Investigation

As soon as the words left his mouth, Tolle and Frye grabbed his arms from either side and covered his mouth.

One of them knew from years of experience as a Nighthawk that he had to watch what he said around nobles.

The other knew what had happened to Leon-or rather, his predecessor.

"Shh!" Tolle leaned close to Leon's ear and lowered his voice. "Have you forgotten what happened with Mrs. Winter last time?"

Leon pulled Tolle's hand away and gave him a knowing look.

He knew what Tolle was talking about. In his memories, it had been the greatest defeat of his predecessor's career after he fled to this city.

At the time, his young predecessor had just made a spectacular comeback at the salon Mr. Azik had mentioned.

The gathering organized by that noblewoman had given him his first chance to turn his fabricated title of "great detective" into a name he had truly earned.

After all, he had helped the noblewoman secure most of the property in front of numerous ladies and young ladies, greatly pleasing those who were eager to make a move themselves.

In this not-so-small circle, whoever pleased the ladies and young ladies had the greatest say-and a steady stream of cases.

Apart from the few detectives who actually worked at murder scenes, the vast majority made a living finding cats and dogs or investigating extramarital affairs for full-time housewives.

Even his predecessor, who had received considerable training from childhood, was no exception. Saying you could do something didn't mean you actually could.

Sometimes, professional ability alone wasn't enough. You also needed good "upward communication skills" to get a ticket to a case.

Fortunately, his predecessor's face had given him a chance.

But just when he was feeling most confident, he had encountered that damned woman.

A figure in a long white gauze dress flashed before Leon's eyes.

He shook his head slightly, somewhat puzzled. For a moment there, he had actually been affected by his predecessor's lingering emotions.

"What time did he die?" Leon put those thoughts aside and reached for the white gloves Tolle handed him.

"From the preliminary examination, Councilman Maynard died between nine and eleven last night." As usual, Frye, the Corpse Collector, conducted the preliminary examination first.

Leon didn't hurry over to touch the corpse. Instead, he went quietly to the window and surveyed the surroundings outside.

Maynard's residence was a detached house in the Golden Wutong District, surrounded on all sides by gardens and lawns, with a stable, a fountain, and a wide concrete road.

A large number of police officers were stationed outside.

Quite a few gentlemen in tailcoats had gathered in the garden, along with several ladies in magnificent court gowns, their faces covered by fine black mesh veils. Each was being questioned separately by a police inspector of the same sex.

Their expressions ranged from surprise to embarrassment, with a few showing some anger.

"Let me guess... Councilman Maynard held a party at home last night, and there were too many guests for you to identify a prime suspect just yet."

While Frye was examining the body, Leon raised an eyebrow slightly and looked at Tolle. "And these guests all have respectable standing, so you have to be careful and can't afford any mistakes."

"Yes, these are all guests who stayed here overnight." Tolle sighed, looking utterly exhausted.

"Just as I thought, you haven't brought in everyone who was present." Leon wasn't surprised.

Both his predecessor's experience and his own knowledge told him clearly that noble privilege was the norm in this country.

Whether the councilman had gained his status through wealth or acquired his wealth through status, his tangled web of connections was extensive enough to reach certain powerful figures in Backlund.

Even the headquarters of the Church would face collective pressure from the nobles over this.

"All right, please leave the room to the professionals now." Leon ushered Tolle, who had long been eager to leave, out of the room, then slowly retreated to a corner.

He surveyed every corner of the room.

His predecessor's experience seemed to have become a kind of muscle memory. Once he got to work, details and information quickly came together in his mind.

This was a guest room specially prepared for a temporary bout of "pleasure." There was no way to find out who the guest that night had been.

"Mummy powder" had been placed on the table to heighten the mood. Clearly, the affair had been planned in advance, not a spur-of-the-moment accident.

There were also several empty wineglasses nearby, with differently colored wine stains left on their sides.

The curtains were half drawn, but the open half faced the most conspicuous part of the garden.

If anyone passed outside, they would be clearly visible from within, while they wouldn't be able to see clearly into the room.

The person who had arranged the room-the deceased-was also a habitual adulterer.

No wonder Tolle looked ready to break down. Those nobles certainly wouldn't be honest if they wanted to keep up appearances, and if questioned too closely, they would call it an insult.

But in Leon's experience, this was most likely a sudden death from brainstem hemorrhage caused by excessive excitement.

Bleeding in the pons would directly stimulate the center that controlled that sort of thing, potentially causing an abnormally prolonged rigidity, firmer than ordinary engorgement and persisting after death.

Such a death happened in an instant, without even any pain.

Extraordinary powers could basically be ruled out. Once he delivered his conclusion, he could leave.

Leon glanced at his pocket watch. He had more than two hours left. Everything was perfect; he could even go for an early lunch.

He walked over to Frye, who was carefully lifting a corner of the white sheet and slowly examining the limbs, and pulled the sheet off in one motion without hesitation.

"Hey, wait!" Frye instinctively tried to warn Leon not to make trouble for himself.

"It's fine. Those nobles are troublesome, but only when they're alive," Leon reassured him casually, then looked at Councilman Maynard.

The man was in his forties, with blond hair cut very short. An expression of pain and pleasure intertwined lingered on his face.

He noticed scratch marks on the skin of Councilman Maynard's chest. The bloodstains on the bedsheet and his fingers showed that he had done it himself.

Not a brainstem hemorrhage? Leon looked at the corpse in surprise.

These were signs of a myocardial infarction. Somewhat puzzled, Leon looked at Frye. "What was the cause of death?"

"Bluish-purple discoloration of the face, possibly with pinpoint hemorrhages in the conjunctivae. Cyanosis of the lips and fingernails." After quickly summarizing the signs, Frye's expression grew somewhat grave.

"My preliminary assessment is a sudden heart attack."

That's not right. After Frye confirmed it once more, Leon belatedly activated Spirit Vision. He looked around but found nothing else unusual.

If it had been sudden death from a brainstem hemorrhage, it might still have been an accident. But once a heart attack was involved, the lady who had been present at the time... might not have been a woman.

But whether they were a man or a woman, if they had fled after discovering he was having a heart attack, it could no longer be explained as a simple accident.

They still had to find the person from that night.

After all that, do I still have to try Ritualistic Magic? Leon recalled the information Klein had taught him, the materials required, and the prayer to the Evernight Goddess.

Although he had only tried it a few times with Klein's help, Leon was still very confident.

He wondered how the Goddess would respond to him.

He was just about to ask Frye to fetch his backpack containing the materials when a familiar voice sounded behind him.

"How about... letting me do it?"