The minute the vehicle arrived at the mayor's mansion, Declan and the others found a crowd standing at the front entrance of the mansion, while panicking.
Curious, Declan asked while getting out of the vehicle. "What's going on here?" But no one responded.
Peterson and Nowa shared the same curious look on their faces. They sat in the vehicle, watching intently, their interest written plainly across their faces as Declan approached the crowd.
"Hey, can somebody explain what's happening?" Declan said, standing behind a tall man who looked like a fruit vendor in his late twenties.
The man turned, facing Declan with a nervous expression.
"...Oh, hey." He uttered.
Declan blinked as his curiosity rose even more.
"Did you say something?" The man asked as he raised a finger to scratch on the side of his neck.
"I was wondering what all the commotion is about?"
"Yeah, it looks like there is a dead person in the mansion, but the guards aren't allowing anyone to pass through to confirm if they are a relative or not." The man explained calmly.
"A dead person?" Declan uttered in a low voice.
How's that even possible? He muttered. In his line of work, murders almost always happened at night or in the early hours of dawn, not in broad daylight, with people milling about everywhere.
The man in front of him stayed silent for a moment, then shifted his shoulders and turned to glance back at the crowd.
Declan pivoted, facing the vehicle once more and signaling Nowa with his gaze to get off and follow him inside the mansion.
"Well," Nowa muttered, gripping the edge of the vehicle window, "that's my cue to leave." He opened the door and stepped onto the stony road.
Moments later, they were inside the mansion. Unlike the others, they didn't waste time lingering outside—their reputations as well-known detectives preceded them. And the fact that they were guests at the mansion just made it even easier for them to slip by.
Some people complained. "Why're you letting them in?" One said aloud. However, none of the guards responded.
A few minutes later, after getting into the mansion.
"So, what happened here exactly?" Nowa whispered as his gaze wandered around the corners of the mansion.
Declan softly responded. "I'm not sure. But from what I heard, there's a dead person here."
The young detective flinched, his eyes widening slightly. But before he could say a word back, one of the guards who was leading them to the crime scene interrupted.
"We're finally here," the guard announced.
Looking around, one could see guards forming a loose circle around a body that bore the marks of brutal torture before death.
All fingers on both hands were missing, along with the left eye. The victim's teeth had been ripped out and stuffed into his left pocket. His chest was gaped open, and the heart inside had been torn to shreds.
"Hmm…?" Nowa murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What are we looking at?" He added, squinting past the guards who blocked his view. All he could make out clearly were the dark, glistening bloodstains pooling beside the body.
Declan stepped forward with a serious expression as he approached the victim's body. The guards around it parted respectfully, clearing a path for him.
When he reached the body, Declan crouched slightly to get a better look, carefully examining the wounds and surroundings to deduce what had happened and who might be responsible.
Nowa followed as Declan examined the body, but the moment he saw it, a wave of nausea hit him, making him feel as if he might be sick from the gruesome sight.
He turned away swiftly, pressing a hand to his mouth as he fought the rising nausea.
Declan shifted his gaze to Nowa. "Stop playing around and ask one of the guards to pass me my bag," he said, his grave expression deepening.
"…Yes, sir," Nowa responded, pivoting to face a guard who had been stationed nearby to watch the two detectives.
Why does this person look so familiar? Have I seen him somewhere? Declan wondered, slipping his hand into his coat to pull out a cigarette—but then he froze mid-motion.
"Hmm?" He muttered softly, his brow furrowing for a split second.
Did I run out of smokes? He wondered, patting through the inside of his coat in search of a cigarette.
How did that even happen?
He suddenly remembered that he'd been smoking all day without a break. Now he was stuck in a moment of denial, rifling through his coat for cigarettes he'd already gone through.
He paused, then straightened up, taking a moment to compose himself while waiting for Nowa to fetch his bag. That's when he realized. He remembered exactly where he had seen the victim lying, sprawled on the floor.
Wait, isn't he the guard we were supposed to find this morning?
What happened to him?
He furrowed his brow in thought, raising a finger to move thoughtfully beneath his nose as he considered the situation.
"Here's the case," Nowa said, while Declan continued to ponder the victim.
Declan then turned to glance at Nowa, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint, almost knowing smile.
Nowa was still covering his mouth and doing his best to avoid looking at the victim's body. He knew that if his eyes lingered on it, it would only make the nausea worse and bring him closer to vomiting.
Declan asserted, "Actually, I don't need it anymore; you're the one who's going to crack this case."
"Huh?" Nowa muttered, both surprised and confused.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked, lowering his hand from his mouth.
Declan remained silent for a moment, his smile fading as the grave expression returned. He took the bag from Nowa and spoke.
"This case is actually a simple one… Think of it as practical learning. All you have to do is trace who's responsible for this."
"I know that," Nowa replied, gesturing toward the man on the floor, "but have you already figured out who did it?"
"No clue… but I do know who the victim is," Declan claimed.
Before Nowa could respond or ask about the victim, Declan began to clarify exactly who he was.
"His name is Charles Edward."
"He's approximately thirty-two years old, and about five-ten in height."
"Both of his parents passed away after he graduated high school."
"He has no children."
"He used to live in a bungalow, which is now occupied by someone named Jack."
"He's the guard we were supposed to question this morning."
"He has no known associates."
"Recent activities are unknown."
Nowa grew even quieter, marveling at how the detective seemed to know so much from just looking at the victim. What he didn't realize was that Declan had already checked the victim's work chat before they even began investigating who had approached the mayor. In fact, he had information on every guard stationed in the mansion.
After a moment of silence, Declan pulled a small notebook from his case and handed it to Nowa.
"If you have any further questions, check in there," he said as Nowa then took the notebook and immediately flipped it open.
Declan let out a breath.
"I'll be back after I restock on my smokes," he said, moving away from the crime scene with a grave expression. But that was a lie; he had no intention of buying cigarettes. Instead, he planned to visit Jack for the second time, hoping to clear his mind about the crimson liquid he had seen earlier.