The air was filled with the stench of blood, as if a wild beast had just devoured brutally here. In the dried pool of blood, remnants of flesh were scattered. Kicking away the clutter on the floor, one can see obvious marks on the floor, as if something sharp had recently scraped across it.
"Do you have any thoughts, Mr. Holmes?"
Pres tightly covered his mask, trying hard not to inhale the terrifying air.
From the moment the writing on the wall was discovered, the famous detective's condition had been poor, his face pale as if he had just experienced a nightmare.
Officers brought him a chair, and he sat amid the pool of blood, facing the woman who had died horribly on the bed and the wall filled with hateful writing.
"Quiet..."
Lorenzo clasped his hands, crossed his legs, and lowered his deerstalker hat, making it impossible for Pres to see his expression.
"Why not try using Wind Tobacco? You always find clues from the Spiritual Vision of the dead, don't you?"
