walked out, his face ashen, his gloom and anger almost overflowing. The two officers maintaining order at the door immediately locked their eyes on him, their expressions wary, as if afraid he might take the opportunity to escape.

Next up is Livre.

She knocked gently on the door, and after receiving a response, she pushed it open and entered the interrogation room. The room was simply furnished; a dressing table had been temporarily used as a writing desk. Inspector Cleverley sat in the main seat, in charge of the questioning, while another officer sat beside him, holding a quill pen, ready to take notes at any time.

"Inspector Cleverville, hello."

Livre lifted her skirt slightly and bowed respectfully to him.

Clive nodded slightly, his tone calm yet authoritative:

"Ms. Marilyn Monroe, there's no need to be nervous. Just answer the questions truthfully."

"Yes."

Livre answered calmly and sat down opposite the two policemen.

Clive rubbed his eyes wearily, then his deep eyes regained their sharpness as he stared directly at Livre:

How did you join Paria?

His voice was deep and resonant, carrying an invisible sense of pressure that went straight to the heart, subconsciously giving rise to an impulse to obey.

Liviel was slightly startled. This feeling of instilling obedience was completely different from her instigator abilities. There was no deception or manipulation, but rather a strong sense of integrity and honesty, commanding submission through sheer authority. Clearly, this was also an extraordinary ability.

She quickly composed herself, deliberately feigning nervousness, her voice trembling slightly:

“I... I happened to see a flyer that Baria was hiring, so I came to apply and was fortunate enough to pass the interview. Foreman Joey and Mr. Bright can both vouch for what I said.”

Clive continued to ask:

"During rehearsals, Ms. Isabella argued with you several times and even tried to physically assault you. Is that true?"

Liviel immediately adopted a look of lingering fear, her hands slightly gripping the hem of her dress, her voice tinged with grievance.

"Yes, I was terrified at the time, but thankfully Mr. Coleman stepped in to protect me!"

Clive's expression remained largely unchanged, and Livre knew that these two questions were merely appetizers; the truly thorny questions were yet to come.

Sure enough, Clive cleared his throat, his tone suddenly becoming more somber.

"Please describe in as much detail as possible what you did on March 16th."

The police officer who was taking notes also tensed up and gripped the quill pen in his hand.

Liviel took a slight breath, feigning deep thought, her brows furrowed slightly, and slowly spoke as she "recalled":

“In the morning, I bought breakfast at a nearby restaurant and ate it on my way to Paria to rehearse with everyone. During that time, I had an argument with Ms. Isabella. After get off work, I ate dinner at another small restaurant, then bought a newspaper and went home to rest at 27 Minsk Street.”

Clive listened quietly, remaining silent for a few seconds before speaking:

"After the argument, Ms. Isabella left Paria. What were you doing at that time?"

Livre replied without hesitation:

“I was rehearsing until I got off work and went home.”

Do you remember the specific timeframe?

Clive's gaze sharpened, locking onto Livre's eyes as if trying to find a flaw in her expression.

Liviel pretended to be deep in thought, and after a few seconds she spoke:

“I left Paria at about six o’clock, arrived at the restaurant at six-tenths, left at six-forty-five, and arrived at my home at 27 Minsk Street at seven o’clock.”

Clive nodded slightly, but then abruptly changed the subject without warning:

"You have strong logical thinking skills. What kind of work did you do before?"

Livre was taken aback by Clive's question and paused for a moment before recounting the story she had already fabricated for herself:

“I have just graduated from the Bokwal Art School in the Sea County and have not been in Backlund for long to pursue my artistic dreams. Before that, I was a student and did not have a formal job.”

Clive nodded and continued to press:

"Who can vouch for you during the time you were away from the restaurant and walked to 27 Minsk Street?"

Livre said somewhat awkwardly:

“I haven’t run into anyone I know during this time. Perhaps the street vendors can vouch for me, or perhaps my neighbor Mr. Waffle can vouch for me.”

Mr. Waffle, of course, couldn't vouch for me; he was busy entertaining prostitutes who came to his door...

Livre thought wearily, she wasn't quite sure what the logic of the police in this world was, or whether they adhered to the principle of "whoever questions must prove." If they asked her to find an alibi for herself, that would be quite a headache.

Fortunately, Clavel didn't press her about her itinerary, but instead asked about other things:

What do you think of Coleman as a person?

Livre thought for a moment and said as briefly as possible:

"He is a responsible gentleman who cares about the younger generation."

Livre wanted to add, "He is a skilled and excellent actor," but then she thought that might leave a bad impression of Coleman in the eyes of the police, so she didn't say it.

Clive raised an eyebrow:

"And what about relationships between men and women?"

Livre paused, then blinked, feigning ignorance.

What do you mean by that?

Instead of answering directly, Clavel asked bluntly:

"Has he harassed you, or made or shown any behavior or intention that suggests a desire for intimacy with you?"

Livre recalled the greedy look in Mr. Coleman's eyes when they first met, but she still shook her head.

"No, he never harassed me, nor did he show any similar intentions."

Clive and the officer in charge of taking notes exchanged a glance, then looked back at Livre:

Have you heard any rumors about Coleman and Isabella?

Livr shook her head:

“No, I haven’t heard of it, Mr. Clever. I’ve only been in Balia for a few days.”

Clive nodded, seemingly believing Livre's words.

He picked up the clerk's notes and handed them to Livre:

"Take a look. If there are no problems, sign here."

Livre picked it up and looked it over; it was basically consistent with what she had said, so she signed her name:

Marilyn Monroe Bello.

Just when she thought Clive was going to let her leave, the deep-eyed inspector suddenly spoke:

"Miss Marilyn Monroe, please show me your identification."

Livre was taken aback, unsure whether this was a routine inquiry or if Clive had some suspicions about her.

She nervously handed over her forged identity document. Redbeard had only guaranteed that it could fool ordinary patrol officers, but could it fool an inspector who was very likely an extraordinary individual?

Clive examined the identification document several times before returning it to Livre.