The lights were overwhelming, and the environnt was noisy. The complex environnt of the shared villa made it impossible for the police to completely isolate the onlookers. There was more clutter here than at any other cri scene. Right in front of the window where Shiller stood, there were dozens of cardboard boxes of various sizes, filled with all kinds of miscellaneous items. Above the window hung sausages and smoked at, while at the stairway entrance were several pots of withered plants with no leaves, and the pots contained ash of unknown origin. The wall on the left was stained with black and yellow smoke, and on the greasy stove were several pots whose purpose was unclear.
Outside the first-floor windowsill, there were so ats and tools for freezing ice cubes piled high, blocking half of the window. Through the remaining gap, one could see Chick’s hanging calves and feet.
By this ti, the body was frozen, with a shimring and glossy surface. Shiller turned to Victor and asked, "When did you freeze him?"
"When the body was first discovered, about an hour ago," Victor said, sowhat nervously. "Did I affect your judgnt of the body’s condition?"
"You know I don’t actually need to judge the body’s condition." Shiller stepped over the clutter and went to 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 must have stood at the second-floor window, tied the rope, looped it around his neck, and then jumped out directly."
"A very efficient thod of suicide," Shiller said. He noticed Victor also coming up from downstairs, holding a pen and writing sothing. Shiller looked at him with so confusion.
"I’m mimicking Watson," Victor said.
"What?"
"Even though I occasionally cook, I never knew that grease and dust could combine so perfectly. I almost tripped on the stairs, but Rodriguez was oblivious, his mind only on the case. When we got upstairs, we finally saw the body, and the detective said, ’This is a very efficient thod of suicide, Victor’ — too cold, I thought, but that’s his usual style. Sotis, one can see a certain restrained gentlemanliness in this coldness..." Victor recited as he wrote.
"Are you serious?" Shiller seed unable to bear it any longer; he didn’t even continue to look at the body and turned to Victor.
"Or do you want to turn the entire city into an ice sculpture due to anxiety?"
"Never mind, keep writing. Besides, if that’s the case, I should call you ’Mr. Fries’; in those days, calling soone of the sa sex by their na could land you in jail," Shiller reminded.
"But we’re not actually persecuting gays," Victor sighed. "We’re even redressing his grievances... Okay, if it really goes to publication, I’ll make so changes."
Shiller turned back to look at the body, but he was montarily still processing the shocking fact that Victor was seriously considering publication. After a few seconds of being dumbfounded, he continued to examine the scene.
The knot tied to the curtain rod was very ordinary: the rope was looped around the curtain rod and then tied in a dead knot. Shiller leaned his body out the window to look at Chick’s body. The knot on his neck was also very ordinary; the rope was wrapped twice around the neck and then tied in a dead knot at the front.
However, this thod could indeed successfully hang soone. This is because, when hanging outside the window, there is no space to struggle back and forth, as the back would be leaning against the wall. Also, there’s little room to struggle left and right, as the friction from the back pressed against the wall prevents movent from side to side. This degree of movent wouldn’t cause the knot to co loose.
In other words, the mont he left the window, his death was inevitable, with no room for struggle.
"This is not a suicide thod an average person would think of," Shiller said. "Either they hang themselves or jump off a building. An average person wouldn’t combine the two. Chick himself said he would either hang in the lab or jump out of the classroom. This implies that, in his cognition, these were two thods of suicide."
"Human cognition is hard to change, especially not in such a short ti. He wouldn’t suddenly think of using falling to successfully hang himself. This is another piece of evidence that it’s impossible he committed suicide."
"Remarkable," Victor comnted. "You actually started talking about evidence."
"Because the police need evidence. You must first let the police believe this isn’t a suicide case, or they’ll just close the case." Shiller shook his head and said.
"You need not worry about that," Gordon, who had been guarding the staircase, said. "Since the era of Brainiac, the frequency of death cases has been too low. Every case must go through an extrely thorough investigation before closure. This case already has many suspicious points and won’t be closed easily."
"Scotland Yard’s most useful ti," Victor gave him a thumbs-up.
But Gordon just rolled his eyes, calling the cops to gather evidence while saying, "You better hope Shiller really is Hols."
"Genius detective?"
"Always maintains gentlemanly deanor towards his partner."
The two walked out from the side door of the shared villa. The snow outside was getting heavier. Shiller heard Brainiac’s notification sound, he opened his phone and saw Brainiac’s ssage: "There is no place in the surrounding villas, after a half-hour evidence collection, the body will be moved to the morgue, and residents will resu their stay."
Shiller sighed. The best quality of Brainiac is his fairness, although it is also his biggest flaw. He won’t act on impulse like a human. If he were a human monarch, managing security to this extent and still having such an incident occur, he would see it as a provocation and would stop at nothing to get to the bottom of it.
But Brainiac isn’t. In his view, the already dead Chick and all the other living residents are no different. Finding out the truth is important, but so is the survival guarantee of the other residents.
In such a blizzard, the residents of this shared villa cannot be moved over long distances, and the surrounding shared villas are also crowded, not eting the living requirents. So the best approach is to remove the inappropriate elent from the villa and let others go ho and sleep.
Victor was apparently aware of this information too. He anxiously lit a cigarette, even though he didn’t smoke, just watching it burn in the snowy night.
"Why aren’t you writing?" Shiller asked proactively.
"You’re not really Hols," Victor shook his head and said, "If I annoy you, maybe you’ll scold into hanging myself at the psychology departnt."
"Take your pen, Mr. Fries. We have to go to Green Street." Shiller put on his coat and headed to the car.
Victor’s eyes lit up. As he walked to the car, he wrote: "...talking with Gordon didn’t bring any good news, but they always have been. The detective might be used to it by now. The snow outside was getting heavier, the sll of grease and dust more intense. As he opened the door, he routinely lit a cigarette—I can’t comnt on it, the situation looked grim, perhaps Rodriguez isn’t as calm as he appears, but I still believe in him. After a while, ’We have to go to Green Street’, he must have a way, as always."
After getting into the car, Shiller sat inside the back row. When Victor got in, Shiller abruptly took the paper from his hand before he could refuse. Shiller just skimd it, then said, "The cigarette I lit?"
"To echo the environnt," Victor explained, "matching the pessimism of the case and the hidden anxiety in your heart."
"Where did you see that the case was pessimistic, and that I was anxious?"
"Not you, but ," Victor said, "Neither Gordon nor Brainiac had any opinions. Psychoanalysis can’t be used as evidence. If nothing cos out of the investigation, and the conclusion of death is suicide, my reputation is completely ruined."
"That’s not entirely true," Shiller thought for a mont and said, "You just returned to Mr. Freeze’s average level in the multiverse, still far from the worst."
"You really know how to comfort soone."
"You have Nora," Shiller said, "no matter how unhappy you are, just thinking of her will make you feel better, right?"
Sure enough, Victor’s expression softened. He pondered, then picked up his pen and wrote: "On the way to Green Street, I discussed the case with Rodriguez again. His insights always impress . What surprises more is that he’s never as pessimistic as I am. When it cos to case-related matters, he’s always enthusiastic and ambitious..."
Shiller turned to watch him write, rubbing his eyes helplessly, then said, "Are you sure you’re writing about ? When was I ever enthusiastic?"
"It’s to highlight your detective nature," Victor said without lifting his head, "Good detectives are always interested in cases. It’s this innate interest that gives them the inspiration to solve cases skillfully..."
"Didn’t you say every detective is like this? Isn’t it a bit cliché?"
Victor turned to look at him. Shiller happened to be taking off his glasses to clean them. Feeling Victor’s gaze, Shiller glanced at him. Even though he often stayed with Shiller, Victor rarely saw those gray eyes, so this glance felt like a cold splash of water.
"Honestly, I feel much better," Victor said, "refreshing."
"What?"
"I think you’re right," Victor said, as if suddenly inspired, "There are too many detectives who investigate out of interest. People won’t find it novel. Perhaps I could write about a detective entirely uninterested in investigating, just like you."
Victor crossed out the previous passage he wrote. He started a new line and wrote: "On the way to Green Street, Rodriguez seed a bit tired. He kept staring at the mist on the window. The streetlight beams leaped over his profile one by one, but barely illuminated his deep mood. I know this journey is not what he wishes for. He never considers himself a detective, yet is inevitably drawn into such troubles. Unfortunately, I’m one of the troubles forcing him to investigate. I feel deeply guilty about this..."
"You’d better truly feel guilty." The car slowly stopped. Before opening the door, Shiller said, "Moreover, it’s still ti to stop. You might struggle to make sothing up later."
"Absolutely not." Victor also opened the car door and got out. He rubbed his hands, exhaled a breath of white mist, and looked up at the sign of the building—"Federal Shield Gotham Office."
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