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Chapter 408: Truth (Part 2)
Chapter 408: Truth (Part 2)
"Putting it all together, Mr. Barton, or rather... John Lovecraft's motive for the crime has become clear", Feng Bu Jue leaned forward, addressing Jack and Nancy. "Your older brother's character, abilities, and experience surpass both of you and Dennis combined. By his early twenties, he had already become an exceptionally skilled phantom thief. After serving ten years in prison, he undoubtedly became even more ruthless.
Today, he is patient, resilient, and deeply calculating. When such a man resolves to kill, his execution is astonishingly efficient. While ordinary people might take days to plan and hesitate, he acts immediately.
So... before even coming down from the tree branch, Mr. Barton had already taken action. He used his wire cutters to snip one of the wires binding the branches—commonly used in landscaping to shape trees—and took that murder weapon back to his room."
Feng Bu Jue leaned back in his chair, tilting his head. "After the gunfire incident, Barton seized the moment when Dennis was alone in his room, knocking on the door. Dennis had no idea his earlier intimidation talk had been overheard. He believed Barton remained in the dark. Naturally, Barton played his part, pretending ignorance, claiming he was just there to do chores, like pest control for the potted plants in the corner."
"Understood", Scofield interjected, adjusting his glasses. "If Mr. Barton wore gloves while entering the room, Dennis wouldn't have found it suspicious." The detective, who had accompanied Feng Bu Jue through the entire investigation and deduction process, still possessed considerable analytical skills—at least he hadn't forgotten these key details.
"Exactly, Detective", Feng Bu Jue nodded. "The scene unfolded with Dennis smoking on the sofa chair while Barton worked in his blind spot. But the next moment... was the murder itself." He fixed his gaze on Barton. "Just like you tried to approach me silently moments ago, you moved quietly and swiftly behind Dennis, then used the murder weapon from your exit bag to strangle him."
A cold chuckle escaped Feng Bu Jue. "Everything should have gone smoothly, but as you prepared to flee, someone knocked on the door.
Madam Odetta, anxious about the quarrel between her husband and Dennis, had come to speak with the latter. She had no idea that in this very guest room, a murder had just occurred."
"Hmph", Feng Bu Jue scoffed. "As I've emphasized repeatedly, you're no ordinary man, Mr. Barton. While commoners might panic in such a situation, you remained calm and devised a clever plan.
The guest room door was locked—you had no fear of Odette discovering you. All you needed to do was remain silent and escape through the window. But for you, that wasn't enough. Since a murder case inevitably requires a culprit, Madam Odetta became the perfect scapegoat.
She had both motive and opportunity. Most crucially, she had indeed been present at the scene during the murder."
Feng Bu Jue tilted his head, smirking. "Mr. Barton, I remember every word you said..." He recited, "'I'm nearly Dennis young master's age. I understand his perspective. If I had a wealthy father wanting to marry a woman five or six years younger than me, I'd oppose it too.'" Another chuckle followed. "That comment was clearly from the heart, wasn't it? You arrived at this estate eight years ago, and Madam Odetta married into the Lovecraft family seven years ago. I'd wager you shared Dennis' stance back then—you both strongly opposed your father marrying Odette, though he resisted openly while you remained silent.
Unquestionably, you desired Kolsten's legacy more than Dennis ever did. Because he owed you—his heartlessness caused your mother's death. His coldness and denial drove you astray. Even after finally entering this family years later, you did so as a gardener rather than the rightful heir.
So... at least let him repay that debt with his estate after death.
With Dennis dead, if Madam Odetta is convicted of murder... then in a few years, when Lord Kolsten passes away and the will is revealed... John Lovecraft could inherit the majority of the estate and become the true master of this household."
"A truly dangerous individual..." Scofield muttered, turning to stare at Barton's face.
Feng Bu Jue shifted his gaze to the group. "Therefore, Mr. Barton didn't plan to escape through the window in advance—he improvised due to the interruption. He locked the window with wire, creating a Secret Room as a contingency. He knew a local settlement's police force couldn't resolve such a case quickly. By temporarily obscuring the truth, he'd have ample opportunity to frame someone later—like leaving a copied key in Madam Odetta's room corner. For him, this was effortless."
Feng Bu Jue paused, then continued, "After committing the murder, Barton disposed of the murder weapon and swiftly returned to the villa. An ordinary person would likely retreat to their room, anxiously awaiting the body's discovery. But he... returned to my room immediately, delivering an impressive performance.
His words mixed truth and falsehood, masterfully deceptive. Initially, I couldn't understand his purpose—was he truly trying to convince this outsider detective to stop the family from doing something foolish?
But soon after the crime, I realized his true intent... Before the corpse was discovered, Barton subtly planted an idea in my mind: 'If anyone would kill Dennis, it would be Madam Odetta.' His deception was brilliant. When fabricating the conversation between Kolsten and Dennis, he made it seem like Dennis intended to kill Odette. The actual truth was the opposite, yet appeared perfectly logical."
"Heh..." Feng Bu Jue sneered, directing his gaze toward Barton. "Because I declared in the corridor, 'After all, I am a detective,' you deliberately played this hand afterward. Your thinking was... even if your words failed to mislead me, you'd still have an alibi. After all, when the corpse was discovered, you were with me, the detective. Psychologically, I'd likely exclude you from suspicion entirely."
"Hmph..." Barton sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Thinking back, seeking you out... was a huge mistake. I underestimated you."
Feng Bu Jue grinned, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Given your life experiences, you must hold yourself in high regard. Ordinary detectives... you'd never respect. Using 'detectives' like this to achieve your own ends—such irony and amusement. If I were you, I'd have tried it too."
At this, Feng Bu Jue stood, stretching lazily. "Actually, if you'd chosen another day, staged it as a suicide or accident, you might have succeeded." He yawned. "I'd love to say 'better luck next time,' but with this premeditated murder and your status as a repeat offender, even if you avoid execution, you'll never walk free again... I can only offer my sincerest wish—may you one day successfully escape from prison."
"Uh... Mr. Feng, we have actual police officers present. Saying 'successfully escape from prison' aloud..." Scofield interjected, wiping sweat.
"You jump every time I mention 'escape from prison'..." Feng Bu Jue said. "Is this forcing me to comment on your name, Scofield?"
After this casual remark, Feng Bu Jue abruptly walked toward Barton, leaning close to whisper something in his ear.
No one heard what Feng Bu Jue said except Barton. When he finished, Feng Bu Jue turned toward the door, laughing as he walked away—a malicious, chilling laughter.
"Where are you going?" Jack asked.
"To the restroom. Problem?" Feng Bu Jue leaned sideways, arrogantly retorting. "If anyone still wants to arrest me for theft when I return, feel free to slap on the handcuffs again."
Of course, Feng Bu Jue wasn't really going to the restroom. He had received a system prompt and intended to find an isolated spot to teleport.
...
Another late autumn. The gray wasteland bore no trace of green, starkly exposed beneath the sky. In this rugged terrain of forests and tangled hills, roads and power line poles seemed oddly out of place.
My name is Scofield, Greycus Scofield—a Chief Inspector in a remote settlement.
Gentle moonlight bathed the earth, illuminating my path. Driving through this scenery always stirs memories.
Several years ago, I arrived at Lovecraft Mansion in these mountains to investigate a murder case.
A certain detective solved the mystery and identified the culprit within half a day.
Strange, at the time I mistook him for another famous detective. But later, when I saw a photograph of that celebrated detective in the newspaper, I realized they weren't the same person...
Surprisingly, news of this murder case never appeared in any mainstream media. Not even Dennis Lovecraft's obituary was published in any newspaper. Obviously, someone powerful had intervened to suppress the matter quietly.
The following April, John Barton—John Lovecraft—was sentenced to death by the Supreme Court. Two weeks before the verdict, his father, Lord Kolston, died suddenly in a hotel room. The cause of death remains a mystery to this day...
Eventually, Lovecraft family assets were divided—80% distributed equally between the second son, Jack, and the third daughter, Nancy. Jack used his share to establish a large record company in the United States, with the intriguing slogan: "Committed to nurturing young, aspiring musicians."
The remaining 20% of assets and all real estate went to Kolsten's third wife, Madam Odetta. After her husband's death, Madam donated the mountain estate to the government and relocated near a vineyard in southeastern France.
Long-serving staff like butler Henderson, family doctor Powell, maids Oliver and Martha the Maid, and the lawyer who handled the will received nothing. Obviously, my earlier judgment of Kolsten as "kind-hearted" was incorrect. He was a selfish, hypocritical scoundrel. Fortunately, his daughter didn't inherit his worst qualities. One month after her father's death, Nancy personally arranged generous severance payments for these employees.
As for that peculiar detective... I never saw him again. The image of his back disappearing from the dining hall remains vivid in my mind. But he vanished as if he'd simply stepped around a corner outside and never returned.
Later attempts to gather information about him failed completely. He seemed like a ghost—never existing in this world at all...
On this land of mine, countless bizarre legends have been born. Perhaps... he was one of them too.
...
March 1986, Lain City Detention Center, capital of Yasali.
A gloomy afternoon, Barton in prison uniform, handcuffed and shackled, was escorted by a guard to the visitation room. On the other side of the glass sat a woman in extravagant clothing.
Both picked up their respective phones, silence lingering for several seconds before Barton spoke first: "Long time no see, Carol."
Carol didn't respond immediately. She wore a large hat with the brim pulled low, a veil covering the front.
"I suppose you've figured it out... Hmph... Now you understand why I said 'you'd thank me someday.'" Barton chuckled coldly. "In a way, he really is like Kolsten. Years ago, I investigated him. I knew he'd eventually kill you, this pitiful woman, and run off with his lover using the inheritance from you." Barton growled. "Even if it weren't for myself... killing such a man, I feel no regret at all."
"The task you've given me..." Carol's voice was equally cold, her body seemingly a living corpse. "Someone has already begun. Results will come soon."
"Heh... Thank you", Barton replied.
"Must it go this far?" Carol asked. "He's still your father. Given his health, he wouldn't have lived many more years anyway."
"That's none of your concern", Barton paused, suddenly laughing. "You're a good person, Carol. Some things... people like you will never understand." He paused again. "But others, less kind, would say: 'Since you can't enjoy his fortune as compensation, make him pay another price.'"
After speaking, Barton hung up the receiver, laughing maniacally.
(End of Chapter)
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