“If his psychological quality was really that poor, he wouldn’t have been able to calmly go buy a camera after committing murder. That’s a contradiction.” The Vault methodically eliminated each incorrect guess, “On the contrary, I think the real culprit must have come to Harmony Yard Complex for the first time. The road layout in this neighborhood isn’t very logical, so he could only rely on map navigation to find his way out. He ran all the way, but still went in the wrong direction.”

Everyone nodded; this explanation was indeed more reasonable.

However, their mood did not lighten at all because of this major discovery. Instead, it became even heavier. Each person’s face was as dark as water, as if the cramped surveillance room was filled not with air, but with some kind of liquid that could drown a person.

“But the murderer was wearing Nancy Dawson’s clothes…”

If, if the murderer really wasn’t Nancy Dawson, then how should the testimonies of those witnesses be explained?

Just how many people are involved in this case? Why do they harbor such malice toward Nancy Dawson?

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

This side story will be quick, since many clues have already been mentioned in the main text. I’ll just fill in the missing parts and show off some technique.

Extra: Harry Forrest 04

The comment section in the livestream became chaotic, with netizens focusing on all sorts of bizarre topics—people were talking about anything and everything.

The Trident admin didn’t dare slack off, constantly refreshing and reviewing comments to ensure the discussion stayed on track and no radicals took the opportunity to stir up trouble.

Cases of wrongful conviction are always hotly debated, and the hardest part to judge is the question of responsibility, which easily leads to sensitive topics.

“To be honest, if I didn’t have a god’s-eye view, I’d think the same as the police. There are too many coincidences; I can’t bring myself to believe Harry Forrest’s testimony.”

“That’s why the public security system really needs all kinds of professionals. They have huge social responsibility, high job risk, and heavy mental stress. Those who slack off in police work really harm both others and themselves.”

“If only The Vault had been in charge of this case back then…”

“Don’t even think about it, how many The Vault are there in the world anyway?”

“Here it is, the ‘seems simple but actually has no self-awareness’ series.”

“No, just look at Harry Forrest’s move—you can tell it’s not simple at all!”

·

The Vault and the others sat down in the meeting room again to formulate a new investigation plan.

Once they changed their perspective, the whole case became completely different. It felt like trying to see flowers through the mist, unable to tell what was real. This time, during the analysis, everyone was a bit more hesitant and cautious, no longer as bold as before.

Strictly speaking, all their clues so far were based on speculation. All the actual witness statements and physical evidence pointed to Nancy Dawson as the culprit, but that hypothesis had now been temporarily overturned.

Following The Vault’s suggestion, everyone tried to sort through the known information and once again trace the case’s threads.

“The murderer knew what Nancy Dawson was wearing, which means he had been following Nancy Dawson for some time and had made thorough preparations. He also knew that Nancy Dawson was going to meet Laura Lowell today.”

The Vault stood behind a chair, both hands resting on the back, her slightly elevated gaze sweeping over everyone’s faces. She lowered her head, pale fingertips tapping on the dark mahogany, and said unhurriedly, “Nancy Dawson was wearing school pants that day, and the loose hoodie was a very common style, something people their age often wear. At the time of the crime, the lighting was dim, the distance was far, and it was raining heavily—bystanders might not have seen clearly. Similar build, similar color, similar style, plus a bit of psychological suggestion, would make them subconsciously believe the murderer was wearing the same clothes as Nancy Dawson.”

Everyone was stunned, surprised by The Vault’s bold and unconventional ideas.

“So, the murderer wasn’t necessarily wearing exactly the same clothes as Nancy Dawson?”

“I’m saying it’s possible. Finding the exact same clothes takes time, but something similar is easy. The murderer didn’t inherit Nancy Dawson’s wardrobe—how could he be sure Nancy Dawson would wear that hoodie on that day? What if he suddenly decided to wear something new?”

Every pause in The Vault’s speech was perfectly timed, carrying a strange power that soothed everyone’s previously anxious mood.

“We don’t need to imagine the murderer as being too capable; that easily traps us in their way of thinking and leads us into their rhythm. When there’s a contradiction between testimony and logic, we should re-examine the authenticity of the evidence.” The Vault turned to the left, raised her hand and pointed at a young man, asking, “Did any witness clearly state that they saw Nancy Dawson?”

The young man nodded at first, but to be sure, flipped through his notes.

“Yes. A businessman named Thomas Daniels saw Nancy Dawson near the intersection. He described Nancy Dawson’s outfit in detail, including the large capital letter on the front of the clothes. We showed him a photo, and he immediately confirmed it was Nancy Dawson.”

“There was also a student named Michael Wood, who saw Nancy Dawson come out of the alley and picked up a backpack charm on the ground. It was confirmed that the charm did belong to Nancy Dawson.”

So the two testimonies seemed highly credible.

A clear yet weary voice sounded right after.

“We previously did a preliminary investigation into the relationships between the witnesses. Their backgrounds and social environments are completely different, and they don’t even know each other—they just happened to be passing by. They also have no social overlap with the victim or with Nancy Dawson. So we previously judged their statements to be truthful and reliable.”

The speaker pressed his thumb to his temple, his brows deeply furrowed from a headache. He looked up at The Vault, confused: “If they gave false testimony, how did the murderer gather them together? Was the murderer targeting Nancy Dawson, or Laura Lowell?”

The Vault paced along the black lines at the edge of the tiles, everyone’s gaze following her.

“Generally speaking, on a rainy night, it’s hard to remember someone’s clothes and appearance just from brushing past them, unless you have an extraordinary memory. I’m more inclined to think they were instructed to give such testimony. If we question them more closely and forcefully, maybe we’ll spot some clues in their reactions.”

When they took the statements before, they had indeed been careless and hadn’t suspected the witnesses, so they didn’t probe further. Now, if The Vault’s view is correct, then those witnesses are also suspects in this case.

“Laura Lowell.” The Vault stopped, her tone very certain. “Do you remember our previous hypothesis? The murderer is someone Laura Lowell knows. Laura Lowell is a social reporter and may have offended many people, so let’s start with the most basic social connections.”

The Vault leaned forward, tapping her fingers on the table. The young man who was quickly taking notes immediately looked up at her nervously.

The Vault said, “Go check the surveillance footage from that day—at the intersection, in the shops, and at the bank. I suspect the murderer was following Laura Lowell the whole time that day, hiding in the shadows when they met. There’s no surveillance at the crime scene, so check further up the road. Investigate Laura Lowell’s movements that day in full detail.”

The young man responded hurriedly, “Yes.”

The Vault turned to the others and calmly instructed, “Go question the relevant witnesses again and have them clarify all the details. Report back if you find anything.”

“Okay!”

“What about Nancy Dawson?”

“Release him.” The Vault’s expression looked like a smile, but it was a chilling one that made people uneasy. “Tell those witnesses that Nancy Dawson has been released and watch their reactions.”

Everyone made a gesture, a bit mischievously, and said, “Got it!”

The Vault waved her hand lightly, “Go on.”

Everyone took their assignments and was about to leave when a delivery guy in a yellow and blue uniform, carrying a big bag, walked up and called out at the door, “Is this the place for the delivery?”

The officers who were tidying up the table all looked up in unison, first at the delivery guy, then turning with their leader to look at The Vault, gazing at her like children at their mother, tearfully calling out, “Captain—!”

“Mine, mine.” Julian Grant raised his hand to claim it, clicking his tongue at the pack of hungry wolves, “I ordered it for your captain. Get back to work, don’t overthink it, okay?”

Everyone’s hearts twisted with disappointment, all their dashed hopes turning into indignation aimed at Julian Grant. The glowing eyes clearly said, “Traitor!”, “Selling out your comrades, shameless!”, “Even in a government agency, this man is playing favorites—how dark!” and other such accusations.

Julian Grant: “……” In the world of Trident, wasn’t he supposed to be a king-like figure?

Who the hell designed these dumb NPCs? Did they sneak in their own bias?