Bailonz Street 13

Chapter 190. The Prey (2)

The license had a photo of Liam looking somewhat younger. The young officer examined it and said:

“Mr. William Osmond, confirmed. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Liam just shrugged his shoulders once.

While the officers went upstairs with O’Brien to examine the body, we decided to wait on the first-floor sofa.

How many times in life would I encounter police in a foreign country? Especially involved in a case like this!

The police must have judged this a “case,” as forensics teams and people to transport the body started arriving soon after. Liam whispered to me as I sat there awkwardly:

“Surprised?”

More than surprised, I was curious.

“…Why a driver’s license instead of an ID card?”

Ah, Liam smiled gently and put his arm around my shoulders. The fireplace’s warmth drove away the cold.

“There are no ID cards in Britain.”

Shocking news. How do they vote? Check criminal records? How do they prove their identity? What about banks and government offices? Is that why they use licenses? I had many questions but couldn’t ask them all.

Liam’s embrace felt warm as always, warmer than my own temperature. His small breaths tickled my neck.

“Anyway, there aren’t many ID checks. They probably asked because you look foreign, but typical British citizens would object in this situation. Like O’Brien did earlier.”

“What about you?”

“I just cooperated because it was too bothersome to make a fuss. Depending on how those young fellows proceed, they might have to face my lawyer.”

“Ha,” I let out a short breath, dumbfounded.

“Could it be someone they know?”

When I changed the subject, Liam stared intently at the fireplace. The still-burning logs were keeping the house cozy and warm.

Meanwhile, we could see people coming downstairs carrying the body.

From another direction came reports of forensics staff finding luminol reactions in the bathroom. But O’Brien carefully spoke up. She mentioned rusty water had been coming from the bathroom for days. Following O’Brien’s testimony, the forensics team removed some tiles where luminol had reacted for accurate analysis.

There were no signs of forced entry anywhere in the house. With rain falling all evening, entry through windows would have left footprints or rain damage. Forcing the front door would have left marks. But the house was clean. As if someone had deliberately cleaned everything. Impossible unless the perpetrator calmly entered through the door, committed the crime, cleaned up thoroughly, and disappeared.

I quietly sat beside Liam Moore, joining him in staring at the fireplace. Could there be any clues here? I couldn’t tell. I only knew the commonly known “basics,” still lacking the ability to grasp a case’s essence.

“Let’s first understand the victim,” Liam began methodically.

“The victim is a man in his thirties, likely recently separated from a partner. The ring mark on his left ring finger hasn’t faded, indicating he wore it constantly before removing it for some psychological reason. Being a scholar, his relationships were probably mostly academic. The police investigation will be faster for that part. We can ask O’Brien about the rest, but primarily, the victim was lazy.”

“Lazy?”

I asked.

“Jane, look. We ate breakfast and arrived here to meet O’Brien at four PM. He had plenty of time to clean. But not even tidying the living room means he’s someone who needs to mentally prepare before starting anything. For hours, even. In other words, lazy.”

I tried to suppress a smile watching Liam slightly abandon respect and courtesy for the deceased. I shouldn’t laugh. What could be more suspicious than someone laughing at a crime scene?

“The crime scene is the house.”

“The method is similar to the attacks on the sheep. Generally consistent method, but technically more advanced than what was done to the sheep. As if the sheep were practice runs.”

“Almost no signs of wallet or valuables being taken.”

“Feels like murder was the goal, not theft. The victim Bradley was attacked from the front while lying down. He must have been incapacitated or asleep. They cut off his breathing in one go, then mutilated the dead victim, but that part needs more detailed analysis.”

Liam Moore’s deduction seemed to have evolved from the 19th to 21st century. And his severe distrust of police had improved. Saying he’d judge after hearing others’ analysis and data was something the old Liam would never have done. I fell into thought listening to his more detailed and composed deductions.

Let’s reconstruct the crime scene.

A bed beneath the window. The body on the long bed visible immediately upon opening the door. A wide space with chairs, a projector, and a blank wall. The desk faced the wall right next to the door. All furniture pushed against the walls. No carpet. Had it been removed?

Something suddenly flashes through my mind. Footprints. No signs of stepping in all that blood.

“There were no footprints.”

“Yes, Jane. Blood is splattered under the bed, but the killer didn’t step in it. Earlier by the bed, I saw one long drag mark, which might have been footprints. There was about shoulder-width spacing. They probably wore something over their feet to prevent leaving footprints or identifying their shoe size or type. Damn, I should have taken photos.”

While we reconstructed the crime and formed a mental outline of the case, the body left the house.

Of course, two officers remained to watch for the criminal’s possible return to the scene. They said they’d wait in the police car outside, and Liam and I decided to stay until dawn to keep O’Brien from feeling anxious. The forensics team that collected evidence also left.

O’Brien sat in a single armchair near the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket and trembling. I watched her intently.

“Did Bradley have any recent arguments with anyone?”

“No…”

“What kind of relationships did he have? Anyone who might hold a grudge?”

“Almost none. He only had one younger sister, and I heard his parents passed away from old age. We met at public school and went to the same university. Bradley was always… how should I put it, very shy, introverted since childhood. I rarely saw him get close to people, and he was hard to approach. I thought university might change that, but it didn’t. Maybe because of that, he barely talked with academic colleagues. Even at conferences, he’d just stay by my side. He had students he taught, but seemed to keep them at arm’s length too.”

In summary, he wasn’t someone likely to make enemies.

“He rarely got angry too. Back in school, our classmates used to say ‘anyone who makes Bradley angry will have to spend their life apologizing.’ There’s no reason to kill Bradley so cruelly.”

“I see… About the ring…”

“Ah.”

O’Brien hesitated before carefully speaking.

“We divorced.”

“If you don’t mind…”

“You’re wondering why we divorced?”

I nodded with an embarrassed expression. While investigating without prejudice about the victim necessarily involved looking into private matters, I was still too inexperienced to treat people as detachedly as objects.

“It was nothing special. We got along well normally, and with similar research interests, we thought marriage would be the same. We were always together, so it wasn’t much different from dating. But how should I put it… We were more suited to be colleagues than spouses. Bradley especially wasn’t good at expressing emotions. Didn’t you think so, Jane?”

“Not really. I’m more reserved…”

“We were both quiet. Didn’t feel like a married couple.”

While we had this conversation, Liam asked permission and began moving around the house. I followed him with my eyes.

He checked every window and door. Some windows were warped from sea winds eating at the wood, requiring several shoulder charges from Liam to barely open. Returning while rubbing his shoulder, Liam spoke:

“Entry through windows would be difficult.”

I sighed.

“Then the door, but the back door…”

Was blocked with luggage. Liam and I shared an ambiguous smile at this self-made locked room.

Liam now held a palm-sized flashlight in his mouth and started crawling on all fours examining the floor. Not wanting to go that far, I stood up and shone my phone’s flashlight alongside him.

Then, Liam muttered in a low voice:

“Here, there’s a wet mark.”