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Chapter 384: Detective Scofield
Chapter 384: Detective Scofield
The police arrived faster than expected—within twenty minutes.
During those twenty minutes, Barton helped Mrs. Carol to her feet and escorted her to the living room to rest. Henderson, the butler, was carried back to his room, where Matron Oliver remained to care for him since he had yet to fully regain consciousness. After Jack and Powell carried Henderson away, they quickly returned to the crime scene. However, Feng Bu Jue remained steadfast, refusing entry to anyone—including himself. Even Lord Kolsten, who had rushed over upon hearing the news, failed to bypass Feng Bu Jue’s strict security.
The estate’s patriarch indeed possessed exceptional qualities. Though he arrived visibly agitated, Kolsten quickly calmed upon hearing Feng Bu Jue’s explanation for barring entry to the scene. He even commended Feng Bu Jue’s decision.
As a police car wailed to a stop outside the villa, a system prompt rang in Feng Bu Jue’s mind. His task updated: 【Assist the Police in Their Investigation】.
Barton answered the door and guided the officers to the crime scene’s entrance.
Five people now waited in the corridor: Feng Bu Jue, Lord Kolsten, Lady Odette, Young Master Jack, and Doctor Powell.
Barton led three officers inside, the lead investigator being a plainclothes detective in his fifties. Dressed in a crisp suit, a round hat atop his head, and polished leather shoes, he carried an air of shrewd competence. His thick, neatly groomed beard framed a face that betrayed years of experience. The two younger officers trailing him wore police uniforms—black, reminiscent of 1980s British police attire, though subtle differences hinted at the fictional nation’s unique design.
“I am Detective Scofield,” the lead officer announced, stepping forward. “Which of you is Mr. Lovecraft?”
Leaning on his cane, Kolsten stepped ahead. “I am Kolsten Lovecraft, the villa’s owner… and the deceased’s father.” His voice faltered slightly.
Scofield fixed Kolsten with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze, his expression openly suspicious. As a seasoned detective, he had long cultivated a professional habit: while evidence was crucial, his true talent lay in reading people and breaking through interrogations.
“And where is the body?” Scofield asked.
“In that room,” Kolsten said, gesturing toward the door guarded by Feng Bu Jue.
“Excuse me,” Scofield muttered, signaling his subordinates as he approached the door.
As they neared, Feng Bu Jue stepped aside. Scofield glanced over him briefly before focusing on the door.
“Hmm?” He paused, noticing the key still lodged in the lock. Testing the handle, he found the door unlocked. Two seconds later, his eyes landed on the corpse slumped in the sofa chair beyond the open door.
“Has anyone moved the body?” Scofield asked without entering.
“No,” Jack replied immediately. “After Carol discovered the body, the room’s remained untouched.”
“You are?” Scofield asked.
“Jack. The man sitting there is my brother Dennis.” Jack tilted his chin toward the corpse. “Carol—Dennis’s wife—is in the living room.”
Scofield studied Jack for a moment before shifting his gaze to the room. “Was it you who told everyone not to enter?”
“No,” Jack said, pointing at Feng Bu Jue. “It was him.”
Scofield turned back, but Feng Bu Jue interjected before the detective could speak. “Greetings, Officer. Feng Bu Jue.”
“Feng…?” Scofield’s expression shifted abruptly. His eyes widened as he scrutinized Feng Bu Jue anew. “Wait—you said Feng Bu Jue? The Feng Bu Jue?”
Feng Bu Jue sensed recognition in the officer’s tone. Recalling the scenario’s setting, he played along. “Yes, Feng Bu Jue. I am a celebrated detective.”
“By heavens! It really is you!” Scofield’s voice rose in excitement. He stared at Feng Bu Jue’s face as if verifying his identity. “No wonder you looked familiar! I’ve seen your picture in the papers! You’re the Feng Bu Jue—the legendary detective!”
“…So the system defaults to whatever name I give Npcs,” Feng Bu Jue mused internally. “I suppose I am a ‘legendary’ detective. Even officers in fictional worlds recognize me. I must be as famous as Poirot—Hercule Poirot, Agatha Christie’s brilliant detective. Unlike a certain egotistical Londoner who shuns the spotlight, Poirot’s cases are widely publicized, his name known to all. Incidentally, The Great Achievements of Hercules once subtly suggested that in 1864, the Holmes family visited the Poirots during their European travels. A nod from Christie to Conan Doyle, perhaps? Everyone loves a narcissist…”
“Indeed,” Feng Bu Jue replied coolly, maintaining his composed facade.
“No wonder someone here understood crime scene preservation,” Scofield said, grinning. “It’s because you were here!”
The Lovecrafts exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions layered with meaning: astonishment at Feng Bu Jue’s reputation—and unease from those hiding secrets.
“This is excellent news!” Scofield declared. “Please, guide us! With you here, I’m sure this case will be solved swiftly.”
“Hmph… I’ll do my best,” Feng Bu Jue chuckled dryly, thinking, “While I’m confident in my reasoning skills, solving this quickly… is it wise?
This is only the ninth chapter! If the case concludes in five chapters, the remaining twenty would force readers to endure the author’s keyboard-rolling nonsense.
And your name has five characters, Kolsten! Six-letter surnames like Lovecraft popping up, plus those lengthy annotations—clear signs of the author’s desperate word-count inflation. But even such shameless tricks can’t mask the plummeting quality…
Still, surviving until Chapter 33 will require my full capability!”
(End of Chapter)
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