"What?!"
Lestrade's voice shot up reflexively, but he quickly forced it back down.
"Are you certain, Charlotte?" he pressed, unwilling to accept it.
"That guy... he may be a scoundrel, but he's never killed anyone. He didn't kill a single one of those fellows at Lloyds Bank."
"The handwriting, the word choice, the texture of the paper, even the signature style..."
Charlotte's voice was full of calm, carrying a matter-of-fact attitude. She placed the card back into the evidence bag, every movement appearing exceptionally careful.
"Every single detail matches his previous style perfectly. There's no need to overthink it—this is Moriarty's handwriting. The card was written by him."
Receiving this definitive answer, Lestrade felt his head go "buzz," as though struck hard by a heavy hammer.
"But... how is this possible..." he muttered to himself, leaning weakly against the door frame.
"That guy... why would he kill someone?"
"You look like you find it utterly inconceivable," Charlotte said, glancing at Lestrade. "I thought you hated him."
"That's different, Charlotte." Lestrade shook his head. "I hate him only because he's always making trouble for me, making Scotland Yard lose face. But how should I put it... in my eyes, he's just a... a kid who took the wrong path, who craves attention, but who isn't bad at heart, you understand?" Lestrade said.
"He's caused no small amount of chaos, but I can't deny that a fair portion of the things he did were actually positive. Look—take those bank robbers he caught earlier, and that fellow who committed treason... I wanted to catch him, but I never once thought about throwing him in prison. At most I'd... give him a word or two of scolding, get him to put his talents to proper use, but now—"
Lestrade paused, his tone full of indescribably complicated emotions, and a kind of disappointment.
"A Phantom Thief who steals things, and a murderer who kills and plunders—these are two entirely different concepts."
Hearing this, Charlotte offered no further comment on right or wrong, simply turning her gaze back toward the crime scene.
"Why would he do this..." Lestrade was still chattering on at her side. "Maybe it was an accident? The victim woke up while Moriarty was sneaking in, the two of them got into a struggle, and then Moriarty killed him by accident?"
"Don't rush to a conclusion, Lestrade." Charlotte said. "His card is here, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's the one who killed the man."
Hearing this, Lestrade started. "You mean..."
"First, tell me about the victim."
"The victim's name is Thomas Hannigan, forty-seven years old this year," Lestrade immediately pulled himself out of that complicated mood and slipped into work mode. "His profession was foreign-trade merchant, dealing in silk and porcelain. He was fairly well known in the Southwark District, with a consistently good reputation, and he paid his taxes diligently."
"But since Moriarty would come paying him a visit, that means he wasn't as clean as he appeared, right?" Charlotte moved about the room, observing. "Have you found out what he was up to in secret?"
"Still investigating, probably..."
"No need to waste time. This guy was most likely a smuggler in secret." Charlotte said, her tone certain.
"You're that sure?" Lestrade couldn't help asking. "On what basis?"
"Basis?" Charlotte stopped walking, turned around, and looked at Lestrade with an expression reserved for an idiot.
"A Phantom Thief who specializes in exposing the scandals of high society—why would he set his sights on an ordinary merchant with a good reputation who pays his taxes diligently? What's he after? A few pieces of porcelain and silk in the man's house?"
"Then... then maybe it's..."
"Stop with the 'maybe,'" Charlotte cut him off impatiently. "The answer is right in front of you. Hannigan, a merchant engaged in import-export trade—what would be easiest for him to conceal and transport are those illicit goods that can't see the light of day. Does this even require any more proof? Go check his cargo ships, check his recent shipping records, and you'll surely find what you're looking for."
Lestrade was left dumbfounded by her words. Although he felt something was off somewhere, he couldn't find a reason to refute her, and could only nod.
"Fine... fine, I'll have my men look into it in a bit," he conceded.
Charlotte paid him no further attention, turning her focus back to the crime scene. Her gaze swept across every corner of the room, not letting a single detail slip by.
The shape of the bloodstains on the floor, the position where the body had fallen, the arrangement of items on the desk, the ashtray and the wine glass on the table...
"There are no signs of the doors or windows being pried open, which means the killer walked straight in through the front door."
She casually picked up the wine glass on the table and glanced at the liquor still left unfinished inside.
"Besides that, there are two wine glasses on the table—one not finished, the other completely empty—which means he must have been receiving a guest at the time. At the very least, the killer initially came to see Hannigan in the guise of a guest."
As Charlotte spoke, she then let her gaze fall on the ashtray.
"Over the course of one evening, no fewer than ten cigarettes were smoked. Either this guy is a chain-smoker who lives for tobacco, or this guy was in a state of extreme anxiety."
"Who, the killer?"
"Mm." Charlotte nodded, then placed the two wine glasses on opposite sides of the desk. "This unfinished one is Hannigan's, and that finished one is the killer's. Hannigan was in a very leisurely state at the time, so he could savor his wine unhurriedly. But the other guy clearly couldn't. He was very tense, very anxious, so he needed to constantly take in nicotine and alcohol to ease that tension."
"Why?" Lestrade asked, puzzled. "Since he came in the guise of a guest, what did he have to be nervous about? Was he planning to double-cross Hannigan and rob a robber?"
"That brings us to his circumstances," Charlotte said. "What if he came to Hannigan not to discuss business, but to ask for help?"
"Ask for help?" Lestrade furrowed his brow.
"Yes, ask for help." Charlotte nodded slightly. "Because he'd already run out of options, so he came to Hannigan for help. Hannigan was running a smuggling operation in secret. If living creatures can be smuggled, then can people be smuggled too?"
She paused, then turned her head back. "You said just now that the murder weapon was a short knife, right?"
"Yes." Lestrade nodded.
"Bring it here and let me see."
Lestrade walked to the door, called over someone from the evidence division, and handed the evidence bag containing the short knife to Charlotte.
Charlotte gave it a glance, then looked somewhat surprised.
"It's actually not a decorative knife."
"Does that matter?"
"Do you think Moriarty would carry a short knife on him to commit a theft, or do you think the victim would display a completely undecorated short knife in his own study purely for appreciation?"
Hearing this, Lestrade suddenly saw the light.
"So what you mean is..."
"The answer is obvious, Lestrade." Charlotte set down the thing in her hand. "This is a frame-up."
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