Chapter 28
Amid the chaos and rising tension, one man finally cracked.
“I’m telling you, I’m not the culprit!” Pascal shouted, his voice high with panic. He’d been babbling incoherently for a while now, but fear had finally pushed him over the edge.
“It’s Enzo! He’s the one who did it! He shot the old man and tried to snatch the inheritance!”
Enzo let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head.
“There’s no inheritance coming to me. My stepfather has three daughters, but none of them can inherit the family estate. If anyone were to inherit, it’d be Maurice’s younger brother—or maybe his son.”
Pascal didn’t miss a beat before redirecting his accusation.
“Then it’s Josée! You had a gun! Maurice said something nasty to you, and you snapped—you shot him! It has to be you!”
Josée responded flatly, her tone icy with contempt.
“Don’t be ridiculous. A forensic analysis of the autopsy and the cartridge cases will make it clear he wasn’t shot with my gun.”
Of course, at this stage, nothing could be proven. Suspicion was inevitable.
Pascal turned again, this time pointing a trembling finger at Clovis.
“You! Maurice always looked down on you, didn’t he? He mocked you constantly for losing more elections than a commoner! That resentment must’ve built up—today, it finally exploded. Am I wrong?”
Clovis gave a dry chuckle, brushing the accusation aside.
“I’ve gotten used to being envied. But I’m not the type to kill over it.”
That was when Serge stepped in, his voice cool and dismissive.
“Playing detective now, are we? How absurd. If we’re assigning motives, Pascal-dono, weren’t you the one deep in debt to Maurice-dono?”
Enzo’s eyes widened in surprise.
“What!? I’ve never heard anything like that!”
Pascal’s face turned pale. “Wh-What!? Serge, how do you know that...?”
Their voices overlapped and then died out, both men falling silent.
Serge continued without missing a beat.
“It’s common knowledge within the party. The only ones who didn’t know are you, Pascal-dono, and the Latière family.”
“......!”
“Secrets have a way of getting out, you see. Representatives who stay connected with their local regions tend to hear all kinds of whispers. Never underestimate the voters’ information network.”
At that point, it became apparent—each person in the room, aside from Serge, had some sort of grudge against Maurice.
Bernard sat quietly, jotting down each revelation in his notebook, his pen scratching steadily across the page.
Then Pascal, almost desperately, tried to pivot the conversation.
“Maybe this was a robbery!” he exclaimed.
Given that everyone had been in private rooms and no one had an airtight alibi, it was no wonder they were all scrambling to deflect suspicion.
Meanwhile, Josée sat staring at the table, her brows furrowed. Her gaze was sharp, focused. Then, she reached out and brushed her fingers across the surface, feeling something rough beneath her fingertips. She sucked in a breath.
“...What’s this?”
The room fell silent. Every eye turned toward her.
Clovis finally broke the tension with a wry smile.
“I’ve heard Josée-dono has quite the reputation in the underworld. What’s your take on this case?”
Josée stayed quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Then she murmured,
“…You may call this an outlandish theory if you wish,”
She paused, then said something that made the entire room freeze.
“I don’t believe this was… a homicide.”
Pascal burst into laughter.
“What kind of nonsense is that? There’s a body with a bullet wound and a slashed throat lying right there! And you’re saying it wasn’t a homicide? What makes you such an expert, huh?”
Bernard weighed in, thoughtful.
“I was wondering about that too. I think what Josée is referring to is the lack of blood from the body. When someone’s wounded while they’re still alive, the blood tends to spray. But if the injury happens after death… there’s barely any bleeding. And in this case, there’s no sign of blood spatter at all.”
Josée nodded.
Pascal frowned, confused. “Then how did Maurice-dono die?”
Josée looked straight at him, her voice firm and unwavering.
“It was suicide.”