McCall walked around Saint Peter's University for over two hours but didn't gain much; after analyzing his surroundings, he didn't find many abnormal people.
This made him slightly, but not overly, disheartened.
The intelligence Ivy provided was crucial because it had already helped him narrow down the scope significantly.
So, he changed his approach, randomly asking a few students. Of course, these were friendly exchanges, and through his guidance, he quickly identified several suspicious professors:
Olivia Rose Martinez
Christopher Allen Harris
James Robert Carr
James Moriarty
Hannibal Lecter
Excluding the first name, which was female, the remaining four professors were male and had extremely close connections to the information he possessed.
It seemed he could only use the process of elimination to rule these guys out.
After all, Ivy didn't know what the professor looked like.
So McCall employed his excellent intelligence analysis skills, continuously questioning surrounding students and teachers to pinpoint and eliminate suspects.
Another hour passed, but he still had no breakthroughs.
At this moment, a man in an elegant dark grey suit stood in the top-floor office of the teaching building, looking down. In his line of sight, a Black man was constantly questioning students.
Sunlight cut in from the side, sharpening his profile, the shadows cast by his cheekbones sinking into his pale skin. Yet, the eyes beneath his brow bone were astonishingly bright, like two clusters of frozen flames.
Every strand of his hair was neatly combed back from his forehead, but you always felt that something wild, ready to break free, was hidden beneath.
The classical texts on the bookshelves stood silently in formation behind him, the gilded titles on their spines occasionally reflecting light in the gloom, like countless prying eyes.
His hands were clasped across his chest, fingers resting on his forearm, knuckles distinct, making one inexplicably wonder if he had just used these hands to dissect something living.
When his lips parted slightly, you expected to hear a venomous whisper, but the only sound in the room was the slow breathing of old leather bindings.
He watched the scene below, a slow, maniacal smile curving his lips.
He didn't want to know who the person below was, nor did he care; he only knew someone was in trouble.
Meanwhile, after continuous questioning and conscious guidance, McCall below gradually formed a clear picture.
Soon, he focused the image of this professor on a man named Christopher Allen Harris, for no other reason than that he was a professor in the field of chemistry.
McCall acutely felt that this man was problematic.
However, when he learned that this professor was not currently at the university, he paused slightly, then asked, "Do you know where this professor lives?"
"I think it's near the university."
The male teacher didn't suspect anything and readily gave the answer.
"Near the university, huh? Thank you very much."
With that, McCall politely thanked him and then turned to leave the campus.
Living near the university meant it shouldn't be too far.
After leaving Saint Peter's University, McCall began to wander around the nearby residential area.
However, he wasn't aimlessly wandering; he was constantly observing details.
He continuously analyzed the guy's residence based on the information he had, and finally, before night completely fell, he stood outside a house.
This was the most likely residence of Professor Harris, which he had deduced by combining all the information.
From the current details, this residence seemed to fit, and he also smelled a faint scent that seemed like blood.
This smell would have remnants no matter how it was treated.
As long as the bloody smell hadn't completely dissipated within a certain period, it was possible for someone with a keen sense of smell to detect it.
McCall stood watching from a distance for a while before turning to leave.
Just as McCall turned to leave, the curtain on an upstairs window of the house behind him moved.
Clearly, someone had been observing McCall from behind the curtain.
Seeing him turn and leave, not appearing to have any strange intentions, he didn't pay much attention.
He simply turned and walked to a workbench, took out one of the test tubes, then took out three small syringes, and drew all the liquid from the test tube into the small syringes.
Then he placed caps on the small syringes and put them into his tie.
This was his improved PX-72 B1, developed today based on existing materials. It could amplify a person's pain by nearly a hundredfold; even a slight bump could make someone feel agonizing pain.
These things were his trump cards, what would bring him more pleasure.
"But that Black man seems to have found out something. He needs to be dealt with." He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, a cold glint flashing behind the lenses.
Then, the man took out his phone and dialed 911. As the call connected, he feigned panic and said, "There's been a murder at 700 Jersey City, Hudson County, New Jersey. Oh my God, it's so bloody..."
Afterward, he pretended to hang up in a panic, then pulled out the SIM card, lit a lighter, and burned it.
He then took out a new SIM card and inserted it into his phone.
After gently placing the phone into the inner pocket of his suit, he went downstairs, opened the door, and then softly closed it.
As he walked out, he took off the gloves he was holding.
Passing a trash can, he thought for a moment and decided not to throw the gloves in, instead continuing to hold them.
With his other hand, he pulled a key from his pocket, walked to the door of a small car parked by the roadside, inserted the key, twisted it, and opened the door.
This was a Mercedes-Benz W114 series, a 1973 vintage car, its cream-colored exterior like a gentleman gently preserved by time.
The horizontal chrome grille shimmered with a subtle glow in the sunlight, and the rounded headlights resembled amber left behind from the 1970s.
He got in and started the engine. As the engine roared to life, this cream-colored vintage Mercedes-Benz elegantly departed.
Nine miles later, a pair of white gloves were thrown from the car window, then blown by the car's slipstream into the roadside weeds.
Soon after, several cars with flashing sirens surrounded the house. Several police officers, guns in hand, slowly approached. After kicking down the door, they found no one inside. They turned on the lights, and everything inside was neat and spotless.
They searched everywhere in the house but found no crucial evidence or items. In a small room on the second floor, which seemed to be a chemical laboratory, it was so clean as if nothing had ever been there.
All traces had been cleared by the man.
One young police officer saw a hidden door leading to the basement. He then held his gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, opened the door, and walked down.
He didn't know what would happen next, but he faintly heard the sound of a melodious violin coming from the door below.
After opening that door, a strong smell of blood assailed his nostrils... All the police officers' walkie-talkies blared, a voice filled with fear and extreme discomfort exploding in their ears.
"Screech—Ah ah ah! Requesting backup!! Damn it!!"
"Ugh~"
-------------------------------
I've already uploaded 40 chapters of this story on Patreon!
If you enjoy it, come check out the latest chapters in advance.
[patreon.com/TripleCrown07]
Thank you so much for your support!!!
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"