Special Forces Medic

Chapter 1076 - 1047: The First Crime Scene (2)

"The opened milk has gone sour, and the opened bottle of whisky still has about two-thirds left." Xiao Lin stopped Rochester just as he was about to close the fridge door. "Wait a second!" Xiao Lin pulled out a tissue, pinched it between two fingers, turned the recorder back on. "There’s a drop of blood on the side of the fridge, the color has already darkened. Suspected to be either the killer’s blood or the victim’s own."

Hearing this, Rochester immediately leaned in toward that little spot. It was very, very faint, like the tiny tail-end left after someone had wiped it; if you didn’t look closely, you’d think it was a juice stain. "Sir, how can you be sure this is blood, and not some other kind of stain?" Rochester asked curiously. "It could also be a bit of blood from the beef."

"The beef packaging has been extra-wrapped by the owner in cling film, which shows he’s a very orderly and cleanliness‑obsessed person. Everything in the fridge has been categorized and placed accordingly; anything that might leave stains has been wrapped up tight. A man like that would never overlook a mark on a white surface. This doesn’t feel like Edmund’s home at all; it’s very different from the Edmund you all described to me."

"At the station, Edmund was a timid yes‑man, always walking behind others and never voicing an opinion—especially when Director Mo Luo was in charge. But as for his personal living habits, we honestly don’t know all that well. He always looked a bit grubby, but not actually sloppy." Rochester himself began to hesitate over whether his memory of his partner was accurate. If anyone had the most contact with Edmund, it ought to be him.

"The owner’s personality is written all over this place. He’s someone with extreme domestic OCD. Look—every arrangement, including the furniture, is spotless. Everything that’s been used has been put back in its original place. The water stains on the sink and the floor are still fresh, with no dust settled on them. Whoever this was didn’t have time to clean up before someone took him out."

Xiao Lin circled back to the living room. If this was the crime scene, then how had the killer dealt with the bloodstains left by the body? There was no large amount of standing water in the kitchen sink, yet cleaning blood off the floor would inevitably require water or some kind of dry absorbent compound. He headed for the bathroom; it was equally neat. The bath towels were folded with sharp, crisp edges, like a soldier’s habit; the bathrobe hung on a hook behind the door. "Rochester, did Edmund ever serve in the military?"

"He served in the army once." Rochester, who had already started contacting people at the station, shouted back in Xiao Lin’s direction when he heard the question.

Preliminarily, they pegged the time frame at about a week. Even if the bathroom had been used, in a sealed space and with the outside temperature, it would have air‑dried in a short period. Any bloodstains could be detected with specialized instruments. According to the testimony provided by the old gentleman next door, someone here had made a loud noise four days ago, so by that estimate the time of death fell within those four days. But when the old man wanted to knock on the door that night, the noise suddenly stopped. That also meant nobody had come out from inside. So how had the killer disposed of the body?

Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell downstairs rang. The coroner and the forensic techs from the station rushed up, collecting blood samples to confirm the victim’s identity while also photographing the scene. Nobody spoke during the whole process; only the click‑click of the camera shutter sounded. Irritated by the noise, Xiao Lin cut through the bedroom and stepped out onto the balcony to light a cigarette.

Looking down from the fourth floor, it was actually easy to see the roof of that old, gloomy building at the corner of Joseph Street. Edmund’s workplace and the Sicilian Mafia boss’s office were only two blocks apart—a ten‑minute walk, and that was at a leisurely pace.

As he leaned against the railing, the loose bar jolted under his weight. He crouched down to examine the joints; several spots were quite unstable, as if the cement at the base of the wall had cracked.

"Hey, young man, careful with that railing. It needs repairs!" On the balcony next door, the same old gentleman as before was sitting in the sun reading a newspaper.

"Sir, how old is this building? Hasn’t anyone come to do maintenance?" Xiao Lin gave the railing a push and abandoned the idea of leaning on it.

"Almost a twenty‑year‑old building. It was just repaired three years ago, but it’s still in lousy shape. You’ve got to do it yourself if you want to live in peace!" The old man chuckled, folded his newspaper, and shuffled back into his room. Watching the old man’s back, Xiao Lin then turned and went back to the small living room.

"Rochester, can you check the information on the residents on this floor, plus the floors above and below?" Xiao Lin stared, lost in thought, at the wall stained by that column of blood.

"Sure, but we won’t get the files until tomorrow."

"That’s fine." Xiao Lin drew on his half‑finished cigarette. "Rochester, didn’t that old gentleman just say that four days ago he heard a huge noise in his room?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then tell me: do you see anything here that could produce a huge noise and still remain intact afterwards?"

"No."

"Exactly. No bullet impact marks, no traces of an explosion. The furnishings haven’t been moved around; all the furniture is old. So what could have made such a racket?"

"I don’t think that’s possible. Even if someone slammed another person into a wall, it would make a sound, but it would never be enough to alarm an old man who’s hard of hearing."

"Then there are two possibilities. One: the old man lied to us. He might have seen something but doesn’t want to tell us, or he didn’t see or hear anything at all and just wanted to pretend he knew what was going on. Two: the old man himself is the killer. Which seems more likely to you?"

"I don’t think he lied. I think he’s the killer..." Rochester stepped up beside Xiao Lin, standing at the same angle and looking at the wall stained by that column of blood. He couldn’t finish the sentence. Xiao Lin curled his lips into a smile; Rochester’s open‑mouthed expression was a little ridiculous.

Standing right there, Rochester could clearly hear the sound of the TV playing next door. According to the old gentleman’s testimony, four nights ago, exhausted from the day, he went to bed early but was jolted awake by a huge noise. Based on the layout, the most likely place that noise could have come from was the living room. And now Rochester was standing in Edmund’s tiny living room; on the wall connecting to the next apartment, there was nothing but bloodstains—no damage at all, not even a crack. It didn’t fit at all with the so‑called huge noise.

"Rochester, I can’t wait until tomorrow. Send the files to my email before you clock out."

"Y‑yes, sir!" He still didn’t quite grasp what this young superior was driving at, but with his years of investigative experience, he could tell that something about this case was very wrong. (To be continued. If you like this work, you’re welcome to visit Qidian (qidian.com) to vote for it with recommendation tickets and monthly passes. Your support is my greatest motivation.)