CHAPTER 37: GEOCENTRISM SECT

Gossip was human nature—encoded in the genome regardless of status, nationality, or social class. From royals to peasants, everyone loved juicy rumors, especially when they unfolded in real time.

A death at the inn had set tongues wagging; a geology professor from Londan had poisoned himself and left a note, confessing his terrible life and the many bad deeds he had done to his friends and students. He hoped that his death would earn forgiveness.

When his assistant and students knocked at noon and received no response, they convinced the innkeeper to break down the door. Inside, they found the professor dead beside his note.

A simple suicide, it seemed. The professor had written his confession and consumed poison in an enclosed room—hardly conducive to murder. Upon arrival, the police examined the scene and completed the procedures before promptly closing the case.

Coincidentally, Wesley, a detective from Londan, was staying at the same inn. After walking the perimeter of the scene of death, he declared that the professor had been murdered, only to be disguised as suicide, and that the culprit was someone he knew well—his assistant or one of his students.

Almost simultaneously, Hood, a local Enrod detective, arrived at the inn to submit an investigation report to the professor. He, too, believed that murder was at play.

Having met the professor several times, Hood described him as an arrogant, selfish old man. He said that it was extremely unlikely that someone like him would’ve suddenly regretted his deeds and taken his life to make amends. There was a distinct lack of motive. If the professor even felt the tiniest bit of regret, he would’ve long taken his life. He wouldn’t have waited until now.

And so began a battle of deduction between two very different detectives.

Wesley, in his thirties, was a renowned detective in Londan with a good reputation; Hood, in his fifties, was a local Enrod detective, well regarded for his work ethic and vast experience.

Both immediately launched their investigations, each hoping to solve the case before the other. The locals were thrilled. They cared nothing for the professor's death or justice. They only wanted to know which detective was superior.

The crowd blocked the entrance of the inn, awaiting the victor to be determined. As word spread, more townspeople joined, creating such congestion that Wayne found himself trapped in the traffic.

Being a local, Hood had ninety percent of the townspeople behind him—spiritually.

The odds for the bet were great, but in Wesley’s favor!

When it came to money, the townspeople favored the Londan detective. After all, anyone successful enough to make a name in Londan had to be superior to a small-town investigator. As for where the police were... Some were directing traffic while others were running betting pools. Windsor's finest were down-to-earth like that.

The police chief was a lazy man. When he saw Wesley and Hood going head to head, he decided to let them compete, keeping the assistant and students under custody while the two detectives did the police’s work. Since they'd be paid regardless, why not let the detectives handle the heavy lifting?

Of course, he couldn't voice such unethical thoughts aloud. Publicly, he claimed that the police would find justice for the victim while the two detectives shared their professional opinions.

As society evolved, not even the detectives in Windsor were allowed to enter the scene of a homicide. Private investigators thrived in the civil and business fields, but were barred from the criminal field.

Wayne had stalked his marks and sneaked compromising photos during his investigations for Mr. and Mrs. Reiner. If he had been caught mid-act, he would’ve suffered the consequences.

This was Windsor. The prisons were filled with men who batted for the other team. Even if one didn’t swing that way before their sentence, they would become incredibly accommodating after their prison time.

At present, Wayne was squeezing his way through the circles of spectators and managed to get a VIP spot in the first row. Grinning, he waited for the two detectives to start throwing punches, only to see the police chief and the two detectives emerge from the inn together, seemingly discussing something.

The friendly crowd introduced the competitors for Wayne’s benefit. Wesley possessed the fair, clean-shaven features typical of fashionable young Londan men, while Hood sported a stocky build and curly mustache.

The atmosphere proved disappointingly friendly. Rather than the hot-blooded rivalry Wayne had expected, the detectives were exchanging ideas and sharing clues like colleagues.

“Tsk, boring. Anime is a lie.” He huffed, criticizing the drama for being too mundane.

Like Wayne, other townspeople voiced their displeasure:

“Hood, you represent Enrod. Show this Londan gentleman what a local detective is capable of.”

“Hood, I’ve bet all my drinking money on the Londaner. You cannot win!”

“Don’t worry, Hood can’t crack the case. His sorry talent is no match for the Londan detective, or he would’ve gone to the city to make money.”

“Hey now, I can’t get behind that. So he’s from Londan, so what? A Londaner is still a man. I support Hood. He is the one with public backing.” Bored, Wayne volunteered as a heckler to rile up the crowd, engaging an equally idle gentleman wearing a top hat in a heated debate.

“Wesley is well regarded in Londan, too. I’ve heard much about him.” The gentleman huffed, brandishing his cane while clutching a newspaper. “He’s made headlines many times, and the Londan police frequently request his assistance.”

“I’m merely a casual observer, but I'm also from Londan and happen to be a detective myself. I've never heard of this Wesley, nor seen any news about him.”

“You don’t even know Wesley, yet you dare to parade around as a Londan detective? If you’re truly a detective, I’ll eat this roll of newspaper!” The gentleman, apparently an ardent Wesley admirer, lost his composure entirely.

Before Wayne could comment on his pica, the crowd erupted into amused laughter. The impromptu wager spread through the gathering, filling the street with festive energy.

“Who’s fighting whom? Where?”

“Heard a handsome fellow seduced the hat shop owner's wife...”

“What a load of bull!”

“Bastard, who groped my ass? Don’t you know how to be gentle?”

“Shit, my wallet’s gone.”

“Damn you!”

The chaotic crowd disrupted the order of the town. The police chief snapped at the audience to be quiet in annoyance.

The gentleman in a top hat could not tolerate Wayne’s deception. He called out, “Police Chief, this mister is a detective, too. Perhaps he should share his professional opinion?”

Another detective!

Many pairs of eyes shifted to Wayne, including those of his fellow detectives. After a pause, the police chief asked a police officer to bring Wayne over.

“Your name, sir?”

“Wayne.”

“Where are you from, Mr. Wayne? I’ve never seen you around Enrod.” The police chief wasn’t particularly brilliant, but he wasn’t a complete waste of tax money. At least he had a good memory that allowed him to recognize every face in town. Anyone he wasn’t familiar with had to be from out of town.

“I’m from Londan. I came to Enrod for vacation. That’s where I’ve been staying.” Wayne pointed at the Lando manor.

The police chief’s eyes glinted with recognition as he followed Wayne’s gesture. He spoke with sudden deference, “Mr. Wayne, I hope no offense was taken. They mentioned you're also a detective?”

“Part-time detective with an agency, but it’s not a proper business.” Wayne waved dismissively. With two other detectives plus numerous officers present, he preferred not to get involved. He had gotten his fresh air and entertainment. After getting just that, he was ready to return to the manor for more meditation.

It was then that the professor, covered by a white cloth, got carried out of the manor. The case proved more complex than anticipated. After the forensic inspectors found no definitive clues at the crime scene, they decided to transport the suspects to the town precinct for questioning. Both detectives would accompany them.

This was standard investigative procedure. For both the police and the consulting detectives, the bulk of any investigation would be done in offices. On-site deduction leading to immediate arrest was exceptionally rare.

Wayne glanced at the cadaver and then scanned the suspects, his eyes settling on a middle-aged man. He reeked of the professor... of the professor’s body!

The other suspects carried the same odor, but far less intensely. This meant the middle-aged man had spent considerable time alone with the professor's body. Based on what Wayne had heard, he deduced that the smell had gotten onto the other suspects when they barged in to find the professor dead, as for this particular man...

Aha! You were hiding right behind the door when they rushed in, weren’t you?

No wonder your nose is so red. Did it hurt?

Bold of you to stand guard over a corpse all night. Weren't your legs sore? Weren't you afraid the professor might visit you for a midnight chat?

He figured out the culprit first before deducing the process. He whispered his conclusions to the police chief before bidding him farewell, getting into the car to head back to the manor.

Had anyone else pointed at a suspect and declared them guilty without examining the crime scene, the police chief would have dismissed them as a charlatan, but Wayne was different—or rather, his temporary residence was.

Mr. Lando contributed generously to the Enrod Police Precinct annually under the guise of a donation, ensuring the town's officers enjoyed living standards comparable to their Londan counterparts. Would their benefactor's houseguest spread false accusations? Absolutely not.

Upon returning to the precinct, it only took a few sentences from the police chief to make the middle-aged suspect blanch.

“Other than the professor’s body, someone else was in the room, wasn’t there? Someone who poisoned him, planted the note, then hid behind the door for the others to discover—creating the illusion of suicide in a locked room.”

“You don’t have to talk, but someone noticed. You don’t wear gloves. Without gloves, your fingerprints will be found on the walls near the door.”

The middle-aged man confessed then. He was indeed the killer.

The case's swift resolution left both detectives stunned. Hood, especially, looked as though he'd seen a ghost.

What the... this isn’t the dunce I know. Has someone assumed his identity?

The police chief basked in the admiration and surprise before explaining, “Mr. Wayne was the one who solved the case. He identified the suspect immediately and deduced the entire sequence of events.”

From one glance? Impossible.

“You’re from Londan, too, Wesley. You must have heard of him.”

...No, Wesley thought. It’s my first time hearing the name.

The detectives exchanged glances, curiosity piqued. After leaving the precinct, Hood suggested, “Wesley, should we invite him?”

“We can try.”

Wesley nodded. He had been tracking the Geocentrism Sect for a long time, but just when he'd finally obtained a promising lead, the professor took his secrets to the grave, killed by a healthy dose of poison.