Chapter 3: One Detective

Chapter 3: One Detective

London Police Headquarters, 5th floor, Chief's Office.

As the highest-ranking official of the London Police Department, Chief Lestrade was currently lowering his head humbly, trying his best to display respect in his smile. However, due to his usual lack of humor, his expression appeared more like a peculiar twitch.

Facing the diminutive old man on the couch, he hesitated for a while, glancing at the clock on the wall out of the corner of his eye. Finally, he spoke up:

"Your Excellency, Scotland Yard has undergone four expansions already. The corridors and stairs are in disarray. Miss Catherine, will she... get lost?"

He didn't dare to utter the words "get lost" as that could be misinterpreted as being directionally challenged or mentally incapable.

The old man in front of him clearly didn't care about such matters. He simply smiled and waved his hand dismissively, saying, "Don't worry, she should be arriving soon."

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the office door was pushed open, and the young woman dressed in peculiar nun attire walked in.

Her jet-black hair was tied up behind her neck, and her eyebrows and eyes were sharp, naturally exuding a sense of pride and severity that didn't match her age.

At this moment, her face revealed clear anger, making Chief Lestrade feel uneasy.

"What happened?" the old man on the couch stood up and asked.

"Nothing, just encountered an ill-mannered bastard," Katherine closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to suppress the anger in her heart.

Chief Lestrade's heart sank, mentally scolding everyone in the entire police station from top to bottom.

He had clearly given instructions that they were receiving an important person today, and they should be polite to unfamiliar faces. How could someone still be so brainless!

"I assure you, anyone who offends the sanctity of the Church will face the severest punishment!" he hurriedly said.

Katherine shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the matter any longer. She turned to the Chief and said seriously, "Have you found the suspect?"

The Chief's smile froze, and he was in a precarious situation, on the verge of tears. "Miss Katherine, I am the Chief of the London Police Department, but your request... is too difficult."

...

In fact, it wasn't a major issue to begin with. It was just that a serial killer suddenly emerged in the old city district, brutally slaughtering twelve women in the span of two weeks. Each victim was subjected to heinous acts of violence, dismemberment, bloodletting, and the tearing apart of internal organs, leaving a gruesome scene.

That was all.

In an era where "Hell" invaded the real plane, demons roamed everywhere, and walking on the streets at night could result in instant death, it was difficult to garner enough attention for a serial killer.

However, the problem lay in the fact that this individual seemed to have become addicted to killing...

"Has someone finally been chosen?" Miss Katherine asked.

Director Leistride clenched his hands, sweat trickling through his fingers. He knew that there was no point in concealing the truth any longer. He could only nervously reply, "Yes, there is someone chosen... a private detective..."

...

Several minutes later, within the police station's holding cell.

An old gas lamp sizzled, casting a dim light in the dampness.

Several officers struggled to carry a large bloodstained suitcase, and if it weren't for the occasional eerie movement emanating from within, no one would believe that a person was crammed inside.

The individual's pelvic bone had been shattered, their legs twisted in an unimaginable manner and forcefully brought up to their chest. Ribs were likely broken, shoulders dislocated, and the tendons in their elbows torn apart, resembling two strands of hemp rope, cruelly tied below their neck.

In short, a living person had been compressed into a lump of flesh, and what was even more horrifying was that this person was still alive.

According to the Empire's laws, death row inmates had no civil rights, so even if they were treated roughly, there was no recourse for complaint.

After all, these people were already destined for the execution ground.

But... but this was still too cruel.

"Zip--"

The suitcase's zipper was opened, and the sound of bones rubbing against each other sent shivers down their spines, followed by the gasping breath of lungs finally expanding.

No screams for help, only the faintest miserable moans. The person, like a pile of mud, oozed out slowly.

The robed, small elderly man in front of the suitcase froze, then looked at the police officers beside him, only to find them averting their gaze, unable to look at the person sprawled on the ground.

"Does your detective always arrive like this?" one officer timidly nodded.

"Yes, Your Excellency, according to him... it's more convenient to transport prisoners this way."

Meanwhile, on the third floor of the police station, Director Leistride and Miss Katherine stood at the entrance of the lounge.

The director pointed to a couch, where a man was sitting. He wore a trench coat, had a lean figure, and held a book in his hand, seemingly reading with half-closed eyes, like a fallen noble who had lost all interest in life.

"It's this person..." humbly stated the director.

Before he finished speaking, he suddenly noticed the expression on the lady's face.

"Um... Miss Katherine, your complexion... doesn't seem too good."