Chapter 43: The 1924 Train Murder Case (16)

"I'm not the murderer!"

Mackey shouted fiercely.

"When it comes to bullet hole identification, I know a lot more than you, you silly girl!"

"Accurate analysis requires determining whether a hole is indeed a bullet hole, checking for any shooting-related traces, and, based on those marks, establishing the shooting distance, direction, angle, entry and exit points, and the sequence of shots."

"Furthermore, only by studying the ballistics can you analyze and calculate the firing angle, angle of descent, bullet velocity, changes in kinetic energy, trajectory height, and flight time."

"A delicate flower like you, raised indoors, how could you possibly tell which direction the bullet came from? An amateur going up against a professional—what a joke!"

Despite this blunt attack on her intellect, Tang Mu remained unruffled.

She continued, genuinely seeking knowledge, "That's true, I'm no professional. I've never attended police academy nor received any training, let alone fought in a war or worked as a mercenary. Since you are the expert here, why not give us a detailed analysis: is the hole behind the victim's seat really a bullet hole? I imagine, with your experience, you must be very familiar with such things."

Yet Mackey did not get up to inspect the bullet hole behind the victim's seat. Instead, he angrily berated Tang Mu for meddling.

"Bartholomew was sitting beside me. Even if the bullet did come from my direction, that makes Bartholomew just as much a suspect as me!"

"Besides, Mr. Gill was sitting behind Augustine. I would have had to wait for Mr. Gill to leave his seat before I could shoot, otherwise one bullet would have killed them both!"

"Oh, so you're saying, when the train cars collided and inertia threw Mr. Gill from his seat, you seized that moment—while his body was airborne—to shoot the victim?"

After being accused again and again, Mackey was livid. He snatched up the "collectible" firearm and pressed it to Tang Mu's head.

"I'll say it again—I am not the murderer!"

Even with a gun to her head, Tang Mu was unfazed, acting as if nothing mattered.

"You can't have just one bullet, can you? If you shoot and kill me now, everyone will know who the murderer is."

Tang Mu was on the verge of forcing the real culprit to expose themselves. But Bartholomew suddenly stood up, grasped Mackey's wrist, and made him lower the gun.

"Mackey, let it go. Why argue with a little girl?"

Bartholomew saw that Mackey still stubbornly clung to the gun, his gaze murderous as ever toward Tang Mu. But it was clear to all that the killer with the gun was either Mackey or himself. Whatever happened, everyone would choose between the two of them when it came time to vote.

So Bartholomew chose to give up resisting and tell the truth.

"Miss Tang Mu, you're right: bullets like these aren't easy to come by without special connections. Among those present, it's either me or Mackey. Both of us had motives for killing Augustine, for different reasons."

"Though it's a long story, before you vote, I want to take a little of your time to explain how Augustine became our enemy. Would you care to hear it?"

Everyone responded with indifference. The vote wouldn't be until the next morning. Now that the first murderer had been caught, all they had to do was wait. As for Bartholomew's story—well, it was something to fill the idle hours. Whether they listened or not made no difference.

"I did receive a mission from my superiors. On March 9th, 1924, at 3:00 p.m., I boarded the Haier Express to assassinate the chemical and biological expert Augustine, who was also on board. He had developed a new strain of anthrax, called anthrax septicemia."

"This disease typically follows cutaneous, pulmonary, or gastrointestinal anthrax, and rapidly progresses to systemic toxemia. Its fatality rate is extremely high."

"If such bacteria were unleashed in war, countless soldiers would perish helplessly. To die this way is both humiliating and agonizing for any soldier."

"But I didn't have the courage to shoot Augustine—because he was my father."

What?

His father?

Everyone stared in disbelief. Augustine didn't appear much older than Bartholomew. If the victim was truly Bartholomew's father, just how young had Augustine been when he committed such unspeakable acts with a young woman?

"Your suspicions are correct," Bartholomew said. "Besides being a chemical biologist, Augustine was an unrepentant monster."

"At sixteen, his extraordinary talent in biochemistry earned him a place in a military unit. While passing through the Osk Farm, the soldiers took a liking to the young women working there."

"Once the seed of evil is sown, it is hard to extinguish."

"My father, along with the others, publicly stripped the farm girls naked."

"The atrocity that followed lasted three days and nights."

"Many girls could not endure the torment and died."

"My mother, though she survived, faced further tragedy."

"She became pregnant with me. I am a stain on her life that can never be erased."

"A woman with child was in no state to work the farm, and, coupled with malicious gossip, the landlord could do nothing but give her a small severance and tell her to seek her living elsewhere. My mother loved me, but she could not bear the memories of her ordeal."

"Every time she looked at me, she was reminded of that pain."

…

"Forgive me for interrupting," Tang Mu said, after hearing the story's origins, finding something absurd in it. "You say Augustine was your father... But if your mother truly suffered such violence, how can you be sure Augustine is your father?"

If Bartholomew's story was true, his father could have been... anyone from that night.

She did not voice this thought to Bartholomew directly. But even so, she knew her previous question was already offensive enough.