"I'm not talking nonsense. Using a knife to draw blood is part of the summoning ritual," T.C. Riordan said seriously.
"Alright, I have nothing more to ask," the old detective replied before storming out of the room in frustration.
Russell watched him leave, then turned back with a look of resignation. "Fine, tell us, besides you, who else participated in this summoning ritual?"
"Shelby, my mother-in-law Patricia, and the medium Karen," T.C. Riordan answered frankly.
"Then why are you only telling us this now?" Russell asked, feeling a headache coming on. He opened his right hand and began massaging his temples with his thumb and middle finger.
Unexpectedly, T.C. Riordan fired back, "Because I knew you wouldn't believe me, just like those San Francisco cops!"
"I didn't expect you to have such a knack for storytelling," Russell sneered, but this provoked an unexpected reaction from T.C. Riordan.
"I'm not making this up. It's all true. I loved my wife. I miss her terribly. I gathered the people closest to her, hoping to try to contact her."
Jack, who had been silently sitting to the side, couldn't hold back a light cough. He tossed the notebook filled with doodles of pig heads and the pencil onto the table, then noisily dragged his chair across the floor, creating an ear-piercing screech that finally drew the attention of the two men who were at odds.
"Sorry, I have a small question, Mr. Riordan. Could you confirm for us that the blood on the band-aid provided to CSI was indeed your son's?"
T.C. Riordan looked at Russell in confusion, hesitating as if unsure of Jack's identity.
"This is Agent Tavoler from the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," Russell introduced absentmindedly, deep in thought over Jack's question. Suddenly, he slapped his forehead, his expression revealing a sudden realization.
"Of course, I can confirm it. Hubble scraped his chin earlier, and I personally put that band-aid on him," T.C. Riordan replied, still puzzled.
"Then I have a question. Since your blood type is O, and the housekeeper Shelby—who the police believe was your mistress—has blood type AB, how did the two of you produce a child with blood type O, like Hubble?"
Blood type inheritance is determined by the genes inherited from the parents. Each person has two alleles, one from the father and one from the mother. A and B are dominant genes, while O is recessive. Therefore, the four commonly recognized blood types—A, B, O, and AB—actually fall into six genetic combinations: AA, OA, BB, OB, AB, and OO. Due to the dominant-recessive relationship, AA and OA are both classified as blood type A, while BB and OB are classified as blood type B.
A child's blood type results from mixing one allele from the father's blood type (A, B, or O) with one allele from the mother's blood type (A, B, or O). So, naturally, for T.C. Riordan, who has blood type O, to have a child with the same O blood type, his partner would need to be type A (OA), type B (OB), or type O. The only impossible scenario is with someone of type AB.
Yet, according to the hospital birth certificate, Hubble, who should be type O, has a mother with blood type AB—Shelby, the housekeeper. This leaves only one possibility.
"Hubble is actually your and your wife's child, isn't he? Shelby was just a surrogate mother," Jack concluded.
He then waved his phone with an apologetic look. "Sorry, I searched the case from five years ago online. Because of your status as a wealthy man, the case caused quite a stir in San Francisco at the time. There were even reports uncovering the supposed 'biological mother' of Hubble. Newspapers and online media were filled with accusations and condemnation of you. The content was pretty consistent: Playboy, wife-killer."
After hearing Jack's explanation, T.C. Riordan's face clearly showed signs of resistance.
"I don't understand. Why didn't you explain all of this? Was it simply out of anger and distrust towards the police?" Russell found it hard to comprehend the reasoning of this wealthy man. The weak often have no voice, and even when they do speak up, they are ignored, like those ordinary people who are driven to death by online bullying. But for a rich man like you, a simple press conference could have cleared everything up, yet you preferred to leave San Francisco in disgrace and resettle in Las Vegas. How could you be so foolish?
"Can I refuse to answer that?" T.C. Riordan appeared embarrassed, as if he had been stripped naked and forced to stand humiliated before a crowd.
"Of course, but can you help me verify one more suspicion?" Jack stood up, leaning slightly forward, his expression serious as he looked T.C. Riordan in the eye. "The summoning ritual didn't go smoothly, did it?"
T.C. Riordan looked up in shock. He didn't reply, but the sudden loss of color in his face said it all.
"Five years haven't brought you peace; instead, you've developed a degree of depression. That's why you sought help from a medium. But it's clear that this method didn't work. This leads me to another possibility. Earlier, you told CSI that Hubble goes to bed around ten o'clock every night. Last night—oh, I mean, shortly after the ritual ended—you fell asleep in a small room. Coincidentally, CSI found chloral hydrate in your family's medicine cabinet. Besides being used as an anesthetic, this drug is also used to treat depression. You injected it yourself, didn't you? That's why you slept so soundly and didn't hear anything."
"Stop, please stop. It's all my fault. I should have protected him, my son. Please, I beg you, help me find him. I can't lose him too," T.C. Riordan broke down, wailing in despair. Jack and Russell exchanged glances without speaking, then left the room.
Detective James Bryce had been waiting outside, clearly having overheard the entire conversation. Seeing the two of them smiling, the old detective looked as if he had seen a ghost. "You don't seriously believe his performance, do you? This is too far-fetched."
"Isn't it possible that all of this is part of his plan? He's a cunning murderer, and what you think is exactly what he wants you to think. This guy planned everything—ritual, chloral hydrate, the whole thing."
"Yes, yes, you could be right," Russell nodded repeatedly. "But what if Jack's judgment is correct? If T.C. is telling the truth, the child might still be alive somewhere. We should investigate his claims."
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Hello, if you enjoy mythology novels, I invite you to check out "I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother", a story inspired by Norse mythology