After I Died, the Scumbag Went Mad

Chapter 21: Chapter 21: The Murderer’s True Identity

Slumped in the interrogation chair, I stared listlessly at Zeke Shaw as he organized the written testimony.

”It’s not true...” I explained, my voice hoarse. It felt like my last glimmer of hope was about to be extinguished.

I wished so desperately that the police would uncover Erin Whittaker’s true face and clear my name. If they did, I could rest in peace, even in death.

But now, it seemed the truth would never be known.

And my body would never be found.

”Officer Lowell, she’s a liar. She’s deceiving you,” I murmured, my voice raspy.

’Why won’t you believe me?’

’Why won’t anyone believe me?’

’Why does everyone believe Erin Whittaker?’

”Lowell, we’ve talked to a lot of people who knew Cecilia Caldwell. Not a single one had anything good to say about her. It seems her character was genuinely poor,” Zane said, walking into the interrogation room. He was clearly on Erin Whittaker’s side. ”This Erin Whittaker seems pretty kind.”

”She was pushed down the stairs, nearly killed, and she didn’t even report it or press charges. She even gave her a second chance.”

Zeke Shaw had been organizing the testimony. His pen paused. ”What you hear with your ears and see with your eyes isn’t necessarily the truth.”

”Then what is the truth?” Zane asked, a little confused.

”Evidence.” Zeke Shaw pointed to the testimony. ”I only believe in evidence.”

Human nature is complex and fickle; only evidence is rock-solid.

I looked at Zeke Shaw, feeling helpless. I wasn’t holding out much hope anymore.

’Until my body is found, no one will believe me.’

Just then, a female officer walked in from outside, her expression grim. ”Lowell, Asher’s medical report is back... He has scars on his body from being tasered. They’re old wounds, clearly... from long-term abuse and harm during his formative years.”

Zeke Shaw frowned, taking the report and glancing at it.

From my angle, I could just make out the photos in the report. Scars from the charred skin of electric shocks, cigarette burns, and the gnarled, crisscrossing marks left behind by a whip that had lacerated his skin, only to heal over.

”Don’t let the fact that he’s a lunatic fool you, he’s just too good-looking. His face is spotless, but the rest of his body is covered in scars. Maybe he ran into some pervert at the orphanage? Because he’s handsome but also simple-minded...” The female officer was clearly empathetic, cursing angrily. ”These perverts... those bastards.”

Zeke Shaw didn’t say anything, just stared at the medical report in silence for a long time before speaking. ”This case has nothing to do with him. He has a history of mental illness, so he can’t be held legally responsible. Plus, he has no guardian. He’s not our jurisdiction.”

The female officer understood what Zeke Shaw meant. He was going to let him go.

”But Lowell, a psychiatric patient like that can be aggressive. What if he gets out and hurts someone else...” Zane said with some concern.

”He’s a murderer! He’s a murderer!” I screamed at Zeke Shaw. ’Why are you letting him go? Just because he’s mentally ill, does that mean murder isn’t a crime for him?’

’He’s a murderer!’

’No matter how much injustice he’s suffered, he’s still a murderer! That’s no excuse for his crimes...’

’He killed so many innocent women.’

”Before he attacked Brian Morgan, had he ever lost control and hurt anyone else?” Zeke Shaw asked.

Zane shook his head. ”No, he hadn’t.”

”That group drove to the abandoned orphanage themselves. They provoked him first,” Zeke Shaw explained on Asher’s behalf.

It was clear Zeke Shaw didn’t think Asher had done anything wrong.

I was powerless to explain. In a fit of anger, I stormed out of the interrogation room.

’That Zeke Shaw is a real fool, letting a murderer walk free time and time again when he’s right in front of him.’

’Because of his misplaced compassion, more girls are probably going to die.’

「At the police station entrance.」

Standing in the wind, I could actually feel the chill.

It was a cold that chilled me to the bone.

Asher was released. He stood in the cold wind and huddled his shoulders, obviously freezing as well.

The weather had turned cold, with a big temperature drop between day and night. Asher was only wearing a tattered sweatshirt, ill-fitting pants, and worn-out shoes.

”Asher, someone’s here to post your bail. Wait here,” Zeke Shaw said, following him out and lighting a cigarette.

He was probably surprised, too, that someone would actually come to bail out a psychiatric patient from an orphanage.

I backed away from Asher in fear, hiding by the entrance to watch him.

Asher had been looking down, but he suddenly raised his head. His gaze landed in my direction, a flash of astonishment in his eyes.

I flinched back in fear, almost forgetting that I was dead and no one could see me.

But that look in Asher’s eyes... it was as if he really could see me.

Soon, Asher averted his gaze, his eyes falling in disappointment.

A black Maybach pulled up to the station entrance. A middle-aged man got out and looked at Asher with a gentle expression. ”Young Master, you’ve been hiding for long enough. It’s time to come home.”

Asher looked at the man warily and tried to run, clearly resisting.

Two bodyguards got out of the car, forced Asher inside despite his struggles, flanked him on either side, and drove off.

The cigarette in Zeke Shaw’s hand glowed and faded in the dark. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Maybe he was just like me, standing there stunned, unable to process what had just happened.

’Young Master?’

’A mentally ill homeless man who grew up in an orphanage is supposedly some ”Young Master”?’