93: Chapter 93 Dilemma and the Pursuing Countess

"Sorry, I didn't sense anything."

Sean could feel Ballard's sense of urgency, so, having been of no help, he spoke with a hint of apology.

Sure enough, upon hearing this, Ballard hurriedly asked, "You didn't sense anything at all?"

Although her voice was flat, Sean could hear the unwillingness within it.

However, since he hadn't sensed anything, there was nothing he could do.

"No. With my abilities, I can usually sense any supernatural power. Perhaps... maybe there really isn't any supernatural power here to begin with?"

Ballard was silent for a moment.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

This was the first time Sean had seen her look so exhausted.

So he asked, "Ballard, why are you so determined to solve this case?"

"It's a forty-year-old case, the bodies have rotted away, and the church has been sealed. Why are you investigating it?"

Ballard opened her eyes and stared straight at Sean, saying, "Because someone in the department wants to suppress me."

"Suppress you?"

"That's right. Before I came to New Orleans, I reported a sexual harassment case."

"I escalated the matter, but it was suppressed from above. The person reported was fine, and I was exiled to the Cold Case Unit."

This was something that happened in Ballard's original storyline.

He had originally thought that everything had changed since she came to New Orleans, but he hadn't expected the plot to remain the same.

In the original plot, the protagonist Renee Ballard was originally an elite detective at the Los Angeles Police Department. Because she exposed the sexual assault committed by her male colleague Olivas, she faced exclusion and retaliation, leading to her being demoted to the neglected cold case unit, also known as the Cold Case Unit.

This cold case unit was just a "ragtag team" whose members were mainly volunteers, reserve officers, and interns, and it was lacking in resources.

Going there basically meant three words.

"It's over!"

"Your entire career, it's basically finished."

Sean felt the difficulty of Ballard's situation. Ballard continued, "Cold Case Unit, a nice-sounding name, but it's actually a cold storage room. Nobody values it, there are no resources, no manpower. It doesn't matter what case I investigate, because nobody thinks I can find anything."

She turned her head and looked at Sean: "But this case is different. A forty-year-old corpse, it's always been an unsolved case. If I can solve it, if I can find the killer, if I can crack this case, I will have gained the initiative."

Sean expressed that he didn't quite understand: "The initiative?"

"Yes," Ballard said. "It won't be them telling me what to investigate, it will be me showing what I've discovered. Once the case is solved, the media will report on it, the higher-ups will see it, and those who want to suppress me won't be able to anymore."

She paused for a moment, an uncharacteristic look of shame appearing on her face: "I'm not doing this for justice; I'm doing this for myself."

Sean quite understood Ballard.

As someone so strong-willed, she obviously couldn't tolerate being exiled and trampled underfoot by others.

"So you came to me."

Ballard nodded: "You are the only person I trust. This case involves supernatural power, and only you can help me."

Sean was silent for a while.

He looked at Ballard, recalling the time in New Orleans when she stood under the moonlight at Hill Manor and said, "This world is more complex and more dangerous than I thought."

At that time, he thought she was talking about that case, but now he understood that she was talking about herself.

Her world was more complex and dangerous than he had imagined.

Regardless, Ballard was his old partner.

Emotionally speaking, if Sean could help, he would just help.

Rationally speaking, Ballard's favorability was already at 90. If it went higher, he could gain new abilities.

Right now, there were too many people watching him; having more skills was always good.

So Sean said seriously, "Okay, I'll help you."

Ballard looked at him: "Aren't you going to ask why I didn't say anything before?"

"You'll say it when you feel it's time to say it."

Ballard stared at him for three seconds, then looked away, simply saying coldly, "Let's go. You can't sense anything here; we'll think of another way."

Sean actually felt there weren't many good ways left. A forty-year-old case—even if a soul existed, unless it had transformed into an evil spirit, it would have long since dissipated.

However, Sean didn't say these things out loud; he was afraid of discouraging Ballard too much, which would be counterproductive...

...

For the next two days, Sean lived like an outsider.

Ballard spent all day and night immersed in those files: forensic reports, missing persons files from that year, architectural drawings of the church, and so on...

Sean couldn't really help with anything.

All he could do was sit by the bed, occasionally handing her a cup of coffee, occasionally helping to flip through files, and occasionally saying "Maybe" or "Not necessarily" when Ballard asked him, "What do you think?"

These days were actually quite leisurely, and Sean was content with that.

On the afternoon of the third day, the sunlight in Los Angeles was still as bright and white as ever, shining through the thin curtains and cutting strips of light and shadow onto the floor.

Ballard sat at the desk, analyzing the comparisons of the missing persons.

Sean lay on the bed, half-closing his eyes, nearly falling asleep.

Then... he heard a knock on the door.

It wasn't the kind of knocking from a neighbor dropping by; it was that kind of not-too-light, not-too-heavy, rhythmic knock, where the interval between each tap was the same.

It was as if someone had thought about how many times to knock before knocking, using the same amount of force for each tap.

Sean opened his eyes and sat up.

Ballard heard it too. She put down the files, her brows slightly furrowed.

She didn't know many people in Los Angeles, and even fewer would come to knock on her door.

Sean got out of bed, walked to the door, and looked out through the peephole.

The light in the hallway was broken, and it was very dim. But the person standing at the door was someone he could see clearly.

A long black trench coat, short blonde hair, and grey-blue eyes.

She wasn't looking at the peephole, but at the door panel, as if waiting. The corners of her mouth were slightly upturned, carrying a faint, subtle smile.

Elizabeth!

A chill ran down Sean's spine.

He stepped back and looked at Ballard.

"Who is it?" Ballard asked in a low voice.

Sean didn't answer.

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Since she had found her way to the door, there was no way he could escape anyway.

Elizabeth stood at the doorway, the dim light of the hallway coating her in a layer of grey.

She looked at Sean, a hint of a smile in those grey-blue eyes: "Officer Sean, how did you end up here?"

Before Sean could speak, Ballard had already stood up from the desk, her hand already resting behind her waist.

Elizabeth glanced at her, showing no signs of caring, then turned her head back to look at Sean: "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"How did you find this place?" Sean asked.

Elizabeth tilted her head: "Did you think that just because you hid in Los Angeles, I wouldn't be able to find you? I said I would come looking for you."

Sean stood at the doorway, not moving aside.

Elizabeth wasn't in a hurry either; she just stood there in the hallway, her hands in the pockets of her trench coat, her posture very relaxed.

She looked at Sean, then at Ballard, her gaze sweeping around the room and landing on those files and the photos of the church.

"Investigating a case?" Elizabeth asked. "Looks like it might be interesting..."