Chapter 4469

The lights were chaotic, and the environment was noisy. The complex environment of the shared villa meant the police couldn't completely isolate the onlookers. There was more clutter here than at any other crime scene. Just in front of the window where Schiller stood, there were dozens of cardboard boxes of various sizes, filled with all kinds of miscellaneous items. Sausages and smoked meat hung above the window, and several pots of withered plants without leaves were placed at the stairwell, with ash from who knows where in the pots. The wall on the left was black and yellow from smoke, and several greasy pots were placed on the built-up stove, not knowing what they were used to fry.

Outside the first-floor windowsill, there were also some meat and utensils for freezing ice cubes, piled high, blocking half the window. From the remaining gap, one could see Chick's lower legs and feet hanging down.

At this time, the body had been frozen, and the surface shimmered with a lustrous sheen. Schiller turned to look at Victor and asked, "When did you freeze him?"

"When the body was just discovered, about an hour ago." Victor was a bit nervous and said, "Did I affect your judgment of the body's state?"

"You know I don't need to judge the state of the body." Schiller strode over the clutter and reached the second floor. The rope was tied to the curtain rod above the second-floor window, and the other end was wrapped around Chick's neck.

"If he really committed suicide, then he stood in front of the second-floor window, tied the rope first, put it around his neck, and then jumped straight out."

"A very efficient suicide method." Schiller said. He saw Victor also walking up from downstairs, holding a pen and recording something. Schiller looked at him with some confusion.

"I'm imitating Watson." Victor said.

"What?"

"Although I sometimes cook, I never knew that grease and dust could combine so perfectly. When walking up the stairs, I almost tripped, but Rodriguez didn't notice at all; his heart was only on the case. Arriving upstairs, we finally saw the body, and the detective said: 'This is a very efficient suicide method, Victor'—too cold, I think, but he is always like this. Sometimes one can see some restrained gentlemanly demeanor in this coldness..." Victor read as he wrote.

"Are you serious?" Schiller seemed unable to bear it anymore; he didn't even continue to look at the body and turned to look at Victor.

"Or do you want me to turn the whole city into an ice sculpture because of anxiety?"

"Forget it, you write. Also, if this is the case, I should call you 'Mr. Fries'; in that era, calling someone of the same sex by their first name might lead to imprisonment." Schiller reminded him.

"But we aren't really persecuting homosexuals." Victor sighed deeply. "We are even seeking justice for him... alright, if it's really going to be published, I'll change it."

Schiller turned back to look at the body, but he hadn't yet recovered from the shocking fact that Victor had actually seriously considered the publication issue. He stood there stunned for a few seconds before continuing to observe the situation at the scene.

The knot tied to the curtain rod was very ordinary; it was just the rope looped over the curtain rod and then tied in a dead knot. Schiller leaned his body out of the window to look at Chick's body; the knot on his neck was also very ordinary, also made by looping two ropes around the neck twice and then tying a dead knot in front.

However, this method could indeed succeed in hanging. Because, hanging from inside the window to outside, there was no space for struggling back and forth, as the back would be against the wall. At the same time, there wasn't much space for struggling left and right, because the back was pressed against the wall, and the existence of friction prevented him from moving left or right. This degree of movement would not cause the knot to come undone.

That is to say, the moment he left the window, his death was destined, with no room for struggle.

"This is a suicide method that an ordinary person wouldn't think of." Schiller said. "Either hang yourself or jump off a building. Ordinary people wouldn't combine these two. Chick himself said, either hang yourself in the lab or jump from the classroom. This means that in his cognition, these are also two suicide methods."

"Human cognition is very difficult to change, at least not in such a short time. He wouldn't suddenly think of using a fall to succeed in hanging. This is another piece of physical evidence that it couldn't be suicide."

"Rare." Victor commented. "You've actually started talking about physical evidence."

"Because the police need physical evidence. You have to make the police think this isn't a suicide case first, so they might investigate, otherwise the case will be closed." Schiller shook his head and said.

"You don't have to worry about that." Gordon, who had been guarding the stairwell, said, "Since the Brainiac era, the frequency of homicide cases has been too low. Every case must undergo an extremely meticulous investigation before it can be closed. This case already has many suspicious points, so it won't be closed easily."

"The most useful Scotland Yard has ever been." Victor gave him a thumbs up.

Gordon just rolled his eyes, and while going back to call the police to collect evidence, said: "You'd better hope Schiller really is Sherlock Holmes."

"A detective like a god?"

"Always able to maintain a gentlemanly demeanor toward his partner."

The two walked out of the side door of the shared villa. The snow outside was getting heavier. Schiller heard the notification sound of Brainiac sending a message. He opened his phone and saw Brainiac say: "There is no room in the surrounding villas. After half an hour of evidence collection, the body will be moved to the morgue, and residents will resume accommodation."

Schiller sighed. Brainiac's greatest advantage was being fair enough, and his greatest disadvantage was the same. He wouldn't act on impulse like a human. If he were a human monarch, and such a thing happened after managing public security to this extent, he would view it as a provocation and would investigate the ins and outs regardless of the cost.

But Brainiac was not. In his view, the deceased Chick was no different from all the other living residents. Finding the truth was important, but ensuring the survival of other residents was also important.

On such a blizzard day, the residents of this shared villa couldn't be relocated over long distances, and the surrounding shared villas were also very crowded and didn't meet the living requirements. So the best way was to clear the inappropriate things out of the villa and let others go home to sleep.

Victor obviously knew this news too; he was even so anxious that he lit a cigarette. It's just that he didn't smoke, so he just watched the cigarette burn in the snowy night.

"Why aren't you writing anymore?" Schiller asked proactively.

"You aren't really Sherlock Holmes." Victor shook his head and said, "If you get annoyed, maybe you'll scold me until I go to the Psychology Department to hang myself."

"Take your pen, Mr. Fries. We need to go to Green Street." Schiller put on his coat and walked toward the car.

Victor's eyes lit up. As he walked toward the car, he wrote: "... The conversation with Gordon didn't bring any good news, but they are always like this; the detective might have long been used to it. The snow outside was getting heavier, and the scent of grease and dust was also heavier; when he pushed the door open, he lit a cigarette as usual—I can't express any opinion on this, the situation is not optimistic, perhaps Rodriguez isn't as calm as he looks on the surface, but I still believe in him. After a short while, 'We need to go to Green Street,' he must have a way, as always."

Getting into the car, Schiller sat in the back row. When Victor got into the car, he snatched the paper directly from his hand, and Victor didn't have time to refuse. Schiller just glanced at it briefly and then said: "... The cigarette I lit?"

"To echo the environment." Victor explained. "To echo the pessimism of the case and the anxiety hidden in your heart."

"Where did you see that the case is pessimistic, and that I'm anxious?"

"Not you, but me." Victor said. "Gordon and Brainiac don't have any opinions. Psychoanalysis can't be used as evidence. Once nothing can really be found, and the case is closed as suicide, my reputation will be completely ruined."

"That wouldn't go that far." Schiller thought for a moment and said, "You've just returned to the average level of Mr. Freeze in the multiverse, and you're still far from the worst."

"You really know how to comfort people."

"You have Nora." Schiller said. "No matter how unhappy things are, just thinking about this will make it much better, right?"

Victor's expression indeed softened slightly. He thought for a moment, then picked up his pen and wrote: "In the car on the way to Green Street, I discussed this case with Rodriguez again. His insights still make me admire him endlessly. What surprised me even more is that he is never as pessimistic as I am. When facing things related to the case, he is always full of enthusiasm and ambition..."

Schiller turned to watch him write, touched his eyes helplessly, and then said: "Are you sure this is written about me? Where am I full of enthusiasm?"

"This is to highlight your detective attributes." Victor said without looking up. "Good detectives are all interested in the case. It is this interest sprouting from the heart that gives them the inspiration to solve the case, allowing them to obtain it by chance..."

"You said every detective is like this, wouldn't it be a bit cliché?"

Victor turned to look at him. Schiller just happened to take off his glasses to wipe them. Feeling Victor's gaze, Schiller glanced at him. Even though he often stayed with Schiller, Victor didn't often see those gray eyes, so this glance felt like being splashed with a basin of cold water.

"Seriously, I feel much better." Victor said. "Refreshing."

"What?"

"I think you're right." Victor seemed to have a sudden inspiration and said, "There are really too many detectives who solve cases because of interest. People won't think there's anything fresh. Maybe I can write about a detective who doesn't want to solve cases at all, just like you."

Victor crossed out the paragraph he had written before. He started a new line and wrote: "In the car on the way to Green Street, Rodriguez seemed a bit sleepy. He kept staring at the mist on the window. The lights of the streetlamps leaped across his side profile one after another, but it was difficult to illuminate his deep mood. I know such running around is not what he wants. He never considers himself a detective, yet he is always forced to be involved in such trouble. Unfortunately, I have also become one of the troubles forcing him to solve the case. I feel deeply guilty about this..."

"You'd better be deeply guilty." The car stopped slowly. Before pushing the car door open, Schiller said, "Also, it's not too late to stop now. You might not be able to make it up later."

"Absolutely impossible." Victor also pushed the car door open and got out. He rubbed his hands, exhaled a puff of white mist, and looked up at the building's sign—"Federal Shield Gotham Office."