Jason narrowed his eyes, deep in thought.
The most direct meaning of this message was none other than the 'coffin' itself.
And what does a 'coffin' represent?
Edward fit this criterion perfectly.
So, was this message referring to Edward?
Jason felt it wasn't that simple.
The detective had bought this 'coffin' doll three days in advance, had three days to articulate more directly that it was 'Edward,' without needing to beat around the bush.
At that time, the detective couldn't clearly state the name 'Edward' and could only indirectly allude to 'Edward'?
With this in mind, Jason looked towards John, signaling him to continue speaking.
"After the first three people died, no further deaths occurred,"
"Yet no one has any valuable clues."
"As time passed, everyone gave up."
"And the story of 'missing Edward' became a rumor in the underworld."
John recounted the information he had bought from the informants.
No subsequent deaths?
And no valuable clues were found?
Could it be that finding a 'valuable clue' would lead to 'death'?
"I need to take a look at that old mansion."
A moment later, Jason said so.
John didn't say much, simply starting the car.
For John, Jason was already considered a friend.
He wouldn't make a friend walk all the way to the suburbs.
With John's driving speed, Jason soon arrived at the site of the former Edward Family mansion.
After last year's fire, the old mansion had already lost its former appearance. Standing by the roadside, Jason could only guess at the former prosperity of the Edward Family from the quite extensive, yet dilapidated foundational walls and the expanses of charred earth.
From the area alone, the estate of the Edward Family in those days could be called a mansion.
There were gardens, fountains, parking lots, and so on.
In an open area, there was also a swimming pool, a basketball court, and other facilities.
Moreover, Jason saw the remnants of what looked like stable buildings.
Wasn't it normal for a tycoon who could afford to run a bank and owned mines to keep several thoroughbred horses?
The residual scent of 'food' lingering in the stables was abnormal.
Jason grinned, revealing a smile.
He followed the lingering scent of 'food,' step by step into the ruins of the estate, heading straight for the stables.
John followed behind, vigilantly observing the surroundings.
Thanks to previous investigations, John could confirm that 'Edward's disappearance' was not a case of wandering off on his own, but rather that there was something deeper at play.
John may have retired.
But this didn't mean he had lost his capabilities.
On the contrary, John had grown even stronger after retirement.
With no high-intensity missions and maintaining the same training regimen as before he retired, he naturally became stronger amidst relaxation.
A P30L appeared in his hand.
It was a military pistol modified to hold more rounds.
Like the two spare Glocks hidden at his waist, it was one of his preferred weapons.
He didn't know what Jason had found in the stables.
But he was ready to shoot.
Under John's watchful gaze, Jason walked back and forth inside the collapsed stables.
Occasionally sniffing the air.
Searching with an unusual scent?
A look of surprise crossed John's face.
He had seen individuals with exceptional talents who could conduct searches by scent, and after training, such individuals were far more capable than the best hunting dogs.
After all, even the best hunting dogs can't communicate with humans.
"Does Jason possess a similar ability?"
"Was he previously a 'searcher'?"
John thought silently to himself.
He grew increasingly curious about Jason's past profession.
As for Jason's current profession?
John would never believe that a guy wearing a hockey mask and waving a machete was a writer.
Writers do have various quirks, like liking to write barefoot in boxer shorts, occasionally indulging in lavish meals under the guise of gathering material, then ruining their stomachs and taking time off to rest, but they definitely wouldn't wear a hockey mask and wave a machete!
Such actions would hardly inspire creativity!
While John speculated, Jason stopped in his tracks.
As he said this, Jason bent down to move the debris blocking his view.
Soon, a concrete floor appeared in Jason's view.
Jason knocked with his hand, producing a hollow sound.
The mechanism in front of them was obviously opened from the inside; to enter from the outside, they would inevitably need to break through forcefully.
Jason, however, waved his hand dismissively.
"No need for that trouble."
As he spoke, Jason, squatting there, slammed a punch downward.
With the first punch, the concrete floor cracked.
The second punch caused the cracks to spread further.
After the third punch, the upper layer of the concrete floor completely shattered.
Jason cleared that layer and continued to hammer down with his fists.
Standing by his side, John watched the scene in a daze.
He looked at the gradually crumbling concrete floor and then at Jason's unscathed fists, and couldn't help but ask: