amaotonovel Chapter 4476 The Darkest Night (4)
Chapter 4476 The Darkest Night (4)
Chapter 4476 The Darkest Night (Part 4)
The lights were mixed, and the environment was noisy. The complex layout of the shared villa made it impossible for the police to completely isolate the onlookers. There was also more clutter here than at any crime scene. Just in front of the window where Schiller stood, there were dozens of cardboard boxes of various sizes, filled with all sorts of odds and ends. Sausages and smoked meats hung above the window, and several leafless, withered plants sat at the top of the stairs, their pots filled with ashes of unknown origin. The wall to the left was a blackish-yellow stain from smoke, and several greasy pots sat on the makeshift stove, their purpose unclear.
Outside the first-floor window, there was a pile of meat and ice-freezing equipment, obscuring half of the window. Through the remaining gap, one could see Chik's dangling legs and feet.
The body was now frozen solid, its surface shimmering with a lustrous sheen. Schiller turned to Victor and asked, "When did you freeze him?"
“The body was discovered about an hour ago.” Victor said, sounding a little nervous. “Did I interfere with your assessment of the body’s condition?”
“You know I don’t need to assess the condition of the body.” Schiller strode over the clutter and onto the second floor. The rope was tied to the curtain rod above the second-floor window, with the other end wrapped around Chick’s neck.
"If he really committed suicide, then he would have stood in front of the second-floor window, tied the rope around his neck, and then jumped out."
“A very efficient method of suicide,” Schiller said. He saw Victor also coming up from downstairs, holding a pen and writing something down. Schiller looked at him with some confusion.
“I’m imitating Watson,” Victor said.
"what?"
“Although I sometimes cook, I never knew that grease and dust could combine so perfectly. I almost tripped on the stairs, but Rodriguez didn’t notice; he was only thinking about the case. When we got upstairs, we finally saw the body. The detective said, ‘That’s a very efficient method of suicide, Victor.’—too cold, I thought, but that’s how he always is. Sometimes you can see a restrained gentlemanly demeanor in that coldness…” Victor read aloud as he wrote.
"Are you serious?" Schiller seemed to have reached his limit. He didn't even continue looking at the body and turned to look at Victor.
"Or do you want me to turn the whole city into an ice sculpture because of my anxiety?"
“Fine, you can write it. Also, if that’s the case, I should call you ‘Mr. Frith,’ because in those days calling someone of the same sex by their first name could land you in jail,” Schiller reminded him.
“But we’re not really persecuting homosexuals,” Victor sighed. “We’re even advocating for him… Well, if it’s really going to be published, I’ll revise it.”
Schiller turned back to look at the body, but he was still reeling from the shocking fact that Victor had actually seriously considered the publication issue. He stood there for a few seconds before continuing to observe the scene.
The knot on the curtain rod was ordinary; it was simply a rope wrapped around the curtain rod and tied in a knot. Schiller leaned out of the window and looked at Chick's corpse. The knot around his neck was also very ordinary; it was two ropes wrapped around his neck twice and then tied in a knot in front.
However, this method can indeed lead to a successful hanging. Because when hanging from inside a window to outside, there's no room for struggling forward or backward, as the back will be pressed against the wall. Similarly, there's limited room for struggling left or right, as the friction from the tight back against the wall prevents any lateral movement. This level of movement won't cause the knot to untangle.
In other words, the moment he left the window, his death was sealed; there was no room for struggle.
“This is a method of suicide that most people wouldn’t think of,” Schiller said. “It’s either hanging or jumping off a building. Most people wouldn’t combine the two. Chick himself said that he would either hang himself in the lab or jump from the classroom. This means that in his mind, these are also two methods of suicide.”
“It is very difficult to change a person’s perception, at least not in such a short period of time. He would not suddenly think of using a fall to successfully hang himself. This is another piece of physical evidence that he could not have committed suicide.”
"That's rare," Victor remarked. "You've actually started talking about physical evidence."
“Because the police need physical evidence. You have to convince the police that this isn’t a suicide case before they’ll investigate; otherwise, the case is closed,” Schiller said, shaking his head.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Gordon, who had been standing guard at the stairwell, said. “Since the time of Brainiac, the frequency of deaths has been too low. Every case must undergo an extremely thorough investigation before it can be closed. There are many suspicious points in this case, so it won’t be closed easily.”
“Scotland Yard’s most useful performance ever.” Victor gave him a thumbs up.
Gordon just rolled his eyes, went back to call the police to collect evidence, and said, "You better hope Schiller really is Sherlock Holmes."
"A detective genius?"
"He has always maintained a gentlemanly demeanor towards his partner."
The two men emerged from the side door of their shared villa. The snow outside was falling heavier and heavier. Schiller heard the notification tone of a message from Brainiac. He opened his phone and saw that Brainiac had said, "There's no room left in the surrounding villas. After half an hour for evidence collection, the body will be moved to the morgue, and the residents can resume their accommodations."
Schiller sighed. Brainiac's greatest strength was his fairness, and so was his weakness. He wouldn't act impulsively like a human. If he were a human monarch, and this happened despite maintaining order to this extent, he would see it as a provocation and investigate at all costs.
But Brainiac was different. In his view, the dead Chik was no different from all the other living residents. Finding out the truth was important, but ensuring the survival of the other residents was also crucial.
In such a blizzard, the residents of this shared villa couldn't make any long-distance evacuations, and the surrounding shared villas were also too crowded to meet their living needs. Therefore, the best solution was to remove anything unsuitable from the villa and let everyone else go home to sleep.
Victor had obviously heard the news too; he even anxiously lit a cigarette. But he didn't smoke, so he just watched it burn in the snowy night.
"Why did you stop writing?" Schiller asked.
“You’re not really Sherlock Holmes,” Victor shook his head and said. “If I annoy you, you might yell at me so much that I’d hang myself in the psychology department.”
“Take your pen, Mr. Frith. We need to go to Green Street.” Schiller put on his coat and walked to the car.
Victor's eyes lit up. As he walked toward the car, he wrote: "...The conversation with Gordon didn't bring any good news, but that's how they always are; the detective is probably used to it by now. The snow outside was falling harder, and the greasy, dusty smell was getting stronger. As he opened the door, he lit a cigarette as usual—I can't comment on that; the situation is not optimistic. Perhaps Rodriguez isn't as calm as he seems, but I still believe in him. After a short while, 'We have to go to Green Street,' he must have a plan, as always."
Once in the car, Schiller sat in the back seat. When Victor got in, he snatched the paper from his hand before Victor could object. Schiller merely glanced at it and then said, "...The cigarette I lit?"
“To echo the environment,” Victor explained, “to echo the pessimism of the case and the anxiety hidden in your heart.”
"Where did you get the idea that the case wasn't looking good, and that I was anxious?"
“It’s not you, it’s me,” Victor said. “Gordon and Brainiac have no opinion. Psychoanalysis can’t be used as evidence. If they really can’t find anything and the case is closed as suicide, my reputation will be completely ruined.”
“Not really,” Schiller said after thinking for a moment. “You’ve just recovered to the average level of a Mr. Freeze in the multiverse, far from being the worst.”
"You're really good at comforting people."
“You have Nora,” Schiller said. “Even when you’re feeling down, just thinking about her makes you feel better, doesn’t it?”
Victor's expression softened slightly. He thought for a moment, then picked up his pen and wrote: "On the way to Green Street, I discussed the case with Rodriguez again. His insightful observations still impressed me greatly. What surprised me even more was that he was never as pessimistic as I was. When it came to matters related to the case, he was always enthusiastic and ambitious..."
Schiller turned to look at him writing, touched his eyes somewhat helplessly, and then said, "Are you sure this is about me? What do you mean I'm enthusiastic?"
“That’s to highlight your detective qualities,” Victor said without looking up. “Good detectives are always interested in cases. It’s this intrinsic interest that gives them inspiration and allows them to stumble upon brilliant solutions…”
"You said that every detective is like this, isn't that a bit cliché?"
Victor turned to look at him. Schiller had just taken off his glasses to wipe them. Sensing Victor's gaze, Schiller glanced at him. Even though he was often with Schiller, Victor rarely saw those gray eyes, so this glance felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over him.
“Honestly, I feel much better,” Victor said. “It’s refreshing.”
"what?"
“I think you’re right,” Victor said, as if suddenly inspired. “There are just too many detectives who solve cases out of interest. People don’t find it anything new. Maybe I can write about a detective who doesn’t want to solve cases at all, like you.”
Victor crossed out the paragraph he had written earlier. He started a new line and wrote: "On the way to Green Street, Rodriguez seemed a little sleepy. He kept staring at the condensation on the window. The streetlights flickered across his face, one after another, but they could hardly illuminate his deep emotions. I knew this kind of travel was not what he wanted. He never considered himself a detective, yet he was always forced into such troubles. Unfortunately, I also became one of the troubles that forced him to investigate. I felt deeply guilty about it..."
“You’d better be genuinely remorseful.” The car slowly came to a stop. Before opening the car door, Schiller said, “Besides, it’s not too late to back down now. You might not be able to make up anything later.”
“Absolutely impossible.” Victor also got out of the car. He rubbed his hands together, exhaled a puff of white mist, and looked up at the building’s sign—“Federal Shield Gotham Office”.