Chapter 9

The police arrived faster than expected, in just twenty minutes.

During those twenty minutes, Barton helped Mrs. Carrol up and took her to the living room to rest; Henderson the butler was carried back to his room, temporarily cared for by Auntie Oliver as he hadn't fully regained consciousness; Jack and Powell returned to the crime scene soon after taking Henderson away. But Brother Jue remained vigilant, not letting anyone enter, including himself. Even Mr. Coulston, who rushed over after hearing the news, couldn't get past Feng Bujue.

The head of the household certainly had his merits. Although he was very emotional when he arrived, Coulston quickly calmed down after Feng Bujue explained his reasons for preventing everyone from entering the scene, and even affirmed Brother Jue's actions.

As a police car with its siren wailing pulled up in front of the villa, a system prompt rang in Feng Bujue's ear. His task had been updated to: [Assist the police in their investigation].

Barton went to answer the door, leading several officers to the door of the room where the crime occurred.

At this time, there were five people waiting in the hallway, including Feng Bujue, Mr. Coulston, Mrs. Odetta, Young Master Jack, and Dr. Powell.

Three officers followed behind Barton. The leading detective was dressed in plain clothes in a suit, wearing a bowler hat and shiny leather shoes. He looked to be around fifty years old, slightly overweight, with a well-trimmed beard and an air of shrewdness and competence between his brows.

The other two officers were younger, one of whom even had a baby face, looking like a recent graduate. They were both in uniform, the style... very similar to the British black police uniforms of the 1980s, but with some differences in the details. After all, this was a fictional country, and such differences were understandable.

"I am Detective Schofield," the plainclothes detective said as he approached the group. "Which of you is Mr. Lovecraft?"

Coulston, leaning on his cane, took a few steps forward and said, "I am Coulston Lovecraft, the owner of the villa..." He paused for a moment, "The father of the deceased..."

Schofield met Coulston's sharp gaze for a few seconds, not hiding his suspicion. Detectives like him had long developed a professional habit. More than looking for evidence, he was better at dealing with "people" and finding breakthroughs in interrogations.

"So... where is the body?" Schofield asked.

"In that room," Coulston said, pointing to the door beside Feng Bujue.

"Hmm, excuse me," Schofield said, nodding to his two subordinates behind him to follow.

When the three reached the door, Feng Bujue stepped aside.

Schofield sized up Brother Jue as he passed by, not paying much attention before turning his attention to the door.

"Hmm?" Schofield saw the key still in the lock and hesitated slightly. He tried to turn the doorknob and found that the door was not locked. Two seconds later, he saw the body in the armchair behind the open door.

"Has anyone moved the body?" Schofield didn't immediately enter, but turned back to ask.

"No," Jack replied from the side. "After Carol found the body, the room has remained as it was."

"And you are?" Schofield asked.

"I'm Jack," Jack replied, gesturing with his chin towards the body. "The man sitting there is my brother, Dennis." He paused and added, "Carol is Dennis's wife, she's in the living room now."

Schofield stared at Jack for a few seconds, then looked back at the room. "Did you tell everyone not to go in?"

"No, he did," Jack said, pointing to Feng Bujue.

Schofield turned around, but before he could speak, Brother Jue interjected, "Hello, Officer, my name is Feng Bujue."

"Feng..." Schofield's expression changed when he heard the name. He widened his eyes and sized up Feng Bujue again, "What? Did you say your name is Feng Bujue?"

From the tone of the other party's question, Brother Jue vaguely sensed that this policeman had heard his name before. Thinking of the settings in the script introduction, he tentatively replied, "Yes, Feng Bujue, I am a detective."

"Oh! Is it really you!" Schofield suddenly raised his voice. He looked at Brother Jue's face a few more times, as if confirming something, before continuing, "No wonder you looked familiar, now I remember, I saw you in the newspaper! You are the famous detective Feng Bujue!"

"Hmm... I see... No matter what name I tell the NPCs, the system will default to the role I'm playing having that name, right..." Feng Bujue thought to himself. "Speaking of... I really am a 'famous' detective. Even the police in this kind of place have heard of my name, which means I'm quite famous, almost on par with Hercule Poirot... (Hercule Poirot, the Belgian detective created by Agatha Christie. Unlike a certain narcissistic recluse living in London, Poirot is set up as a very famous detective, his many cases have been reported by the media, and his name is well known to the public. It is worth mentioning that in "The Labours of Hercules," the author vaguely hinted that in 1864, the Holmes family visited the Poirot family during their second trip to the European continent. This should also be Christie's tribute to Conan Doyle, everyone loves a narcissist.)"

"Ah, yes, that's me," Feng Bujue replied, maintaining a calm and unfathomable expression on the surface.

"Oh! I was wondering how ordinary citizens would know to protect the scene," Schofield said. "So it's because you're here!"

At this moment, the faces of the Lovecraft family members revealed very complicated expressions. These expressions had two meanings: first, they were surprised, they didn't expect that this guy in front of them was really a famous detective. Second, they felt guilty... because people with secrets don't really want to deal with people who specialize in revealing secrets.

"Oh! That's great!" Schofield continued, "Please be sure to guide us, with you here, I think the case will be solved quickly."

"Heh... hehe... I'll do my best," Feng Bujue said with a dry laugh, muttering in his heart, "Although I'm quite confident in my reasoning ability, but a quick resolution to the case... is that really a good thing...

This is only chapter nine, if I solve the case within five chapters, the remaining twenty chapters will only allow readers to watch the author roll gibberish on the keyboard with his face...

Speaking of which, your name is a whole five characters long, plus frequently using the six-character surname Lovecraft, and that long footnote above, are all despicable tricks to secretly stretch out the word count... the effect of this kind of bottom-line-refreshing method is actually minimal...

As expected, to last until thirty-three chapters, I still have to rely on my own strength!"