Chapter 4

As we walked out of the living room, I couldn't shake the feeling of the old lady's eyes locked on us, her gaze unwavering.

It wasn't until we were outside the door that I whispered, "She's lying."

The inspector put on his gloves as we walked.

"Of course," he said. "The only question is whether she's protecting her family or afraid of something."

"Are you referring to that noise last night?"

"More than that." The inspector glanced at me.

"She just mentioned that 'people have been digging up old skeletons for the past two years.' Her tone didn't sound annoyed; it sounded more like she had a guilty conscience. Only someone who knows they've covered something up would be so eager to dismiss an old case as a family matter."

He paused in front of the long mirror at the end of the hallway.

I followed his gaze.

The mirror reflected only the two of us and the empty corridor behind us.

Yet for some reason, I suddenly recalled the white figure I'd glimpsed before, and my heart tightened slightly.

"Let's head back to the station first," the inspector said, walking downstairs. "I want to review Elena's entire file."

The old archives of the London Police Station were located in the basement.

It was a place I'd never liked to go.

The air reeked of mold, soot, and decaying paper.

There were no windows on the walls, only a few narrow vents high up, so it was always dark.

When we arrived there, the caretaker, old Marcus, was dozing off with a stack of files in his arms.

Hearing our footsteps, he squinted at us for a moment before getting to his feet.

"Which year?"

"November 1892," the inspector said. "Elena Ward, Mrs. Blackwood. All case files, forensic records, witness statements, and press clippings."

"That one," old Marcus said. "I remember. It caused a commotion, but closed too quickly."

"Wrapped up quickly?"

"I don't know the details. Wait—the files are in there."

He picked up the oil lamp and walked deeper into the room.

After a while, he emerged carrying three large stacks of files.

"It's all here." He set them down heavily on the table, stirring up a cloud of fine dust.

I immediately flipped through the top volume.

On the title page, in perfectly neat black type, it read: "The Death at Blackwood Manor."

"Deceased: Elena Blackwood, female, twenty-six years old."

My gaze lingered on that line, and a sense of heaviness settled over me.

The inspector opened the autopsy report.

I leaned in to look and frowned.

"Cause of death: Intracranial hemorrhage resulting from a blow to the head, accompanied by multiple soft tissue contusions." I read it aloud in a low voice, "Preliminary findings indicate her mentally unstable husband pushed her and accidentally struck the corner of the fireplace, resulting in her death…"

"Go ahead," the inspector said.

"The deceased exhibits contusions of varying ages on the upper arms, shoulders, back, sides of the waist, chest, and face, some of which appear to be finger pressure marks; there are defensive abrasions on the right forearm, and a suspected minor fracture of the left jawbone…"

I stopped reading there.

Even if I weren't a forensic pathologist, I knew these injuries couldn't have resulted from a single "shove."

The inspector tapped the paper lightly with his knuckles.

"contusions of varying ages," he said. "Elena had been subjected to prolonged violence before her death."

I went back to review the statements.

Dr. Herbert said that Adrian had experienced mood swings, sleep disturbances, and occasional outbursts of anger over the past half year, and suggested a possible "hereditary tendency toward neurosis";

Adrian's mother stated that her son had recently been mentally strained, occasionally zoning out, and unable to recall his own actions.

And two maids both mentioned hearing Elena scream on that night, only to find Adrian kneeling beside the body, weeping as he held his wife's corpse.

"Their testimonies are too uniform," I said.

The inspector nodded.

"Look at this sentence," I said, turning to a page and pointing it out to him. "'The gentleman's eyes were vacant, like those of a sleepwalker.' Both maids used almost identical wording."

"And this," the inspector pushed another page toward me. "Dr. Herbert said, 'During a seizure, a person loses the ability to judge the consequences of their violent actions.' That phrasing is almost identical to the wording in the subsequent media reports."

I turned back to the newspaper clippings.

Sure enough, the next day's Morning Post featured a report on its society page with the headline:

"Tragic Tragedy in an Upper-Class Mansion: Young Wife Killed by Her Ailing Husband"

Most absurdly, the report concluded by quoting a "source close to the family":

"Mr. Blackwood was always courteous, exceptionally considerate toward his late wife. This tragedy resulted solely from a sudden illness, and was certainly not deliberate."

I stared at those words, and a wave of nausea nearly rose in my stomach.

"gentle and courteous," I said.

"Extremely considerate," the inspector added, his voice tinged with a hint of icy sarcasm.

I continued flipping through the pages.

Further back in the file, I finally found the records for the Ward family—Elena's maternal family.

It was an extremely brief statement—so brief it seemed unlikely to have come from a family that had just lost a daughter.

It read:

The deceased's father, Joseph Ward, stated that he was willing to accept the official preliminary determination of a "tragic accident" and would not pursue criminal charges.

His reasons were: For the friendship between the two families, he did not wish further to amplify the social impact of the deceased's passing, and he believed that the deceased would not have wanted her husband to face harsher punishment due to his illness.

"For the friendship between the two families?" I sneered. "What friendship could there possibly be between the family of an ordinary clerk and the Blackwood family?"

The inspector pulled out the transcript and turned it over.

Tucked inside was a very inconspicuous addendum, a hastily written internal note by the sergeant in charge of the case at the time.