Chapter 6

"Elena didn't have a mental illness," Mr. Ward started. "Nor had she ever been mad. She was bright from a young age, did well in school, and had beautiful handwriting. She started working at an accounting firm when she was seventeen, and later moved to a charitable foundation as a clerk. She loved keeping all the ledgers and letters in perfect order, and she even kept track of every penny spent on coal and milk at home each month."

A glimmer flickered in his eyes, then vanished into grayness.

"She met Blackwood at a fundraising dinner for the St. Luke's Foundation," Mr. Ward murmured.

"Given our family background, we shouldn't have had any connection with them. But Mr. Adrian was very persistent in his pursuit of her at the time—sending flowers, books, inviting her to the theater, and even coming to see me several times in person, saying he genuinely respected Elena's talent and character and didn't care about her background," Mr. Ward continued.

"Did she like him at the time?" I asked, unable to help myself.

Mr. Ward glanced at me.

"She trusted him," Mr. Ward said.

The inspector jotted down a line in his notebook, then asked, "How long after the wedding did things start to go wrong?"

"Less than three months," Amy chimed in. "At first, it was just that Elena came home less often. Then even the letters grew fewer. She used to write every week; she kept it up for a while after the wedding. By the first winter, when we went to visit her, she already had bruises on her face, but she claimed she'd fallen down the stairs."

"Did you believe her?"

At first… we half-believed her." Amy lowered her head, hands clenched on her apron. "Her eyes begged us not to ask more."

Mr. Ward closed his eyes briefly.

"Later, she went home alone once," Mr. Ward said. "She stayed less than two hours that time. She said Adrian had been drinking, was in a bad mood, and sometimes got violent, but the next day he'd get down on his knees to apologize, saying he didn't mean it. She also said the family doctor had examined him and said he'd been suffering from neurasthenia and emotional instability lately, and that we just needed to be patient."

He paused, regret heavy in his voice.

"She asked me if all marriages were like that. And I—I actually...advised her to be more patient with her husband," Mr. Ward admitted.

My heart clenched suddenly.

Amy drew a quiet breath, her eyes instantly reddening. "Joseph, don't say any more…" she whispered.

"Why shouldn't I?" Mr. Ward suddenly raised his voice slightly, then slumped as if all his strength had drained away. "If I don't speak up, who will speak for her? She's been dead for two years now—am I supposed to keep up appearances for that beast?" he said.

The room fell silent.

"Did the violence escalate gradually?" the inspector asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," Mr. Ward said in a low voice. "At first, it was just pinching, shoving, and slapping. Later, it was fists. Then he began locking her in her room, forbidding her to see anyone. If she was in a bad mood or cried heavily, the old lady would call her 'hysterical' and say her behavior was dragging down Adrian's recovery. The doctor always advised her to be more accommodating, saying she mustn't upset the patient."

A chill ran down my spine.

It was a clean, precise chain of control.

The inspector gently broke the heavy silence: "Did she ever think of leaving?"

"She did," Amy interjected. "Once she secretly had the maid deliver a letter saying she wanted a divorce, saying that if things kept going this way, he'd beat her to death sooner or later."

"What happened to the letter?"

Amy paused, a deeper pain flitting across her face.

"It was burned," she whispered. "We didn't dare keep it."

"Why?"

Mr. Ward's lips visibly trembled.

He was silent for a long time before speaking. "Because the day after Elena died, the Blackwood family's lawyer came," Mr. Ward said.

The lawyer's name was Matthew Holt, who specialized in handling the dirtiest cleanup jobs for high-society families: inheritance disputes, acknowledging illegitimate children, deaths from alcoholism, stand-ins in car accidents...

"We tore up the check," Amy said, tears falling from her eyes. "Joseph kicked him out, saying we didn't want a single penny from them—we just wanted justice for Elena."

"On the third night, my son—Elena's brother—had a rib broken on his way home," Mr. Ward said. "Those men were masked and warned him, 'Your sister is already dead; don't drag the rest of us into this.'"

"And then?" the inspector asked, his voice growing even colder.

"After that, when the police came to take a statement and asked how he'd gotten the injury, my son looked at me and didn't dare tell the truth. The Blackwood family's lawyer came a second time, this time without a check, bringing only hospital bills, a list of debts, and a record of a minor infraction from my time working at the post office years ago. He told me that if things got ugly, they could make me lose my job and my house, ensure my son could never attend a private school, and brand Elena as 'mentally unstable and prone to provoking her husband,'" Mr. Ward said.

"I signed because I know if I'd pushed any further, I would have lost more than just Elena, who was already dead," Mr. Ward finished.

My throat tightened, and for a moment I didn't dare meet his eyes.

The inspector was silent for a long time before asking, "When was the last time Elena came home before she died?"

"Four days before the murder," Amy said softly. "She was wearing a high-neck scarf when she came in; she only took it off after she'd entered. Her neck was covered in fingerprints. She said that if she didn't make it back on her own this time, we should look for the blue-covered ledger tucked under her mattress."

The inspector jerked his head up.

"A blue-covered ledger?"

"Yes," Mr. Ward nodded. "She said Adrian had had some unexplained shortfalls in his accounts over the past half year—as if he'd been embezzling foundation funds to cover gambling debts. She wanted to leave evidence proving that he'd been lying all along."

I suddenly understood why that case two years ago had been closed so quickly.

What it was covering up was perhaps more than just a death by domestic violence.

It also concealed a financial scandal large enough to bring down the Blackwood family's reputation.

The inspector's gaze suddenly grew very deep.

"Was that ledger ever found?"

"No." Amy shook her head, her eyes filled with deep despair. "After Elena died, we couldn't even get into her bedroom. The Blackwoods said the police had sealed it, and the police said the room had been cleared out with the family's consent."

"Didn't you tell the police about this at the time?"

"We did," Mr. Ward said. "The officer in charge just said they'd handle it. But when the case file was closed, there was no mention of it at all."

The inspector slowly stood up, walked to the window, pulled back the curtain slightly to glance at the gray-white night outside.

"Mr. Ward, do you believe in ghosts?" he asked.

My heart skipped a beat, and I whipped my head around to look at him.

Mr. Ward, however, showed not a trace of surprise.

"Inspector, if you'd asked me two years ago, I would have said no," he said calmly. But since my daughter died, sometimes at night I hear her walking at the top of the stairs."

Amy suddenly covered her mouth.

"Joseph—"

"It's true." He stared blankly at the fire in the hearth. "When she used to come home, she always walked very softly, afraid of waking me. For a while after she died, I'd heard those same footsteps. And once, when my son had a fever at night, he said he saw Elena standing by his bed, her face covered in blood. She told him, 'Don't be afraid.'"

I felt a chill creeping up my spine.

Mr. Ward was as calm as if he were merely stating a fact.

The inspector turned around, his expression even more serene than before.

"I'm going to reopen this case," he said.

Mr. Ward paused, then asked, "What did you say?"

"I will reopen the investigation into the death of Elena Ward," the inspector said, enunciating each word clearly. "I will also reexamine Adrian Blackwood's background, finances, and personal relationships. If anyone gave false testimony, suppressed evidence, or intimidated the family two years ago, those people won't get away with it either."

Amy began to cry almost immediately.

Mr. Ward, however, simply sat there, motionless for a long time.

After a long while, a faint, dim light seemed to flicker in his cloudy, weary eyes.

"Inspector," he said, "do you know who you're up against?"

"I do," the inspector replied.

"Then why did you come?"

"Because someone died in a way that shouldn't have happened—so mysteriously," the inspector said, staring at the fire in the hearth.

The room fell silent.

I suddenly felt there was something behind the empty chair by the fireplace.

A ridiculous yet increasingly clear thought took root in my mind.

*Perhaps Elena didn't return simply to seek revenge.

But to show those still alive how she truly died.*