bookbashuk Chapter 168 The Bishop Has Many Enemies
Chapter 168 The Bishop Has Many Enemies
Chapter 168 The Bishop Has Many Enemies
The bishop did not speak.
He simply looked at Kindeokman, then picked up a pen from the coffee table, wrote a few words on a piece of white paper, and pushed the paper in front of Kindeokman.
The handwriting is somewhat messy, but still legible.
"You tell me."
Kindman glanced at it, then looked at the archdeacon.
The archdeacon cleared his throat and spoke.
"Around 5 p.m. yesterday."
"Is there a specific time?"
"I didn't look closely."
The archdeacon shook his head, his expression somewhat grave.
"Everyone was getting ready to go to evening prayer when suddenly someone found they couldn't speak."
At first, I thought it was just a sore throat, a cold, or something like that.
"Later, I found that several other people had the same thing, and that's when I realized something was wrong."
"What did you do after you realized something was wrong?"
"I saw a doctor first."
The archdeacon said.
"There is a resident doctor in the ward, who examined several people."
"But the doctor said he couldn't see anything wrong. His throat wasn't red or swollen, his temperature was normal, and all his indicators were normal."
Kindeman nodded and made a note in his notebook.
"and then?"
"Then..."
The archdeacon glanced at the bishop.
"The bishop said it was possible someone poisoned the food, so we called the police."
Why did you immediately think of poisoning?
The archdeacon remained silent for a second.
"Because...because there are too many people who can't speak, and they are all clergy. No ordinary people are affected."
Kindeman's pen paused for a moment.
"Ordinary people?"
"There were also a few volunteers and a few tourists visiting the church."
The archdeacon explained.
"They're all fine. The ones who had problems were all wearing black robes."
Kindeman's brow furrowed slightly.
He made another note in his notebook.
What are the symptoms after being poisoned?
"I just can't speak or make a sound."
The archdeacon's expression grew even more serious.
"No matter what I do—coughing, clearing my throat, straining to speak, or even pinching my throat—I just can't make a sound."
"Not a sound at all?"
Not at all.
The archdeacon shook his head.
"It's like...like someone took out my vocal cords."
Kindeman was silent for two seconds.
"Are you experiencing any symptoms?"
"For example, sore throat, dizziness, nausea, fever?"
The archdeacon looked at the bishop.
The bishop shook his head.
Kindeman noted in her notebook that there were no other symptoms except for loss of voice.
He asked again.
Has anyone recovered since yesterday?
The archdeacon then looked at the bishop.
The bishop shook his head again.
Kindeman's brow furrowed even more.
It's been over ten hours, and not a single one has recovered?
This is not a characteristic of ordinary poisons.
He paused for a few seconds, then changed the subject.
"Are there any suspects?"
The archdeacon then looked at the bishop.
This time, the bishop did not shake his head.
He picked up a pen and began to write on the paper.
Brush brush.
Brush brush.
Brush brush.
I wrote for a full half minute before stopping.
Then push the paper over.
Kindeman looked down.
Dawson, Carver, Randall, McKinsey, Brooks, Howard, Simmons, Patterson, Coleman, Wallace.
Two whole rows, more than a dozen names.
Kindeman: 6
He looked up and glanced at the bishop.
The bishop's face was expressionless, but his eyes revealed a certainty that "all of these people are suspects."
It seems the bishop has quite a few enemies.
Kindeman cleared his throat, folded the list, and put it in his pocket.
"Now I need you, Bishop, to find someone for me to walk around the cathedral."
He needs to investigate how the killer poisoned the victim.
The two most common methods of poisoning are water and food.
The archdeacon led Kindman on a tour of the cathedral.
I went to the canteen, kitchen, water room, storage room, warehouse, I went to every place I could.
The archdeacon walked slowly, stopping at each place to give Kindman a good look.
Jin Deman looked very carefully, turning on each tap and examining it, peering into each bucket, and picking up and smelling each ingredient.
But after walking around, Kindeman's complexion wasn't very good.
The killer doesn't seem to have made his move from either of those two places.
Because many of the priests who drank from the same water source, from the same tap, were unharmed and had no problems whatsoever.
The same applies to those who ate food from the parish canteen. Of those who ate dinner at the canteen last night, half tested positive, and the other half were fine.
Several of those who contracted the virus happened to not eat in the cafeteria.
Some of those who didn't get infected ended up eating two bowls of rice in the cafeteria.
Kindeman stood at the kitchen doorway, staring at the row of stoves, his brows furrowed.
It is not a water source.
It's not food.
What is that?
He pondered for a while, then suddenly remembered something.
"Those who suddenly become speechless."
He looked at the archdeacon.
Is there any pattern in the timing? Did the problems all suddenly appear at once, or did they occur gradually?
The archdeacon paused for a moment.
He thought for a moment, then his expression became somewhat subtle.
"They...appeared one after another."
"One after another?"
Kindeman's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Starting around 5 p.m. and continuing until around 6 p.m., people gradually found themselves unable to speak."
The archdeacon recalled.
"The earliest ones seem to be Father Rhine and Father Hart."
Upon hearing those two names, Kindeman's expression remained unchanged.
"Could you provide me with a list of these people who are unable to speak?"
"Can."
Soon after, Kindeman received the list.
An A4 sheet of paper was covered with names.
Kindeman took it and looked at it from top to bottom.
He read very slowly, going through each name in his mind.
His gaze stopped halfway through reading.
Father Rhine.
Father Hart.
.
He didn't recognize either of those names.
But the photo next to it looked very familiar to him.
Kindeman stared at the two names for three seconds, then looked up.
"Father Rhein and Father Hart."
He looked at the archdeacon.
Where are they now?
"They should be in the lounge."
The archdeacon replied.
"After they lost their voice yesterday, they stayed in their room and didn't come out much. They're probably still scared."
"Fear?"
"Who wouldn't be scared in this situation?"
The archdeacon gave a wry smile.
"If someone suddenly becomes speechless, anyone would panic."
Kindeman nodded.
"Could you please ask them to come over? I have a few questions."
The archdeacon nodded and turned to leave.
A few minutes later.
The door was pushed open.
Two priests dressed in black formal attire entered the reception room.
The one walking in front was taller, about 1.85 meters, with his hair neatly combed and his face expressionless, but his eyes revealed a sense of fatigue.
He walks very steadily, each step firm and solid, like someone who has served in the military.
The one following behind was shorter, about 1.7 meters tall, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and looked very refined.
His expression was more tense than the previous one, his eyes constantly scanning the room, like a frightened bird.