5
From a distance, a group of people stood on the lawn outside the villa where the incident had occurred. Nervously comforting one another, they awaited the arrival of help. When Bree and her group reached the villa's door, Rick once again felt the weight of everyone's gaze. As before, their tension eased upon recognizing Rick's distinct appearance.
Rick, in truth, was merely a storyteller. He lacked any formal expertise. However, he had underestimated the era where information spread through printed books and TV detective dramas were mere sitcoms. These were ordinary people, shaken and seeking help. In this age, successful authors held sway as experts, their influence extending even to everyday folks.
Passing through the main gate, the chaotic scene unfolded in vivid, gruesome detail. The acrid stench of blood wrinkled Rick's nose as he entered.
The crime scene lay in shambles. In the living room, several neighboring housewives attended to Lillian, who lay on the carpet with a towel pressed against her bleeding neck. Three men stood smoking by the stairs. An open first-aid kit lay spilled on the floor.
Approaching them, Bree introduced Rick loudly, "This is our new neighbor, Mr. Rick Smith. I've had the pleasure of reading his works. He's a respected gentleman and an expert in solving crimes."
"Ms. Bree, you flatter me. I'm just a humble literary creator. Nevertheless, I'll do my utmost to assist," Rick replied modestly.
"Firstly, please refrain from disturbing anything in the house. And apart from those attending to Lillian, everyone should leave the premises immediately," Rick instructed cautiously. This was his first time at a crime scene.
"When will the ambulance arrive? Lillian needs immediate medical attention to stop the bleeding and stitch her wounds," Rick inquired.
"The ambulance is due in ten minutes. However, Sheriff Bob is occupied in the city, leaving only old Joe on duty. Your assistance is appreciated. I'm Dick, Lillian's husband. Should we organize a search? Lillian managed to scratch the intruder's arm with a knife," a man smoking at the stairs suggested.
"I advise against it, sir. Given the brutality displayed here, it's best for everyone's safety to remain together. Moreover, the perpetrator likely fled the area. Haphazard searches may prove futile and risky," Rick decisively opposed the suggestion. The police hadn't arrived yet, and organizing a search now could lead to unintended consequences.
"Understood, you're the expert. We'll follow your lead," Dick acquiesced.
As the room cleared, Rick stood amidst the wreckage, carefully surveying the scene. It was evident a fierce struggle had taken place. The living room bore witness to the violence; blood painted the walls, shattered glass littered the floor, and furniture lay overturned. In one corner, a bedsheet concealed the remains of the "children" who had tragically perished.
"Oh, these well-meaning neighbors moved the bodies," Rick lamented inwardly, considering the implications of tampering with evidence.
Quickly exiting the house, Rick approached Dick, eager to gather more information. "Could you recount what happened?"
"Certainly. I retired early tonight, having taken sleeping pills. I was asleep upstairs when Lillian woke me. She stood by the bed, bloodied knife in hand, distraught over the children's deaths. A brutish intruder had broken in, she said, and she managed to wound him. Rushing downstairs, I found chaos—the children lay dead, Little Jimmy cowering in fear," Dick recounted calmly, his voice tinged with regret, perhaps blaming himself for not being awake.
Ten minutes later, the ambulance arrived, whisking Lillian away with two childless housewives. Bree suggested waiting for the police, a sentiment Rick supported.
An hour later, neighbors began retrieving their children, leaving behind refreshments on the lawn—snacks and dried fruits spread around. Rick observed their discussions with curiosity.
As dawn approached, a convoy of police cars with flashing lights heralded the arrival of NYPD officers.
"Wow~Wow~Wow~~~"
A young female officer, donned in a meticulously kept black uniform, disembarked from the lead car, exuding a commanding presence.
"NYPD. Who reported the incident?" she demanded.
"I did. My children were killed, and my wife gravely injured," Dick stepped forward, composed.
"Officer Beckett, canvass the neighbors. Esposito, Kevin, handle statements and the crime scene," she directed her colleagues before turning to address the gathering.
"Chief George Stacy, Major Crimes Unit, New York Third Precinct," a blond officer introduced himself, scanning the assembly.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Rick Smith?" George Stacy asked, his tone shifting to one of respect.
Rick nodded affirmatively, prompting Stacy to continue, "My wife and I are fans of your work—she of *Treasure Island* and I, *A Study in Scarlet*. It's a shame I couldn't get my copy signed today."
"Curious why I know you're here? Most of the NYPD is aware now," Stacy continued, his expression tinged with amusement.
Rick raised an eyebrow, prompting Stacy to elaborate, "Tonight, at a charity dinner, Mr. Tony Stark arrived unexpectedly. In the past, a Stark representative would attend with donations. This time, Stark himself donated a million dollars to the city, prompting excitement among officials. The chief received Stark's donation and agreed to make you a consultant to strengthen ties between NYPD and Stark Group. Ms. Pepper even allocated office space for you at headquarters."
"Surprised? You're one of us now—the real-life Sherlock Holmes," Stacy concluded, leaving Rick bewildered.
"Officer George Stacy, is this some divine prank? I'm just a storyteller," Rick protested, unsure of the implications of this newfound attention.
Stacy's gaze hardened briefly as he compared local police to federal agents like himself and noted, "In this realm, local police are elected, not always trained. Professional detectives are rare, like FBL agents or city cops like me."
He then gestured towards Officer Beckett, nodding towards a policewoman Rick had met earlier.
"And Mr. Stark? He bought 10,000 copies of *A Study in Scarlet* for police departments nationwide," Stacy added, leaving Rick flabbergasted.
As Stacy departed for the crime scene, Rick muttered to himself, "Is this some twisted divine comedy? This isn't the fame I sought."
"Oh, and I can't continue the Holmes series—it's too risky. Should I hire a bodyguard? Curse Stark! I hope he wakes with regrets," Rick grumbled, chilled despite the midsummer morning.