Fantasy Writers 1860

Chapter 92. Fate unknown? That means he's dead.

"So, Inspector Richie, are you really going to—rely on a novel to solve this case?"

A police officer is crouching beside Dalton Rich, who is crawling on the ground.

The two were at the scene of a murder on Middlesex Avenue.

The case itself was not complicated; it was a typical theft case. The victim was a paint merchant whose sapphire brooch and a box of pearl necklaces were stolen from his shop. Apart from a cabinet that had been forcibly pried open, there were almost no valuable clues left at the scene.

In the morning, someone heard the paint merchant's cries for help and saw two men wearing black masks and covered in red marks walk out of the paint merchant's shop.

When the police arrived, the paint merchant and his wife were already lying in pools of blood, lifeless, surrounded by spilled paint.

Acting Inspector Richie quickly identified the two young men as twins based on eyewitness accounts and testimonies from neighbors.

But the two of them refused to admit it, saying that they made the masks to prevent inhaling the factory's exhaust fumes.

Those factories completely disregard the lives of the surrounding residents, wantonly emitting waste gas. People who live here long-term will soon develop lung disease if they go out without wearing a mask.

So making black masks doesn't mean they are the killers. Who in this neighborhood doesn't have a black mask?

Moreover, this explanation actually makes sense, because the residents in this area do have a habit of wearing face masks, and almost every household makes their own face masks in various styles and colors, including black.

"Detective, don't bother. It's just a fictional setting in a novel. How can you take it seriously?" The officer next to him sighed. "Lentinion is such a big place. There are at least a dozen cases like this every day. In the end, most of them can only try their luck in bars and the black market to see if there are any clues to sell the stolen goods."

"A fictional setting from a novel? You didn't say that yesterday. Yesterday you were excitedly telling me it was actually true, that everyone really does have lines on their fingers, and that at least in the police station, you couldn't find a single one like it!"

Acting Inspector Richie didn't turn around, but continued to stare at a patch of paint on the inside of the cabinet, where there were several clear paint fingerprints.

"Found it," Richie said in a low voice, then turned to the officer behind him and ordered, "Saw this piece of board off and bring it back to the police station."

Two hours later, back at the police station, Richie did something that baffled everyone: he made the two brothers, who were temporarily detained at the police station, press their hands on a piece of paper covered in ink.

The two brothers didn't understand why Inspector Richie was doing this, so they obediently did as he said.

Soon, the wooden board that had been sawed off and taken to the police station was also processed, and the handprints made with paint on it were enlarged and transferred to white paper.

Richie compared the handprints the two brothers had just pressed with the handprints he had extracted from the cabinet at the scene and enlarged onto a piece of white paper, adjusting the angle in front of a magic crystal lamp.

The entire room fell silent instantly.

Under the light emanating from the magic crystal lamp, the patterns appeared to fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces that had been seamlessly joined together.

"It's clear that the handprints left at the crime scene are yours," Acting Detective Richie stated calmly, delivering the final conclusion.

"So fingerprints are real, and they really work!"

The news quickly spread from the police station to the surrounding area.

People read novels for entertainment, and not everyone has the time, interest, or ability to verify a setting in a novel that might just be something the author wrote casually.

Most people just look at their fingers, find that there are indeed lines, and they're quite complex, and that's basically it.

But this time, Scotland Yard verified for everyone and proved that even brothers have different fingerprints.

Suddenly, on the streets, in cafes, and even on factory assembly lines, people took time to put down their work and put their hands together with others to compare the winding lines on their hands.

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Many people even noticed the difference: "My goodness, it's really different! Look, mine is a whirlpool, while yours is like a winnowing basket!"

"So Mr. Hakimi wasn't just making things up after all!"

"I never expected that he would also teach Scotland Yard how to solve cases."

"Do you think the eccentric Sherlock Holmes in the novel who taught Wilson this trick might actually be Mr. Hakimi himself?"

"If that's the case, I'd love for him to be stationed at Scotland Yard soon and teach them how to solve cases!"

Scotland Yard also issued a rare public statement that resonated with the public, establishing the scientific validity of fingerprint theory, further conducting in-depth research and classification, continuing to promote the application of this new technology in solving cases, and planning to carry out extensive fingerprint collection work in the future.

Of course, Dalton Ritchie, the first brave attempter, also received an award from Scotland Yard.

Public opinion subtly shifted, with people showing great interest in this new theory, while another idea quietly began to take root in their minds:

Since the theories about fingerprints mentioned in the book are indeed true, could other aspects of the book also be true or reasonable?

For example, doesn't the discussion about human and demi-human bloodlines also reveal some unknown truth?

Suddenly, the novel's reputation began to recover. Although it still didn't cause a city-wide sensation, many people picked it up again and started paying attention to the subsequent plot.

Perhaps this is not a clichéd moralizing.

Just as discussions about fingerprints became a hot topic in Lentinion, Lily was navigating the shadows of St. George's District.

Originally, when she returned to the Academy of Literature on her way to work the next day, she rechecked the list of the lost phantom books of the Iris Librarian and found that she had not made a mistake the night before. Then she quietly went to the residence of the magic technology expert, Landon Harris.

But it turned out we were too late.

Landon Harris, who was actively giving interviews to various newspapers and vigorously promoting his extreme humanism theory just a few days ago, has suddenly disappeared.

Of course, it's not officially a disappearance; it's that "due to work reasons, he is temporarily not accepting public interviews, and to prevent extremist Asian groups from causing trouble, Scotland Yard is temporarily carrying out necessary security measures at his residence."

In reality, he has simply disappeared. Scotland Yard has sealed off the scene to prevent outsiders from knowing.

Scotland Yard, which had finally regained some of its reputation thanks to Inspector Richie's quick and accurate use of fingerprints to solve a murder case, is about to have its reputation plummet again because of something as seemingly innocuous as "the person disappearing right under our noses."

"Although I've been suspended, I still have some connections within the police department," Detective Inspector Leeds said, lounging in his armchair at home, basking in the sun.

Dorian realized he was overthinking things.

Originally, he thought that a detective who had gone through all this and was inexplicably dismissed should be indignant at this time, but he didn't expect him to be so comfortable day by day.

This made Dorian want to take the fruit he brought back and eat it himself.

Fruit is hard to buy this time of year.

"The current situation is that Langdon Harris's fate is unknown," Detective Inspector Reid said.

"His fate is unknown? That means he's dead." Dorian made this conclusion without hesitation.

Lily's hat trembled slightly. At first, she felt that Dorian's conclusion was too arbitrary. Then, after thinking about her own related experiences, she realized that there was actually some truth to what he said. Finally, she wondered how Dorian came up with such a strange idea.

Lily also came to visit Inspector Lesder, but unlike Dorian, she didn't just have a simple visit; she had another purpose.

"Detective, as far as I know, you should be the last person to see Langdon Harris before he disappeared, right?"

Inspector Leeds slowly rose from his armchair, turned around, and faced away from the window behind him.

The afternoon sun poured in, casting a deep shadow in front of him. Backlit, Dorian couldn't see his expression, only his voice: "Yes, I was probably the last person he saw before he disappeared."

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