Chapter 137

Public opinion on the internet intensified. Even within the church, rumors about Emma circulated. Some suspected she hadn't used her full strength treating Otis, prompting staff to consider inviting other doctors and even hindering Emma's access to Otis. Emma sensed a deliberate campaign.

“Looks like the mastermind wants to use public opinion to force me away,” Emma and Liam analyzed. “The more they try to make me leave, the more I can’t. I have to speed up.”

Despite this, Emma didn't rush Otis's detoxification. The poison wasn't immediately life-threatening, but if the source remained unidentified, future danger persisted.

“Do you remember the two staff members we met by the well yesterday?” Emma asked.

“What?” Liam replied.

“They said Fred fell down the stairs, injuring his neck,” Emma explained. “Don’t forget, we didn’t check one person that day!” Christine's interruption had prevented Emma from using her UV pen on Fred, who had powder on him. Everyone was distracted; Fred left unscanned.

Emma decided to investigate Fred alone, but Liam offered to accompany her. She refused. “If you go with me, he’ll be wary,” she said gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect myself. I’ll tell you everything, okay?” Her voice was soft, and Liam, despite his worry, couldn't refuse. “Then I’ll help you guard Otis. If you need anything, just press this button.” He gave her an alarm device.

Fred's room was some distance from Otis's house. Emma detected a strong herbal scent. Fred greeted her in the courtyard. “Miss Wilson.”

Emma subconsciously checked his neck. She'd marked the assassin's neck with powder; however, Fred wore a high-collared shirt, and ointment covered a barely visible wound, obscuring his neck.

“Is this the wound from the stairs yesterday?” Emma asked.

Fred lowered his head, smiling. “Yes, funny, really. An adult, falling because I was distracted. How embarrassing.” Emma smiled back. Fred's self-inflicted injury cleverly removed evidence. He'd anticipated her method.

Seeing her silent smile, Fred asked, “Miss Wilson, why are you alone? Do you need something?”

“Not really,” Emma replied, entering his room and looking around. “I have a few questions about Christine's interrogation. I want to discuss them with you.”

Fred's room was simple, with a hard bed and calligraphy on the wall: Benevolence. Emma studied it intently.

Fred explained, “Reverend Hart wrote this a year ago. I hang it by my bed, reminding myself to be kind.”

Emma nodded. “The police asked when Christine last conflicted with Otis,” Emma said.

Fred recalled, “A month ago. She came for her birthday, but Reverend Hart had withdrawn from the world and family. She was distraught and caused a scene.”

“Otis's poisoning started around a month ago,” Emma noted.

Fred frowned. “If so, Christine is…”

“It’s not her,” Emma interrupted, turning to the calligraphy. “Reverend Hart writes maxims for his disciples. I saw Miles Moss’s; it was ‘Diligent.’”

Fred confirmed this. Emma smiled. “So the Reverend taught you benevolence. Have you learned nothing else?” Her tone turned cold.

Silence fell. Fred narrowed his eyes. “Miss Wilson, what do you mean?”

Emma smiled, stating directly, “After I almost checked you in the courtyard, you fell down the stairs; coincidentally on your neck.”

Fred's face darkened. “Coincidence!”

Emma continued, “If it’s a coincidence, how did you know where I left the powder? I only touched the assassin's neck. Christine had no powder. She was merely visiting; you're the murderer!”

Fred's face fell. “A scapegoat, because of the negative comments?”

Emma laughed. “Fred, you're meticulous. But you didn't expect the powder wasn't just on your neck! There were traces on the window ledge where you escaped. Christine didn't climb the window! Whether you're the murderer or not, I only need to look at the shoes at your bedside!”

Emma kicked out the shoes from under the bed – the ones Fred wore that night. She’d been observing his room.