It was early in the morning when George arrived at the police station, and he asked for information with an anxious look on his face.
"Where was the body found? How long has she been dead?"
Looking at George's shirt with residue of the cake that he hadn't wiped off, the detective, Samuel Whitman, looked apologetic.
"We just found out that the police car was driven back in the afternoon. We contacted the man who delivered the car first, but he had long since been knocked out and thrown into the gutter, and the monitoring on the road happened to be serviced, so we had no clues at all.
"They just brought the body to the police station so blatantly, which was a great provocation to the authority of the police."
The murderer's arrogance became a thorn that stuck into everyone's heart.
George looked quite somber.
At that moment, Samuel said in a hushed voice, "I'm sorry to interrupt your birthday for Eleanor."
At the sound of my name, George's serious eyes showed strong disgust and hatred.
"Who would celebrate the birthday for a murderer? Don't mention her in front of me!"
I was floating in the air aside, feeling heartbroken to the point of numbness.