The scene was in a mess. The wooden signboard hanging from the metal chain was carved with thrilling claw marks. The originally crowded but orderly bookshelf was covered in black and red blood, staggered and scattered, and the chaos seemed like the end of the world.
The entire face of the deceased had been torn off, leaving only a bloody mess: the cheekbones were sunken into pieces, one eyeball was still in the socket, and the other was missing. It could only be distinguished through the clothes - this was Mr. George's body.
This living hell-like scene was barely bearable, but the lingering smell of blood unique to death made him squeeze his features together.
"Didn't anyone cordon off the scene and maintain law and order? Where are the police?" He pinched his nose and asked in confusion.
"Shh, I'm here." A familiar and tight voice came from the corner, and then the bloated body staggered awkwardly out of the shadows.
Ed took a closer look and saw that it was the fat policeman Mance whom he and Arthur had met at the police station that day.
"Why are you hiding, Mance, you're on duty tonight?"
It sounds like Miss Quinn is very familiar with the fat policeman.
"By the Holy Spirit, who knows if the murderer will come back. The salary from the Eastern District Police Station is not worth risking my life."
Seeing the two men coming, Mance's voice sounded a little calmer, but the two stubby hands holding the gun were still shaking. Upon seeing this, Ed couldn't help but stand back a few steps, fearing that the pistol would go off:
"Then why don't you just run away? If the murderer is really a werewolf, you will still be discovered hiding here."
"I have to stay here to warn others of the danger." He covered his nose with his handkerchief and looked embarrassed: "Although the salary is not worth fighting for, after all, I am still a policeman."
"Oh, really? Then I have to suggest that the police station award you a medal worth your weight."
Quinn looked disapproving. She leaned down, stared at the clues on the floor, dipped her fingers in the blood and sniffed:
"The deceased opened the door with a key and walked in. And the murderer..."
She walked forward slowly and stopped in front of the window. The original glass window was only left with debris on the ground, and the glass fragments were sprayed inwards in a radial pattern:
"The killer came in through the window and attacked George."
"Yes, the neighbor's aunt said she heard the sound of breaking glass and went over to check the situation. She opened the door and found that old George's body had fallen into a pool of blood. The murderer was nowhere to be seen, so she immediately called the police." Mance added in a low voice. road.
Ed was about to walk over when he kicked a thick and heavy object under his feet. Could it be a brick?
He half-knelt down to look at it. It turned out to be an encyclopedia dictionary, framed with oil-impregnated cowhide and with metal corner protectors on the four corners. Hardcover dictionaries like this have always been very expensive, costing between one and a half to two pounds, enough to buy a whole outfit or a second-hand high-wheeler.
The murderer took some books. He suddenly realized.
The place where the ancient manuscripts were originally stored was empty, and all of Mr. George’s beloved ancient books were gone.
Could it be that the murderer did not kill randomly, but had other motives?
He closed his eyes and recalled what he had browsed to see if there were any clues worth paying attention to...
"The smell points to the basement, where the murderer entered after the murder," Quinn said.
The door to the semi-basement was open, and it was very shabby inside, with spider webs even forming in the corners.
The three of them walked together along the stairs into the semi-basement. Apart from daily necessities, there was only an open curtain, an old bed, and a pile of sacks. It seemed that Mr. George occasionally had temporary items. live here.
Quinn signaled the two of them to step back, walked up and opened the sack to reveal a corner, then he breathed a sigh of relief and said:
"It contains books."
Book?
Ed leaned over and took a look. The book protruding from the sack turned out to be the copy of "New Moon and Full Moon" that he had read before.
"There doesn't seem to be anything suspicious. It would be great if Eaton was here. His gray eyes can always find key clues." Mance complained with some despair.
"Huh, wouldn't the Bureau of Investigation handle the case without him? Even if he's not here, I can still solve the case." Quinn said dissatisfied.
Mance continued to murmur in a low voice: "Maybe Arthur, his mind has always been very flexible... Where did he go? Why didn't you take him with you..."
"That's enough! Shut your mouth and stop talking nonsense!"
Quinn's gloomy expression could no longer be suppressed, and she turned and roared at Mance. Suddenly, she turned around and raised her head in horror——
A ray of clear moonlight passed through the gap in the clouds and shone on her face.
Suddenly, her breathing began to become heavy and rapid, her dark green pupils dilated horribly, and tiny bloodshot eyes dyed the whites of her eyes red.
"Gah..." Some kind of uncontrollable, suffocating animal growl came from Quinn's throat. She twisted her neck and tried to look away, but it was as if steel was being pulled by a magnet.
In the basement, which was so dark that there was only blue moonlight, there was a faint electric light under the dark gray scarf, crackling.
Ed reacted almost immediately and rushed to the side window of the basement, using his cane to lift the curtains to cover up the moonlight.
Quinn seemed to have broken free of shackles, staggering and falling to the ground. She supported the floor with her hands to keep from falling. The back of her white hands was covered with veins like tangled veins.
"I'm sorry Quinn...I, I didn't mean it." Mance looked embarrassed and was sweating profusely.
Ed patted Mance's broad shoulder, motioning him to quiet down, and then walked up to Miss Quinn:
"Are you okay?" He stretched out his palm, trying to pull her up.
"I'm fine..." She pushed Ed away with the back of her hand and stood up on the ground:
"This is not the first time, and it will definitely not be the last. Don't worry, I can handle this situation."
Quinn said as she tightened her scarf and walked towards the window where the murderer last disappeared:
"The murderer should have left through the window on the second floor and over the eaves of the opposite house. Maybe there will be more victims tonight. I have to follow the trail..."
She pushed aside the pieces by the window, leaned over the window sill, turned around and told Ed:
"You stay and deal with the scene with Mance. I'll leave the report to you."
Ed nodded. He didn't have the energy to fly over the wall, so he had no choice but to stay here.
Quinn jumped out and disappeared into the dark night. He turned his gaze to Mance and saw the fat policeman looking around and asking with a little embarrassment:
"Okay, okay. Now man, what do we do?"
"Get a carriage and take the body away first - to avoid attracting flies... and reporters."
"Okay, I'll go right away." Mance breathed out a sigh of relief and trotted out with a relatively flexible posture.
Why would Mr. George put such a cherished copy into a sack?
His figure was the only one left in the room. Ed pinched his chin and recalled the old man holding the book in his hands and bringing it to him. This was not something he would do.
…
An hour later, Bitter Winter Bookstore.
The streets were deserted and people on the East Side knew what was going on. But they can always endure silently like sheep, praying that disaster will happen to others, and they are lucky enough to survive.
There was a dark, short and thin figure walking along the deserted night road with his head lowered. Suddenly he stopped and looked around.
The moonlight flashed through the gap in the clouds, reflecting the blood-red whites of the ferocious eyes under the bowler hat.
He took out a key from his pocket, opened the door to the bookstore and got in. The door quickly closed again, as if no one had ever been there.
The smell of blood still lingers in the narrow air, covering all the familiar smells: dust, camphor, ink...
He was silent for a moment and continued to walk straight towards the basement. The curtains were drawn, and the silent underground room was completely dark -
Suddenly, a bunch of flames lit up, reflecting a young and familiar face:
"Good evening, Mr. George."
