One of the bony, tiny fingers was attached to a portion of muscle tissue. No matter how we counted, there were only four fingers on the hand.
"The broken part of this bone must have been chopped off before she died."
I stood next to the body, anxious to tell them the truth. But no matter how much I shouted, no one could hear me.
"This is the clue you wanted! This is the evidence I left by enduring the pain of losing my finger!"
But my brother just glanced at it expressionlessly, wrote down the information, and left.
In the conference room, a team of ten experienced detectives formed a task force.
After drinking a strong cup of coffee, my brother began to explain the autopsy results.
However, when it came to the criminal psychology of the killer, he started sweating profusely and couldn't utter a word.
For a full ten minutes, everyone looked at him with encouraging eyes.
In the end, Captain Lewis sighed and spoke up,
"Forget it, Harry. It's been eight years, and there's no need to rush now. This kind of inhumane beast may not have any psychological motive. It's not easy to figure it out."
My brother closed his eyes in despair.