It had taken only a few minutes to find clues that the security team had missed all day. While there is such a thing as specialization, wasn't this detective's efficiency a bit too high?
Perhaps that Chief of Scotland Yard was telling the truth. He really is the only one who can solve this case within 24 hours, Catherine thought somewhat reluctantly. She didn't voice this, however, instead sticking to the facts. "YES? What does that signify?"
"I don't know." Sherlock stood up. "But one can sense that this word holds exceptionally profound meaning for the killer. And there's another point..."
He paused, walked slowly to the other side of the corpse, and leaned his face down between the legs of the body...
Honestly, the posture looked a bit obscene, but thankfully, Executor Balder did not intervene this time.
"Why were all the internal organs minced, yet the uterus remains perfectly intact?"
"Perhaps it's the killer's habit," Catherine said indifferently.
"No." Sherlock denied this without a second thought. "This killer is a serial murderer. He tortured and killed over a dozen women in the Lower City. Such skilled knife work is rare. In all previous cases, the victims' organs were removed—including the uterus. But this time, the killer deliberately preserved it, while mincing the rest of the viscera into four portions...
Also, this killer usually doesn't take the victim's clothes.
Tsk, tsk... Why change his habits when dealing with this lady?"
He muttered to himself.
Seeing his look of interest, Catherine quickly raised a question everyone present was thinking: "You... seem very familiar with this killer?"
"Because I've been following him," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "This is what I do. I know a thing or two about every murderer on the wanted list. If following normal procedure, I should have started working on his case in four months."
"..." Although the answer made sense, it still left Miss Catherine speechless for two seconds.
"Fine... So what do you plan to do next?"
Sherlock shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.
"The killer is obsessed with the number [4]." "Anomalously preserved the uterus." "Took the clothes." "Carved the word [YES] onto the organs."
He began to pace slowly in place, muttering softly as he walked.
After a long while...
He suddenly stretched out his hand and rubbed his neck and shoulder vigorously. "The best next step is for me to go home and sleep."
"...??"
Everyone around him froze for a moment.
Even the elderly High Priest, who had been softly snoring in the distance, opened his eyes slightly.
"Go back... and sleep?" Executor Balder's tone finally showed a hint of fluctuation.
In the inherent impression of civilians, Adjudication Executors were generally emotionless law enforcement machines; bloody purges and cruel torture were synonymous with them.
They were permitted to marry, though mostly as a means to continue their superior bloodlines. But even so, Sherlock couldn't simply ignore the identity of the deceased in this murder case.
Because this Executor named Balder undoubtedly had feelings for his wife. Whether that feeling was possessiveness over private property or something else didn't matter.
His wife had been chopped up and scattered all over the ground, and you choose this moment to say you want to go home and sleep?!
"Watch your tongue! This is disrespect toward the Holy See's clergy!"
The young security officer at the alley entrance growled almost immediately.
He couldn't help it; this was his duty. A loyal hound, prone to anger, eager to demonstrate devout faith—or cannon fodder.
However, without orders from his superior, he could only fume at the entrance, not daring to step a foot inside the alley.
Sherlock bowed slightly, unhurriedly. "Apologies, Lord Executor. I have no intention of offending the Holy See, you, or your wife. It is simply because... there is no longer any need for me to remain here."
"What do you mean?" Compared to the taciturn Executor Balder, Catherine was undoubtedly the easier person to communicate with.
"Because I've finished examining the scene... Staying here any longer is just a waste of time. It's better to return to my familiar apartment and let me be alone comfortably for a while. It helps my thinking." Sherlock tapped his temple with his index finger.
Catherine's brow remained furrowed. She understood the phrase 'a comfortable environment aids thinking,' but...
"You've finished examining the scene?"
"Of course," Sherlock said. "My ability to survey a scene is quite decent. I've observed every detail here. Er... for example, I can now roughly deduce that the killer is about 190 cm tall, male, with a burly build. He comes from a wealthy background, is ambidextrous, has a high libido, spent his childhood in the town of Rochester, suffered significant unfair treatment or torture, and has a severe vindictive streak. He is usually self-disciplined but arrogant, enjoys killing, likes eating raw beef, lives in a large residence—possibly a manor—filled with many portraits and exquisite decor. He has a hobby of raising livestock, has little body hair, prefers wearing form-fitting pure cotton clothing, and has an old injury on his right ribs..."
He spoke faster and faster, until the security officer's suppressed growl arrived as expected: "Civilian! You... you cannot spout nonsense in front of the clergy! You have no piety!"
No one stopped the officer's anger, because whether it was Catherine, Executor Balder, or the elderly High Priest, they all felt... this detective was bullshitting.
If he deduced the killer's physical characteristics and personality through the knife wounds, the method of dismemberment, and the angle of blood splatter, that would be plausible.
But to deduce what the killer liked to eat, where he lived, what he wore, and even old injuries? That just didn't make sense no matter how you thought about it.
Besides, you've only stood here for half an hour.
Sherlock smiled, having anticipated this. He was naturally too lazy to explain, but judging by the situation, if he didn't clear things up, he wouldn't be leaving this place today.