Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

"Thank you, Melina, you're so kind."

It wasn't just words; she opened her arms and gently embraced the little parrot—a hug.

A hug where the head is lowered and the arm is nestled in the shoulder, brief yet intimately close.

Chapter Forty-Eight: The Beginning of Breaking the Impasse

Eight o'clock in the morning, 221 Baker Street.

Bathed in the warm sunlight, with light and graceful steps, Charlotte, timing herself perfectly with the second hand, pushed open the door of the agency.

"morning everyone."

As these words were spoken, the distant clock tower rang out on time, providing accompaniment for the girl's ascent to the stage with a long, clear, and harmonious sound.

"Miss Watson!"

“You’ve come just in time, ma’am.”

The bird girl's joyful chirping preceded her, followed by the old detective's seemingly teasing joke, while the peacock remained silent as always.

Unmoved, Charlotte glanced around out of the corner of her eye. The furnishings in the front hall remained unchanged, but the chirping of the two little sparrows gave it a vibrant, sunrise-like energy.

"I'm sorry, sir, I encountered a young lady with mobility issues on the way, and I had to help and comfort her for a long time before I could wipe away her tears."

Speaking the facts in a way that was both real and unreal, she took off her trench coat and gently placed it on a shelf to the side. Then, she found an empty seat among the sofas and sat down, right between Sophie and Winnie.

In reality, Charlotte no longer needs to rely on her agency's salary to fill her pockets, but the convenience of her network and her status as someone involved in events can still provide her with a lot of help. If there is any change, it is that she can more naturally indulge her true nature.

Without trying to dampen anyone's spirits, Singh smiled and agreed.

"Haha, then you really did a good deed. If it is morally justifiable, and a lady is in dire need of help, a gentleman should not be too concerned about his own safety."

Putting down his pipe, perhaps heeding Watson's advice, or perhaps not wanting to disturb the young ladies, the old detective did not stuff any tobacco into it, but merely twirled it lightly for psychological comfort.

The silence didn't last long; soon, a slightly deep voice rose again.

“A bizarre murder occurred in the port area yesterday.”

With his hands clasped together and placed on his lap, Singh slowly pushed the newspaper up to everyone's view and said in a rather interested tone:

"There were two victims, one of whom was an ordinary laborer, and the other was a man named Talon, who was nearly two meters tall. To be honest, if it weren't for the repeated claims of the witnesses, I simply couldn't imagine that anyone could knock down such a strong man, who was as big as a small mountain."

“Mr. Kessinger, no matter how strong a person is, they can't escape a bullet, can they?”

Charlotte's fingertips landed lightly on the coffee table, their movements revealing a hint of smugness.

Pretty impressive, huh? I did it.

“You’re right. That burly man had two wounds. The fatal one was on his neck, and the other was in his eye socket. Because of the murderer’s deliberate sabotage, it’s hard to tell what kind of bullet it was. Besides, judging from the state of the scene, it was like a living hell.”

"Like a wild beast ravaging a piece of meat, the laborer's death was truly... and after the forensic autopsy, several undigested human bones were found in Talon's stomach, which matched the missing parts of the former perfectly, making one's hair stand on end."

It was an astonishing exclamation.

"Alright, sir, do you really have to say something like this first thing in the morning when you're in a good mood? Look, Winnie's face is almost white with fear from you."

Just as the girl said, the more she listened, the paler the bird girl's face became, until finally, she couldn't help but shrink back and tremble slightly.

Fortunately, Charlotte had noticed it in advance. She immediately took the girl's small hand in her palm and gently stroked it, comforting her with the warmth of her body and whispering words in her ear.

"Don't worry about Mr. Singh. He always exaggerates in order to fool people."

Despite being a party to the incident, the girl's accusations were righteous and insincere.

Such actions caused the little bird's ears to turn slightly red, drew a sour look from Sophie, and left the old detective speechless for a moment, before finally chuckling.

Charlotte picked up the newspaper she had just read and flipped through it several times. She stopped and began to read carefully the page that reported the 'Harbor Murder Case'.

[Last night on Wilker Street in the port area, two gentlemen died under mysterious circumstances...]

There's nothing noteworthy; it's mostly descriptions of events and speculations about possibilities.

To be honest, the girl was a little disappointed. She had planned to see if the police could find out Mr. Talon's hidden identity information, but it wasn't mentioned. Either there was some resistance along the way and they couldn't find it, or they deliberately concealed it.

It's not entirely incomprehensible. After all, the incident happened just last night, and Talon is involved with the port district's union. Not only is his identity sensitive, but if it matches my suspicions, the India Party even has intricate connections with Count Bathory. It's understandable that the police can't confirm it or dare not mention it.

Of course, that doesn't stop Charlotte from reinforcing the impression that the police are incompetent.

In the world of every great detective, are the police just background figures and atmosphere-setting characters?

She stopped browsing, released her two fingers, and let the oil paper fall back onto the table with a soft thud.

"Mr. Singh, you didn't just bring up this murder case casually, did you?"

Knowing the detective's temperament, he rarely paid excessive attention to matters outside of his case, let alone emphasized them in the current situation. These words should indicate that the girl's disappearance case is necessaryly related to him.

“You are very perceptive, madam. Last night, thanks to the information you gathered, my informant in the port area made some new discoveries.”

Singer pulled out a clean blackboard and stepped aside so that the three girls could clearly see the patterns, words, and lines drawn on it.

"By connecting all the nearby locations where the suspects went missing, we can pinpoint the crime scene to a specific radius."

The chalk fell heavily from his hand, and on the hastily drawn map, the old detective circled an area.

"This is Puya Street, the central point where all the cases are gathered together, and also the territory under the control of the India Party. Hmm, this name is more appropriate."

"The port murder that just happened also occurred here. To be honest, I feel a little ashamed that I didn't notice such a conspicuous place at the beginning. It's not far from any of the crime scenes, giving it enough time to hide nearby and then move the victims later."

"Because of the supervision of the labor union, I did not guess in this direction. After all, the management of Pau Nga Street is relatively strict and the order is not as chaotic as other parts of the port area. However, now that I think about it, I realize how important the assumption is."

Charlotte's thin lips curved slightly as she listened attentively to Singh's account, her smile growing ever brighter, as radiant as a morning flower.

From joining the firm, to taking on the missing persons case, to clarifying the relationships and confirming the India Party's involvement, and now to the merging of clues, the events unfolded seamlessly, perfectly marking a transitional dash in the development of the case.

Whether it's a coincidence of overlapping or a random accumulation, it all seems perfectly logical.

Perhaps this is something to be suspicious of, but isn't this what good fortune is all about?

She put in her effort, followed the planned path, and gradually and efficiently gathered all the necessary resources to break the deadlock. Isn't that only natural?

Charlotte has absolute confidence in herself.

"Based on the sketches provided by Watson and Sofby, I took several photos of people who resembled the suspect while standing on Pau Daddy Street."

The old detective put his hands together, placed them under his chin, and said in a deep voice, hanging up a dozen or so photos of people on the shelf one by one.

Who do you think is most likely the real culprit in this series of cases?

Bending over and looking back, hunched backs, waving to people... the people in these photos have different appearances and actions, but they all have similarities in the details.

Gloomy, wary, and ordinary—these kinds of faces are quite common in the port area, yet their unanimous voices rang out at this moment as if by prior arrangement—

"It's him!"

A rosy-haired girl and a silver-haired maiden, their slender fingers pointing to the same photograph, then lightly touching.

A chance encounter, a meeting unexpected, just like birds flying wing to wing and branches intertwined.

Chapter Forty-Nine: The Hunt for the Killer and Solace

The touch of their fingertips made the little peacock involuntarily part its thin lips and look to the side.

She saw that Watson had also lowered his eyelashes, his long, narrow, silver-gray eyes blinking rapidly as he looked at her with a half-smile.

She pulled her index finger back as if she'd been electrocuted. For some reason, whenever she saw that smiling face, Sophie's ears would turn slightly red.

"It seems you all have your own opinions. Would you mind telling me more about them?"

Ignoring the flirtatious interaction between the two girls, the old detective took the photo of Caiying from the partition and placed it in the center of the table.

The person in the picture is not very tall, wearing a blouse, with slightly hunched shoulders, looking around furtively, as if always on guard against others getting close.

"There are a few strands of crimson hair here on her clothes. I can't mistake Samuel's hair color..."

Pointing to a tiny change in color in the photograph, Sofby's tone was remarkably firm, yet tinged with sadness.

Although cameras became widespread in this era, the pixels of color photos were relatively blurry, still at the level of film, and the subsequent exposure and developing were extremely cumbersome, not to mention that the subject was still moving.

Perhaps it was the result of her long-term skill in painting, or perhaps it was her innate visual acuity, but the little peacock was able to see the distinct points and surfaces in the confusing photograph with the naked eye, which was beyond Charlotte's expectations.

Even my own senses couldn't detect that strand of hair. Could it be that those bright, amber-colored eyes were more than just pretty?

"So, Ms. Watson, what is your opinion?"

After hearing Sufby's words, Singh frowned, seemingly puzzled, and then spoke to the girl beside him.

"Sir, what do you think the mindset of a serial killer would be?"

Instead of giving a direct answer, Charlotte went on to ask a question.

“Abnormal psychological needs and being forced by others are all possible reasons. I cannot confirm whether the desire to commit the crime existed from the beginning or gradually developed later. But one thing is certain: repeated successes often give the perpetrator a strong sense of self-confidence.”

Gently stroking his pipe, the old detective, empathizing with the character he was pretending to be, began to speak.

"Yes, it's confidence. That's what makes this photo different."

Unlike the little peacock who pays attention to external details, the girl focuses more on internal differences. Even if she tries to hide them, her mindset will be revealed through her body language and the habits she has developed.

"Although this gentleman was also alert to the movements around him, neither his posture nor his demeanor showed a high degree of urgency or defensiveness, nor did he exhibit the fatigue and dejection of the laborers."

"If a single coincidence is accidental, then the connection of multiple coincidences becomes clues and evidence, greatly increasing the likelihood of suspicion."

Having said all she needed to say, Charlotte offered no further explanation, instead offering words of comfort.

"I imagine it must have taken a lot of effort, Mr. Singh, to take these photos. Thank you for your hard work."

As it is said, it is not safe to go into the port area and go deep into Pau Gai Street. In addition to the fact that the murderer is very likely to be hiding there and acting under pressure to avoid being exposed, the position of the India Party is also uncertain.

From this perspective, Singh was even more radical than himself, disregarding the risks in order to solve this high-profile case.

“You have all done so much. If I still achieve nothing, wouldn’t that be a disregard for your efforts and a failure to live up to the weighty expectations of Sule?”

Smiling broadly, the old detective did indeed feel the warmth of the care shown to him, though he didn't admit it.

"It's pretty much what you said. I've also been paying attention to this gentleman and have done some investigation on my own. His name is Vaughan Gerald, a native of Tingen. He worked as a seaman for a while, and also as a laborer for a month or so. He only recently joined the India Party."

"It's highly suspicious that he frequents such extravagant places despite not having a stable job. Of course, this case ends here for us. I will organize the clues and submit them to the police station and the lady who issued the commission. The subsequent handling is no longer within the scope of detective work."

Singer pushed the partition back into the groove, unwilling to proceed even with the truth laid bare before him. Ms. Mossant's warning still echoed in his ears: secrecy meant danger, and arrest and trial were the duties of the police and the courts.

He's a detective, not a Robin Hood. He needs to be responsible for himself and also worry about the safety of these girls.

however--

“Mr. Singh, but Samuel…”

Like a bolt from the blue, Sufby could no longer remain silent. Stumbling and pleading, she refused to give up the hope she had finally grasped.

Even though she knew the chances of finding her sister were slim, she wanted to be involved in the case herself, rather than wait anxiously and listen to the insensitive police officers send their condolences.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sophoby, this is far too dangerous.”

It was a refusal made out of a lack of willpower and a sense of helplessness.

Upon hearing this, Sophie's face turned pale and she swayed. Fortunately, Charlotte caught the little peacock's waist in time and gently pulled her limp body onto her shoulder.

Hair upon hair, silvery-gray trickles flowing down from the bright red silk, so close that their breaths could be clearly heard.

"Exhale and exhale. Don't worry, I'm still on your behalf. I will bring him to justice, and I will find Samuel's whereabouts."

The warm, moist air brushed against her skin, and the gentle voice offered comfort. Sufby hadn't expected the girl to embrace her so tenderly. Her face flushed, and she instinctively tried to pull away.

But Watson used much more force than she had imagined, and she failed to succeed after two attempts.

...Well, I've already torn off my pretense and abandoned my dignity in front of Watson, so what does it matter if I lose face a little more?

Giving up resistance, the little peacock obediently buried its cheek in the girl's shoulder.

This is self-comfort. When the taut strings of her heart snap and the hope in her heart fades away, she does need a harbor, a harbor where she can find solace and freely vent her emotions.

The only person who truly understood her, knew her struggles and resentment, was Josephine Watson.

“I’ve always remembered it.”

Without stopping with words, Charlotte reached out her right hand and gently patted Sophoby's back, tenderly and patiently.

"I promise."

Thin lips close to the ear, a soft murmur, an unwavering promise.

Winnie, who was nearby, watched this scene and remembered that Watson had said he was her only friend. She felt a tightness in her chest and a strange bitterness welled up in her heart.

Why is this happening?