The dead don't speak—but if you listen closely, sometimes they point.
...
Communicating with spirits was troublesome—not because they were dangerous, but because most of them were little more than vessels for their lingering obsessions. Under normal circumstances, they retained almost no memories of their former lives.
Lynn rarely encountered a spirit that could actually hold a coherent conversation.
Usually, the only thing he could glean from them was the core of their obsession.
Just like now—he activated his Phantom Spirit ability to communicate with the translucent soul before him.
But the spirit's eyes were vacant, its gaze fixed silently on the corpse inside the suitcase.
Lynn was just about to assume it was another one of those unresponsive souls when the spirit suddenly turned toward him. A flicker of urgency flashed in its hollow eyes before it pointed to its own body in the suitcase.
Lynn initially thought the poor man was simply realizing his own death and couldn't accept it.
But then, the spirit raised its left hand and pointed directly at its right fist—tightly clenched inside the corpse's hand.
Was this a clue?
With that thought, Lynn slipped on a pair of gloves handed to him by one of the officers.
As he crouched beside the suitcase, George Stacy came over and knelt next to him. "What are you doing? The rain's washed away everything around here. Let's just have the body and the suitcase sent to the forensics lab for examination."
Hearing George's words, Lynn pointed at the corpse's right hand, which was pressed against its abdomen inside the suitcase. "Look—the left hand's open behind its back, but the right hand is tightly clenched. I think there's something in there."
Without hesitation, Lynn reached out and pried open the stiff fingers.
In the corpse's palm lay a slightly rusted iron tag.
George Stacy raised his brows, impressed. "Lynn, if you didn't spend all your time chasing good food and pretty women, you'd have been promoted ages ago with observation skills like that."
"Come on, George," Lynn said with a grin, lifting the tag into the light. "What else is there to live for?"
Etched into the metal were the letters [Zorn], with the image of an elephant engraved beneath.
"So, is this guy's name Zorn?"
"Who knows. Let the forensic team test it first."
Standing up, Lynn waved to the nearby officers, signaling them to take the body and suitcase back to the precinct.
Then he followed George back to the car for the ride to the station.
...
Inside the vehicle,
George started the car.
"Didn't you want to ask your idol for an autograph?"
Sitting in the passenger seat, Lynn sipped his coffee and asked curiously, "I remember when the Battle of New York happened, you were practically bouncing off the walls after seeing Captain America on TV."
"If I hadn't held you back, you probably would've grabbed a gun and stormed Stark Tower to help fight the aliens."
George Stacy shook his head with a faint, nostalgic smile. "Forget it. Just seeing my idol from a distance is enough. After being frozen for seventy years, I doubt he's fully adjusted to this era."
"Even though he helped save the world again, I think he just wants to live a normal life now—without being bothered."
"So no, I won't disturb him."
Hearing that, Lynn took another sip of coffee and smirked. "Alright, I'll never understand you fans."
"But tell me something—if you respect superheroes so much, why do you seem to have it out for that new Spider-Woman?"
"You don't get it," George said firmly. "Even if she's done plenty of good things in New York, catching criminals is our job—the NYPD's. And judgment should come from the law, not from some masked vigilante."
"If everyone acted like her, the order of society would collapse!"
Listening to George's righteous declaration, Lynn only shrugged.
He couldn't help wondering what George's face would look like the day he found out Spider-Woman was actually his own daughter, Gwen.
Through the rearview mirror, Lynn glanced at the male spirit sitting quietly in the back seat, its expression vacant and unreadable. He couldn't tell what it was thinking.
Still, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy toward the deep red glow of purity on the spirit's forehead.
At the police station, Lynn helped the forensic team move the corpse out of the suitcase.
The forensic doctor examined the body briefly before turning to Lynn and George. "There are a few bruises on the surface, but no fatal injuries. There's also a lip print on the neck."
"Unfortunately, the DNA from that print was washed away when the body was in the river."
"No fatal injuries?"
George accepted the coffee Lynn handed him, thinking for a moment. "Grinnell, run a full scan and determine the cause of death."
"No problem," the forensic doctor replied, nodding before wheeling the body toward the examination room.
"Lynn," George continued, "have someone look into the name Zorn and that elephant symbol engraved on the tag."
"Also, run the victim's facial features through the database to identify him."
"The tech department's already on it," Lynn said. "We should have results soon."
Just then, Jennifer entered—her golden ponytail swaying slightly as her fitted blue police uniform highlighted her striking figure.
"Detective George, Lynn—this is the report from the tech department."
Jennifer handed the folder to Lynn, letting her fingers lightly brush against his palm as he took it.
George Stacy didn't even react; he was already used to scenes like this.
His partner was practically a walking charm spell, and that smooth tongue of his could win over any woman in the building.
That was exactly why George was so protective—he refused to let his daughter, Gwen, get too close to this man.
Lynn flipped open the folder as George glanced between him and Jennifer. Then George gave a pointed cough.
"I'll, uh… head back to my desk," Jennifer said with a wink before sauntering off, her slender waist swaying as she left.
Once she was gone, George's expression turned serious. "The facial search came up empty—no record of the victim in any database."
"However, the symbol on that iron tag checked out. It belongs to a traveling circus called Cletus."
"They don't just perform in New York—they tour all over the country. But right now, they just happen to be in the city."
As George said the circus's name, the spirit standing silently beside them suddenly trembled.
Judging by the spirit's reaction, Lynn immediately realized that its lingering obsession was connected to the circus.
"Then we'll wait for the autopsy results," he said, "and head over to investigate the circus afterward."
"Mm."
George nodded, continuing to flip through the documents about the circus.
Before long, the forensic doctor emerged, pushing out the body after the autopsy.
The spirit, which had been standing silently nearby, froze.
The moment it saw its own dissected corpse, the confusion in its eyes turned crimson with rage.