Chapter 3: A Detective
1274 Words
London Metropolitan Police Headquarters, fifth floor, Chief Constable's office.
Lestrade, the highest-ranking officer in the London Metropolitan Police, was bowing his head humbly, trying his best to show respect with a smile, but because he was usually so serious, his expression looked more like a strange twitch.
Facing the short, elderly man on the sofa, he hesitated for a long time, then glanced at the clock on the wall out of the corner of his eye, before finally speaking:
"Your Excellency, Scotland Yard has been expanded four times already. The corridors and staircases are a mess. Could Miss Catherine possibly..."
He didn't dare use the word "lost," because that might be misinterpreted as being directionally challenged, or even mentally challenged.
The elderly man before her clearly didn't care, simply smiling and waving his hand: "Don't worry, they should be here soon."
Sure enough, a few minutes later, the office door opened, and the young woman dressed in the strange nun's habit walked in; her long, black hair was tied back at the nape of her neck, and her sharp features naturally exuded a pride and coldness beyond her years.
At this moment, her face was filled with obvious anger… making Chief Lestrade uneasy.
"What happened?" the elderly man on the sofa asked, getting up.
"Nothing, just ran into an ill-mannered jerk." Catherine closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to suppress the anger in her heart.
The chief's heart skipped a beat, and he silently cursed everyone in the police station.
He had clearly instructed them that today's guest was an important person, and that they should be polite to unfamiliar faces. How could someone still be so brainless! "I guarantee that anyone who offends the holiness of the Church will be punished most severely!" he said hastily.
Catherine shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the matter any longer. She turned to the chief and asked seriously, "Have you found a candidate?" The chief's smile froze, and he nearly cried with difficulty. "Miss Catherine, although I am the chief of the London Police Department, your request... is too difficult."
...Actually, it wasn't a big deal at first. It was just that a deranged serial killer had suddenly appeared in the old city, brutally murdering 12 women in half a month. Each woman was violently r***d, then dismembered, bled, and her internal organs torn out, chopped up, and scattered on the ground.
That was all.
In this era where 'hell' had invaded the real world, demons roamed freely, and even walking at night could result in a sudden, mutilated death, the emergence of a serial killer was hardly something to be taken seriously.
The problem is, this guy seems to have gotten carried away with his killing spree…
He was no longer content with continuing his crimes in the Lower City and turned his attention to the Upper City, where last night he brutally murdered a beautiful woman.
Actually, if it were just a resident of the Upper City, it wouldn't be a big deal; at most, the bounty would be increased. But unfortunately, the victim in the Upper City… was the wife of an executive officer of the Holy See!
This is a huge problem!
As everyone knows, after the gates of hell opened, the Holy See became the only hope for the survival of the human race. Whether it's the churches built in the cities, the tens of thousands of fanatical war madmen in the south who used their flesh and blood to resist the invasion of evil, or the omnipresent [Holy Light], they are all humanity's last support on the verge of extinction.
"The Holy See is Sacred and Inviolable"
Before children can even read and their worldview is formed, this passage is already deeply ingrained in their young minds, like the rising and setting of the sun and moon—a kind of established rule of this world.
"I don't care what methods you use," the woman said grimly. "Someone has murdered a member of the Papacy's family. This is blasphemy against the Holy Light. The murderer must be found within 24 hours."
"But...but you only gave me one spot, and that's..." Director Lestrade mustered his courage to explain, but seeing Miss Catherine's slightly furrowed brow, he quickly swallowed the rest of his words.
There was no other way. The murder of an executive officer's wife was far more horrifying than the Mayor of London's fondness for s*x. If word got out, it would tarnish the Papacy's supreme authority.
Therefore, this matter had to be resolved as quickly as possible, and the fewer people who knew, the better!
But...asking one person to investigate a serial murder case and catch the killer within 24 hours? Wasn't that a pipe dream?!
Unless...
Unless!!!
Director Lestrade swallowed hard, thinking of a name with extreme helplessness and unease.
The thought flashed through his mind the instant…
“Eh? Perhaps you’ve thought of someone?”
The short, elderly man before him suddenly spoke, his grayish-white pupils lifeless beneath drooping eyelids.
The director, not knowing what had gotten into him, subconsciously nodded: “Yes, if anyone could do it, it’s only him.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he jolted awake, breaking out in a cold sweat. Looking again at the smiling, elderly man before him, his initial respect was now tinged with a hint of fear.
Those words he had just spoken were definitely not of his own volition.
They had been driven by some power from the abyss…
So, this priest was not only a contractor, but had already evolved to the second stage?!
“Finally, someone has been chosen?” Miss Catherine asked.
Chief Lestrade's hands clenched tightly, sweat beading between his fingers. He knew there was no point in hiding it anymore, and could only nervously reply, "Yes, there is such a person, a... private investigator..."
...A dozen minutes later, in a police station cell.
The old gaslight hissed, casting a dim light in the dampness.
Several officers were struggling to move a huge, blood-soaked suitcase. If it weren't for the eerie wriggling sounds emanating from inside, no one would believe that a person was crammed inside.
Under Imperial law, death row inmates have no right to appeal, so even if they are treated roughly, there is no recourse.
After all, these people are being escorted to the execution ground.
But... but this is too gruesome.
"Rip—" The suitcase zipper was pulled open, releasing a chilling sound of bones grinding against each other, followed by the sound of lungs finally expanding.
There were no screams or cries for help, only the faintest, most pitiful groans. The person slowly 'flooded' out like a puddle of mud.
Before the box, the short, elderly man in a robe paused, then glanced at the police officers beside him, noticing they all averted their gazes, afraid to look at the person sprawled on the ground.
"That detective you speak of... does he always do this?"
An officer nodded timidly.
"Yes, Your Excellency, in his words... it's more convenient to transport prisoners this way."
Meanwhile, on the third floor of the police station, Chief Lestrade and Miss Catherine stood at the doorway of the lounge.
The chief pointed to a sofa, where a man sat, wearing a trench coat, tall and slender, reading a book half-asleep, looking like a fallen nobleman who had lost all interest in life.
"This is the man..." the chief said humbly.
Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly noticed the expression on the woman's face beside him: "Um... Miss Catherine, you don't look too well."
- Writer
