Chapter 82: Christmas (3)
When we visited Philip Peterson’s house, his wife and two children were there. They looked surprised to see the three of us suddenly show up.
His wife was a middle-aged woman with a melancholic expression, and she seemed to shrink back slightly as if afraid of us. Philip Peterson’s eldest daughter was shielding her mother, clearly wary of us. The son, the younger of the two, appeared clueless. After all, he was only five years old.
“Has anything unusual happened recently? Any visitors perhaps…?” Liam asked Mrs. Peterson very politely.
“Please, be honest with us. We want to help you,” he added.
“No… No one has come,” she replied.
I fell into quiet contemplation. Was she telling the truth? But there didn’t seem to be a reason for her to lie. Exchanging glances with Liam Moore, I decided to speak.
“Then, if anyone suspicious does show up, could you contact us immediately at 13 Bailonz Street?”
“Who would come? Who could possibly come?” Philip Peterson’s eldest daughter sharply retorted.
“No one will come for us. Do you think anyone would after our father was hanged?”