socalfunplaces Chapter 1 The Detective in Prison
Chapter 1 The Detective in Prison
"Mr. Rean, you can be released from prison now."
The lock turned, the heavy iron door was pushed open, and light poured in, illuminating the cramped temporary detention cell, where a man sitting on a stone bed wearing a dark long coat was.
The sudden light made Rean squint slightly, and after a while his eyes adjusted.
He stood up with a relaxed expression and patted the dust off his clothes.
"It seems my colleagues in Fog Harbor aren't completely hopeless; at least they've figured out I'm not the murderer, haven't they?"
"Mr. Rean, actually, there's no result yet regarding your case; you've only been released on bail."
The officer shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint you again with the intelligence of your colleagues."
"It doesn't matter anymore. I've been disappointed in their intelligence for a long time. That's how it is in the detective industry. Everyone thinks they're incredibly smart, but in the eyes of outsiders, they're actually hopelessly stupid."
Rean smiled nonchalantly, smoothed out the wrinkles on his collar, then habitually turned it up, put his top hat on, and smiled:
"So, I'm free now, right?"
"As long as you are within the city limits of Fog Harbor, you are free at any time."
"clear."
Rean extended his hand to shake hands with the police officer, turned and walked out of the cell, heading towards the police station exit with practiced ease.
Stepping out of the police station, the humid air rushed towards him, causing him to close his eyes slightly, savoring this long-awaited freedom.
To be honest, the Fogport City Police Department treated criminals quite well, but the accommodations were really not something Rean could compliment.
Even though he had been inside many times, the musty smell and faint stench of urine still made him involuntarily recall the days before he transmigrated.
The same darkness, the same complete lack of freedom.
Every day when I open my eyes, all I see is a moldy ceiling soaked in water, and people wearing masks whose faces I can't even see, claiming to be doctors.
His limbs were tightly bound to the yellowed hospital bed with restraints, and he couldn't even turn over.
The doctors said he was sick and needed treatment.
Rean was certain that he was not insane and that his mental state was fine.
He's just a little bit obsessive, that's all.
"Rean! You damned bastard, you're finally out! Do you know how much money I spent to bail you out?"
A familiar voice suddenly rang out, pulling Rean back to reality.
He opened his eyes and saw a man in his thirties, wearing a top hat and with a stubble beard, standing in front of him, rambling on and on.
Rean knew this man well; he was his current assistant, Kent Redmond, a man who loved money more than anything.
"Damn it, a whole 20 pounds, 20 pounds!"
"This money would take us at least a month to earn, and now it's all gone, all into the pockets of those damned vampires!"
"And all of this is your fault. If you hadn't insisted on going three days ago..."
"Alright, Mr. Kent."
Rean calmly took out his pocket watch and wiped it. "If I remember correctly, this 20 pounds should be our commission from last time, right? Your share has already been settled, so this money shouldn't concern you."
"And the fact that you came to bail me out instead of running away with the money really surprises me, since that's not really like you."
"Click—"
Rean fastened his pocket watch, put it back in his pocket, and looked at Kent, who had a somewhat embarrassed expression, with a smile:
"So, dear Mr. Kent, could you tell me your reasons for doing this?"
"Okay, I admit I did think that way."
Kent, somewhat guiltily avoiding Rean's gaze, mumbled, "But then I thought, we're partners, how could I abandon..."
"Tell the truth."
"Rean, you're as perceptive as ever."
Kendi gave an awkward laugh and shrugged helplessly. "Okay, I admit I did think about running away after you got locked up... but that's not important!"
"The important thing is, I got a big job today. If we complete this commission, we'll have a full £50 in our pocket!"
"So you're only here to bail me out for those 50 pounds?" Rean once again astutely grasped the key point.
"Alright, Rean, this is all in the past. We should be looking to the future!"
Kent spoke with great enthusiasm, his eyes filled with longing for the gold pound: "That's a full 50 pounds! You don't often see employers this generous."
"We must seize this opportunity as soon as possible, otherwise those despicable colleagues will swarm us like hyenas sniffing a carcass. I absolutely cannot allow that to happen!"
This time, Rean did not refute, but nodded in agreement.
In an era when information was not readily available and telegraph machines were still used as a means of long-distance communication, the number of detectives was as numerous as cockroaches in a rented room.
Although these competitors are not very capable, they are exceptionally good at disrupting the market.
Moreover, Rean's rent is due soon, and this money is exactly what he needs.
"Tell me about this job you took on. What's the story behind it?"
Rean asked as he walked toward the public horse station.
"I knew you'd be interested!"
Kent grinned and said in a low voice as he walked, "You should be familiar with the name Jesper Fletcher, right?"
Rean recalled for a moment: "The head of the Fletcher family? That factory owner and city councilor from the West End?"
"That's right!"
Kent snapped his fingers. "It's this distinguished nobleman! Unfortunately, Baron Jesper's eldest son died at home last night."
"What was the cause of death?"
"suicide."
"suicide?"
Rean stopped, his brow furrowing slightly. "Aren't the Fletcher family devout believers in the church? How could they possibly commit suicide, something that violates their doctrine?"
"As expected of the famous detective from Foggy Harbor City, he immediately figured out why this noble gentleman hired us!"
Kent chuckled and shrugged. "As for the specific reasons and the mysteries involved, that's for you, the detective, to unravel."
"Mr. Kent, as your partner, I must correct your choice of words."
Rean adjusted his top hat, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "He should be the best detective in Fog Harbor. Don't get it wrong next time."
Just then.
"Ring ring—"
The bells of the convenient carriage rang out from afar, and soon a double-decker convenient carriage stopped in front of the platform.
The coachman sat high in the driver's seat, looking down at Rean and Kent.
"Good day, gentlemen. Where are you headed?"
Rean turned to look at Kent, who understood.
7 Bette Street.
"Bette Street in the West End? That's quite a distance from here." The driver adjusted his hat brim. "Three shillings in total, gentlemen."
Rean looked at Kent again without saying a word.
"Damn it, don't tell me you can't even pull out 1 shilling and 5 pence?" (Use decimal for easier understanding)
"Otherwise what? Do you think I'll still have money in my pocket once I'm in the police station?"
"Those damned vampires!"
Kent cursed under his breath, reluctantly pulled out his wallet, and then painfully took out 3 shillings and threw them into the money box of the convenient carriage.
Afterwards, he didn't forget to add to Rean's comment, "Remember you owe me 1 shilling and 5 pence!"
"Don't worry, I'll return it to you after I finish this job."
Rean smiled nonchalantly, got up, and boarded the carriage.