big devil holmes

Chapter 511 Just an ordinary murderer
Detective novels have also flourished for a long time in the world where Sherlock lives.

For example, the old man who has studied time cracks all his life is the most loyal supporter of detective novels. The wonderful killing techniques in the book and the murderer's incredible brain circuit can bring enlightenment or enlightenment to the boring life. It’s a knowing smile.

But in this desperate world, most novels are displayed in libraries, and no one will read them. It's not that people have given up on literary media, but because they can't understand them.

Take the detective novel as an example, 'After a heavy snowfall, there is a body in the middle of the snow, but there are no footprints around it. 'When people in the past read this most common puzzle, they would first think about how to use some imaginative method to erase the footprints, or transport the body to the middle of the snow.

But when people in this world read it, it is very difficult for them to understand the scene [snow].

A pet dog? ? ? what is that?
Umbrella? Is that something to protect you from the rain? So you will get wet if you don’t bring an umbrella?
For them, there are too many natural phenomena that have disappeared for centuries, and are completely out of touch with the thoughts and habits of the characters in the book.

Therefore, the literature before the solar explosion seems to most people to be like a biography of another world. After the sun exploded, people were naturally born with a certain temperament of despair, so fewer and fewer people were able to create literature with peace of mind. Even if there were, there wouldn't be that many people who could sit down and read it calmly. A book reader.

This is undoubtedly a tragedy for mankind at this stage.

Ridiculously, the charred corpse behind the iron door seemed to be a relief.

When you die, you don’t have to think anymore, you don’t have to suffer from radiation sickness, you don’t have to open your eyes every day and find that you have lost a few more teeth, have a few abscesses on your thighs, and have ulcers on your tongue. On the first level, speaking, eating, and even breathing caused excruciating pain.

Sherlock cast his gaze through the small grille window on the iron door, and with the help of the faint light, he looked at the body repeatedly, and then looked at the woman next to him. The woman's expression was depressed, cold, and she had lost a loved one. She could not see There was no pain, and of course no sign of life. It was as if she was alive now but had not made time to die.

"Are you the deceased's mother?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." The reporter nodded and replied.

Sherlock looked at the corpse in the warehouse again: "But the deceased was burned like this, how do you know he is your son?"

The woman in front of her raised her head. Although she did not show any surprise, she hesitated for a second or two: "This is my family's warehouse. No one will come in casually. And my son has always wanted to die because he missed the chance of getting radiation sickness." Time for treatment, skin is festering every day.”

"But there is no way to confirm that the charred corpse is your child, right." Under normal circumstances, detectives need to listen carefully to the testimony of each witness, but Sherlock is obviously not an ordinary detective. He even took the initiative to fight Cut off the other person's words.

The woman finally frowned slightly, looking a little angry: "I am his mother. I have been with him for 12 years since he was lying on the bed at the age of 10. I know him even if he turns to ashes!"

"Okay." Sherlock didn't pursue the question any further.

In fact, this woman came to entrust her because she wanted to know why there was a statue blocking the door.

The statue was so heavy that it was impossible for his son, a patient with radiation sickness, to move it.

So did he really commit suicide?
But if he didn't commit suicide, then how did the murderer move the statue behind the door? Because the store pushed it inward, if the statue was placed behind the door, the door would not be closed. If the murderer closed the door first, then If the statue was moved behind the door, how did he get out?

This is indeed a wonderful puzzle.

But puzzles always have a drawback, that is, the more incredible the thing is, the fewer answers can be given, and there is often only one answer.

"Your son did not commit suicide." Sherlock said.

"." The woman's eyes were slightly lowered, without much concern.

"Don't you care who killed your son?" Sherlock asked.

The old woman still didn't speak, but she raised her head and looked at the body still lying in the warehouse. At this moment, Sherlock was not sure whether he had seen it wrong, because he was actually on the other side. In the deepest part of his eyes, he saw a touch of relief.

"Then how did he die?" the woman asked, "I mean, if he was killed, how did the murderer put this statue behind the door?" "Oh, you are talking about this. "Sherlock held the cigarette in his mouth habitually: "The murderer just put the deceased in the house, then closed the door. As for lighting the fire, he mainly lit a match and threw it in."

"Statue! I'm asking about the statue!" the woman interrupted Sherlock.

"The statue was placed behind the door after the door was closed." After being interrupted, Sherlock continued to explain lifelessly: "In other words, it was made after the door was closed.

The specific method is to find a mold of a statue. It should be made of wood or plastic. No matter what, just stick it on the back of the door, close the door, and pour cement inside.

If you have to ask about the method of pouring cement, there are many. You can use a funnel or pipe to pour it directly, or even a spoon will do.

In short, wait until the cement fills the mold, then lights a fire, and everything is done. One night is enough for the cement to solidify, not to mention the high-temperature baking. As for the mold, of course it will be burned out. Only a statue remained behind the door. "

As I said before, the more incredible the phenomenon, the more likely it is that there is only one answer.

But after Sherlock finished this explanation, the woman in front of him was not surprised at all. She still looked at the corpse in the room, no longer hiding the relief in her eyes, and even a little smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"The pain of flames is not something that most people can bear, so if the deceased did not scream, either he was dead from the beginning, or his throat vocal cords were damaged, or he could no longer feel the pain."

Hearing this, the woman finally had some reaction, and she turned her eyes to look at Sherlock.

"You really don't feel any pain at all?"

"It looks like this." Sherlock nodded: "Because the deceased suffered from radiation sickness, his skin has been ulcerated all year round. After the nerve bundle damage, he has already developed sympathetic confusion in response to temperature. It is like being under high temperature, and people will feel When it is cold, people will suddenly feel hot all over.”

The woman nodded, and she didn't know why. She exhaled slowly, as if she had finally let go of a stone in her heart. Suddenly, she shed two lines of tears. It was so inexplicable and sudden that she herself She didn't realize it until tears rolled down the corners of her mouth. She was startled, and when she wiped them with her hand, she realized that she had cried.

"Thank you," the woman said.

"You're welcome." Sherlock's cigarette had burned out, and he threw the cigarette butt on the ground as impolitely as usual: "So, when you set the fire, you weren't sure whether it really didn't feel the burning sensation?"

"." The woman did not answer immediately, because the detective in front of her undoubtedly said that she was the murderer of her child. However, after a few seconds, she smiled with relief: "Yes. A few months ago, I accidentally knocked the electric stove over on top of him.

It was just above the largest abscess, and it was sizzling and smoking.

I was frightened, but he didn't shout at all. Instead, he said he felt very comfortable.

He has been lying in bed for ten years. The abscesses on his body hurt every time he moved. No painkillers worked. I have never seen him look so surprised. Maybe after so long, he finally found a way to let go. A way to stop the pain yourself.”

The woman spoke.

Maybe it was because the grudge in her heart was finally removed, so she seemed much more relaxed and gradually started talking more.

“He’s been telling me about it every day since that day.

Burn me to death.

Please, mother, burn me.

I really, really don’t want to be in pain anymore.”

(End of this chapter)