Chapter 16 A Blooming Rose

Ella added, "But judging from the shape of the broken bones, the surface of the murder weapon should have some texture, which might leave some marks."

She continued to examine the body, then suddenly stopped and pointed at the arm, "Look, there's a tattoo here."

I leaned in for a closer look. It was a black scorpion tattoo, lifelike, with the stinger seemingly ready to pierce the skin at any moment.

"A scorpion tattoo," I muttered to myself, a strange sense of familiarity washing over me.

I feel like I've seen it somewhere before.

A scene flashed through my mind: under dim lighting, a man stood in front of me, and on his arm was also a black scorpion tattoo.

Who was it? I desperately tried to grasp that blurry shadow, but it slipped away like a wisp of smoke.

At that moment, Ella exclaimed, "Wait! There seems to be something under this tattoo!"

She carefully peeled away the decayed skin around the tattoo with tweezers, revealing another hidden tattoo underneath—a blooming rose, blood-red.

My breath caught. It was exactly the same as the emblem of "The Tragedy of the Red Rose"!

On Isabella's tablet, the live stream of Elizabeth Perez was frozen on her last broadcast.

Her heavily made-up face wore a stiff smile.

The comments scrolling alongside the video were full of praise: "So gorgeous," "You're a goddess!" The contrast between those words and her lifeless body sent a chill down my spine.

"A mortuary makeup artist and a somewhat famous online streamer." I tapped my fingers lightly on the table, lost in thought. "These two identities seem a bit incongruous."

Isabella adjusted her glasses, her eyes gleaming with contemplation behind the lenses. "Yes, facing cold corpses by day and presenting a glamorous image in front of the camera by night, such a stark contrast might be hiding some secrets."

We then drove to Tranquil Rest Funeral Home, where Elizabeth worked before her death.

A faint smell of disinfectant permeated the air, creating a sense of oppression and gloom.

The funeral home's decor was simple and solemn, with banners on the walls saying "Forever in our hearts" and "Rest in peace," adding to the eerie atmosphere.

The owner of the funeral home, Benjamin White, a short, chubby middle-aged man with a constant smile, greeted us.

He rubbed his hands together, nodding and bowing as he ushered us into his office, offering tea and cigarettes with excessive enthusiasm.

"Officers, feel free to ask anything you need. I will tell you everything I know," Benjamin said with a fawning smile.

I got straight to the point, asking, "How long has Elizabeth been working at here?"

"Over three years, I think. She's diligent, and is a good employee." Benjamin recalled.

"How was her relationship with her colleagues? Any conflicts?" I continued to ask.

Benjamin hesitated, his eyes darting around. "Everyone got along well with each other. I haven't heard of any conflicts."

His ambiguous answer made me feel like he was deliberately hiding something.

"Are you sure?" I stared into his eyes.

Benjamin was visibly nervous, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "I... I'm sure."

I didn't press further but turned to Isabella, signaling her to start.

Isabella took out a photo of Elizabeth and asked Benjamin if he had seen her recently and if she had exhibited any unusual behavior before her death.

Benjamin stammered through a few answers, his eyes shifting to the upper left, clearly distracted.

I noticed his hands were unconsciously rubbing the hem of his shirt, indicating his inner turmoil.

I stood up, walked to the window, pretending to admire the view outside while actually observing Benjamin's every move.

His office was sparsely furnished, containing only a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and nothing more.

But my attention was drawn to a safe in the corner.

The surface of the safe was covered in dust, indicating it hadn't been opened in a long time.

Could it be hiding something?

I turned around, casually asking, "Mr. White, why do you have a safe in your office?"

Benjamin's face turned deathly pale. He jumped up, blocking the safe, stammering, "It's just for some important documents."

His overreaction confirmed my suspicions.

"Important documents?" I sneered, "What kind of important documents need to be kept in a safe? Something you don't want anyone to see?"

Benjamin's face grew even more ashen. He opened his mouth but couldn't say anything.

I said firmly, "Mr. White, I hope you cooperate with our investigation. Otherwise, we will have to take compulsory measures."

Sweat poured down Benjamin's forehead. He hesitated for a moment, then finally, as if making a difficult decision, took a key from his pocket and shakily opened the safe.

Inside the safe, there were no important documents, just a stack of photos and a USB drive.

I picked up the photos and flipped through them.

The content of the photos shocked me.

In the photos, Elizabeth lay disheveled on a mortuary table, her face heavily made up but unable to hide the fear and despair she felt before her death.

And standing beside her was Benjamin!

He held a scalpel in his hand, a sinister smile on his face, like a bloodthirsty demon.

My heart sank, a chill running from my feet to my head.

A strong sense of unease washed over me, almost overwhelming me.

I looked up at Benjamin.

His previously smug smile had vanished, replaced by sheer terror.

His face was as white as a sheet, his lips trembling, sweat rolling down his forehead, making him look like he had just been pulled out of water.

"You." He pointed at me, his voice hoarse, unable to say anything, like a beast cornered by a hunter.

I tightly gripped the photos. The man in the photos bore a striking resemblance to him. "Benjamin, do you have anything else to say?"

Benjamin collapsed to the ground, his pupils dilating, his eyes vacant, like a soulless shell.

His hands hung limply at his sides, fingers twitching slightly, as if trying to grasp something but catching nothing.

At that moment, Isabella's exclamation broke the heavy atmosphere, "James, look!"

I turned my head, following her gaze.

Isabella was holding a USB drive, with tiny words engraved on its surface—"The Tragedy of the Red Rose."

My pupils contracted sharply, my heart pounding like a drum, almost bursting out of my chest. "The Tragedy of the Red Rose"...

Could Benjamin be the killer who livestreamed the murders online?

This thought struck me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me dizzy.

I felt my blood freeze, my breathing becoming rapid.

A series of questions churned in my mind: If Benjamin really was the killer from "The Tragedy of the Red Rose," why did he kill that girl?

And why did he hide the body at Mount Serenity?

What was the connection between these two cases?

I felt like I was falling into a giant whirlpool, being pulled deeper by an invisible force.