— Have you found something? – Harry asked as soon as Dale stood by the front door of the mansion.

— The pieces of an incomplete jigsaw of tragedy lie ahead, officer. – Said Dale, pretending to hide his frustration in a professional manner. Whether he was successful or not, it didn't matter. – You can feel the sheer brutality of the act. The carelessness of the killer at leaving behind his, or her traces. I swear, honest to God, that whoever did this to Mrs. Fillyjonk... I can't confirm whether the killer held a grudge or not, but this place resonates with a kind of energy that makes you feel ill by just being near it, and it's not because of the crime scene I've witnessed, but the place itself, as it is, seems so lifeless, so sterile, so gray. The colors and decorations that often bring joy to a house only make it look more sad and empty than it actually is.

— It appears to be that way. – The Police Inspector said, contemplating the surroundings with a hand under his chin. Something in the garden caught his attention. – You may have noticed that the grass outside is cut short so that it doesn't overgrow and is not short enough for people to miss it, which's odd since I never heard Mrs. Fillyjonk comment to anyone that her grass grows the way she wants it to, but it feels like something she would say... If she happened to be alive, that is.

— Her body did not simply vanish in thin air. – Dale intervened. – It was moved away from the scene.

— It's true. – The Inspector nodded accordingly. – I've checked the entire mansion looking for a body, but I haven't found any. Not even upstairs. There is no smell in the air other than decay that fills every inch of the mansion. Decay, and a kind of deionized essence combined with the scent of a hundred cleaning products. It does feel unnatural, it's what I'm saying, but the term "unnatural" by itself pales in comparison when you refer to, uh... an artificial, bacteria-free environment? Well, you can feel it in your lungs when you breathe.

— From what you said earlier, Mrs. Fillyjonk was very fond of cleaning.

— Indeed, Agent Cooper.

— Well, I'm surprised that she did not pass out from inhalating any toxic fumes.

— What do you mean?

— Have you ever heard of chlorine gas?

— No, I did not. What is it?

— Chlorine, the seventh element of the periodic table. – Dale paused briefly before explaining, as if he didn't want to comment on the subject but had to. – It rarely occurs in nature; you are more likely to find chlorine attached to other elements, like sodium, which results in sodium chloride, or salt. Well, anyway, you can accidentally create chlorine gas at home by mixing several cleaning products without being aware of what they can do when they are combined. Bleach and ammonia, for example, can be lethal, and once inhaled, chlorine gas can irritate the skin, the throat, the lungs and it can kill you by asphyxiation. For that very reason, it was used as a weapon in World War I before it was replaced by mustard gas.

— Oh my. – The Inspector gasped. – I'm sure that Mrs. Fillyjonk would never do such a foolish thing!

— It can happen to anyone if they're not careful enough, and I've been in so many cases where the victims themselves ended up being their own murderers.

— Are you saying that Mrs. Fillyjonk killed herself?

— No. A lot of evidence suggests otherwise. – Dale sighed heavily as he felt something growing in his stomach. It wasn't cold or ache, but instead a need to drink coffee that wasn't available anywhere. – She wasn't alone at home, unless she had a stroke, which isn't clear because we don't have a body to do the autopsy on or any evidence of a stroke that could happen based on eating habits, occurrences in the family and the only clue is if we consider her stressful way of life as a risk factor by itself. In short, I don't think Mrs. Fillyjonk was responsible for her own death.

— Then, who was it?

— We will find it out, Inspector. I swear. – Said Harry, kneeling on the floor in search of footprints or anything unusual that could be useful to the investigation. – Did Mrs. Fillyjonk live all by herself or was there someone who made her company?

— Well, now that you've asked... Other than her husband, I remember there was a maid called, uh, Misabel.

— Misabel, huh?

— Yes, that's her name. Misabel, she's always in blue. Even when she smiles, she looks sad, which is one of the first things I noticed about her and the first thing that comes to mind whenever I think of her, which is a very rare thought when you live your life in service like I do.

— Why is she always sad?

— I have no idea. Maybe she was born that way. I saw Misabel a few times, she worked for Mrs. Fillyjonk and I've been looking for her before your arrival. I don't know her whereabouts, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

— Did she wear any shoes?

— Well, yes. Why do you ask?

— Check this out. – Harry said while pointing with his index finger at the ground. – Footprints. Lots of them.

— These are shoe marks, actually. – Dale added. – They share the same size. Do they belong to the same person?

— It seems so. Could be one person leaving their traces everywhere, or twins, or triplets, a crowd of random people, no idea.

— What I know is that they're too small to be Mrs. Fillyjonk's shoes, and she would never leave this filth around. – The Inspector said with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in his voice. – Not many people visited her very often. Only the same figures, like Moominmamma. And she did not wear any shoes, from what I know.

— Have you two noticed there's a peephole in here? – Harry asked soon after taking a step forward to look closely at the front door.

— I have. – Dale replied. – I saw it, but I did not realize its relevance to the case at all. The violence from the crime scene took me by surprise.

— Murder is very unlikely to occur in Moominvalley, so I understand how you feel. – The Inspector said reassuringly.

— There's more to this case than meets the eye. – Said Harry, seeing through the peephole in the door. – It makes me wonder why Mrs. Fillyjonk would open the door at all if she had the opportunity to see her killer. Maybe it was someone she knew, someone she thought would never do any harm, or it was too dark to see clearly.

— Or someone small. – The Inspector's words were met by the astonished looks of Harry and Dale. – I'm not saying it was, but the door is very tall and you can't see what's under it.

— You mean the killer was either small or that they crouched under the peephole's view to pass unnoticed? – Harry inquired.

— Uh... Yes. – There was no doubt in the Inspector's voice. A little, but he managed to ignore that sensation. – You see, the left and right sides of the house are blind spots where one can't be seen by the house owner.

— You'd be correct if we pretend that Mrs. Fillyjonk did not take a peek outside from her windows, but let's assume that she did before she decided to open the door... According to Sniff, it was late at night, and raining. I can only imagine how this place looks when the sun goes down.

— It's like staring through a bottle filled with tar if you're not carrying a lantern with you. And, if you may excuse me, do you trust Sniff?

— Is there a problem?

— Well... – The Inspector looked in all four directions before saying anything. – To be blunt with you, Sniff has a tendency to be rather, uh... Mischievous, even if he doesn't appear to look like an agent of deception.

— I do not trust him. – Harry said, with his eyes drawn to the inspector's face. – Not completely. I have no reason to since he may be hiding something, and to be fair, we all do. What I've learned during my service is that everyone has a secret to hide. A collection of unusual habits, a display of wrong behaviors, a moment where they can no longer repress their own sexuality... One can make an entirely different life built by a set of secrets that are buried in the darkness and never brought out into the daylight until someone forces them to.

— And what does that have to do with Sniff?

— He is no different from you and me. It is in our nature to know both good and evil, we accept this paradox in our lives and that is why we are free. Of course, it would be ideal if we were really free, but the law exists, other people's opinions also exist, restricting what makes us who we are. So far, I've seen only one law enforcer here, and no one else. Without you, Moominvalley is a lawless land, a land of freedom, but how much of this unusual kind of freedom is enough to drive one to commit the worst sort of atrocities? What makes someone no longer be able to distinguish good from evil? I could wax philosophical all day, but we have a duty to fulfill.

— We do. – Said Dale as Harry and the Police Inspector followed him into the mansion. – The shoe marks lead towards the door, which suggests that someone came in here. We don't know if those shoes belong to the killer as there are no visible shoe marks inside the house.

— Did the killer bother to clean them?

— As I said, Inspector, we don't know if the shoes belong to the killer. There's not enough evidence to suggest that they were.

— I see. Pardon me, Agent Cooper, but when I came here, I saw Moominmamma trying to clean the...

— Clean what?

— The... Blood... On the carpet. – The Inspector went pale as he took sight of a red substance beneath him. – I want to puke.

— You don't have to do that. – Dale said as he knelt on the floor and reached into the puddle with one finger. – It's not blood.

— How do you know?

— The consistency, the smell... It's very unlikely to be blood. How long has it been since the crime took place?

— Two days. – The Inspector replied, his legs still shaken.

— Uh huh... This is definitively not blood. – Dale stated as he brought his stained finger close to his nose only to smell a fruity aroma. It did not take that long before he found himself eating it. – It's sweet... And it tastes like strawberry jam. Hmmmm... Delicious. Divine. Want some?

— No. – The Inspector denied the offer. – And you didn't have to do this.

— It's been lying there for two days, so I digress. – Harry kept his serious composure, but it was obvious to everyone that he was doing it to hide his disgust.

— It's a shame, though. – Said Dale, wiping his lips with the sleeve as he stood up. – I haven't tasted such a magnificent strawberry jam in ages. I had my suspicions that this red gooey liquid I had just tasted wasn't blood, and I was right. Blood has a metallic odor due to the presence of hematite, an iron oxide, in the blood cells. It isn't usually found in large quantities at crime scenes, let alone in a puddle, and it wouldn't stay that way for two days.

— Why not? – Asked the Inspector, still dumbfounded by what he had just seen.

— It's called hemostasis. – Harry explained. – When blood is exposed to air, it coagulates due to the aggravation of the platelets in the circulatory system that cover the rupture of a wound. In sort, blood doesn't stay liquid outside of the human body, it dries out after a while.

— There might be blood in here somewhere, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow. – Dale said as he and the others headed for the door. Outside, he takes one last look at the mansion he had been in. – The forensic team will analyze the crime scene thoroughly. I want this area isolated, we and no one else should be allowed to disturb the crime scene any longer and I apologize for my momentary lack of professionalism.

— Alright. – The Inspector nodded. – You did prove the blood wasn't blood, Agent Cooper, so I commend you for your courage.

— Don't mention it. Anyone could do that in my place.

— Really? I was afraid of doing so. I mean, what if it was not strawberry jam but blood? If I just tried it myself, would I get used to the taste of blood? Would I want more?

— No, you wouldn't. – Dale wasn't sure of what else to say. Then, out of nowhere, he remembered something important. – Where do we go now? Is Moominmamma available for interrogation?

— She may agree to do it. – Said the Inspector, guiding both men to the police department. – Follow me.