Chapter 3 A Visit from Jack Lovecraft

After sending Kohlston away, Feng Bujue returned to his seat behind the desk in the room and fell into contemplation.

Schofield did not disturb him; the detective himself was also pondering the information he had just obtained.

"At this moment, I am truly envious of guys like Nero Wolfe (a famous detective in Rex Stout's novels, a fat, reclusive professional consultant who loves orchids and charges high fees)," Feng Bujue said after a moment.

"Well... I think you could also become an excellent 'armchair detective' if you wanted to," Schofield replied.

"Of course, I could," Feng Bujue's narcissistic nature flared up, and he said without any modesty, "When I say 'envious,' I don't mean envious of the character's talent; I'm just envious that he doesn't have to participate in this tedious intelligence gathering work."

Schofield shrugged and said, "That can't be helped. Although there are only nine suspects in this case, the information that Mark obtained during the routine questioning... is not enough to pinpoint the killer."

"Currently, three can basically be excluded... the master, Kohlston Lovecraft, the butler, Henderson, and the maid, Oliver," Feng Bujue muttered. "One doesn't have the ability to commit the crime, one doesn't have the courage, and one has a problem with their build..."

"Build?" Schofield asked.

"You noticed it too, didn't you?" Feng Bujue said, "That old woman, Oliver, is only about one meter sixty in height, and her weight is at least more than Dennis. With that burly figure, even if she could barely climb out of the window, she couldn't possibly cling to the outside of the window to complete the locked-room setup."

"Ah... uh... right." Schofield had clearly just understood. He thought for a few more seconds and continued the topic, "But... why haven't you excluded the gardener as a suspect? Mrs. Carroll found the body while Mr. Barton was talking to you in your room, wasn't he?"

"So what?" Feng Bujue replied indifferently, "Maybe he just finished committing the crime before coming to my room? In my opinion, no one in this villa has a solid alibi." He added, "Including myself, I don't have one either. So... Detective, you have to be more careful. Although the probability is very small, you can't completely rule out the possibility that I committed the crime."

"That's impossible..." Schofield said with a smile, "You have no motive at all, and besides, Mr. Dennis helped you, didn't he?"

"Maybe I'm a psychopath?" Feng Bujue asked seriously, "Don't you think I look like one?"

Just as Schofield was hesitating whether or not to say the words "you do look a bit like one" that were on his mind, there was another knock on the door.

Dempsey said from outside the door, "Sir, Mr. Jack Lovecraft is here."

Schofield quickly replied, "Okay, please let him in."

Jack pushed the door open and strode into the middle of the room. As Dempsey behind him closed the door, he glanced back, then looked at Feng Bujue and Schofield with a nonchalant expression and said, "What's this? An interrogation?"

"No, there are just some questions we'd like to ask you," Feng Bujue replied with a smile.

"Ha!" Jack laughed, sat down carelessly in a chair, crossed his legs, "The famous detective wants to ask me for advice?"

"You didn't seem to have heard of my name before the police arrived, did you?" Feng Bujue said.

"Yeah, I don't read the papers much," Jack said. "Even if I do, I don't pay much attention to reports on criminal investigations."

"Well... I guess you mainly read the entertainment section," Feng Bujue said, implying something else.

"Yeah~ I used to be the lead singer of a rock band." Jack's gaze was fixed on the booklet in Feng Bujue's hand, and he replied in a drawn-out tone, "I've already told the other police officer, what? Is that against the law?"

"Of course, it's not against the law," Feng Bujue said, "But if... you, this washed-up lead singer, killed your own brother..."

"Hey! Hey! What are you talking about!" Jack shouted.

"What's wrong?" Feng Bujue's annoying demeanor returned. "Are you dissatisfied with the word 'washed-up,' or do you object to the accusation of murder? Or both?"

"Do you have any evidence to say that?" Jack replied. "If you don't have any evidence, that's slander!"

"Evidence..." Feng Bujue sneered, "Heh heh... 'You should be glad I didn't have a gun like that.'" He repeated word for word, "That sentence... was the last thing you said to Dennis before the incident, wasn't it? A lot of people heard it, including me."

"So what?" Jack retorted, "Anyone could tell that it was just a joke."

"It's just a joke if the person isn't dead," Feng Bujue placed his right hand on the desk, tapping the surface rhythmically with his four fingers, "But now that the person is dead, the situation is quite different... Combined with the situation at the time, can I interpret your meaning as – 'If I had a gun like that, I wouldn't have shot the ceiling.'"

"Nonsense! All bullshit!" Jack jumped up from his chair. "What kind of famous detective are you!" He turned to look at Schofield, "Officer! Are you just going to watch him frame an innocent person like this?"

"I also think... you are the most suspicious," Schofield put on his inspector's airs and glared at the other party with a solemn expression. "Among all the suspects, you are the only one who is physically comparable to the deceased. Psychologically speaking, stronger people are more courageous, aren't they?"

"You..." Jack was momentarily speechless.

"Since you mentioned a rock band..." Feng Bujue immediately continued, "Then I think you're quite familiar with things like strings..." He paused and said, "Coincidentally... the murder weapon is also a similar kind of thing."

"You know what... if there weren't police officers present, I would have come over and punched you already," Jack squeezed out a sentence in a very unhappy tone.

"Hmph... I advise you not to be impulsive," Feng Bujue raised an eyebrow and smugly replied, "My swift legwork can't be stopped by a mere desk."

"Gentlemen... let's get back to a constructive discussion." Schofield had to interject, because the words and deeds of these two were already quite like a street gang fight...

"Hmph..." Jack snorted coldly, sat down again, and said to Feng Bujue, "Then you tell me, why would I kill my brother? Just because of this little spat today? I still don't know why he and Dad were arguing in the first place, why would I go and kill someone?"