The Entomologist's Perfect Crime Chapter 8

Twenty years ago, when I first met my wife, I was assisting the police with a case.

She was the wife of a victim in that case.

She had married right after college graduation, and her husband died shortly after the wedding.

Later she took over her husband's company.

As hoped, she really had a good business mind.

Back then we weren't close, hadn't even spoken a word to each other.

I truly got to know her at an academic research conference. After the meeting ended, she approached me.

She said she graduated from an agricultural university and also understood insects. She admired my knowledge and was curious about various organisms.

Gradually, as we spent more time together, we naturally came together.

Soon after marriage, she got pregnant, and we had a son.

Just as I was about to rush in and confront them,

I heard my son call that man "Dad."

"Dad, after Ray dies, can we live together?"

The man chuckled:

"Of course. Then we can be together openly."

The man turned to my wife:

"When does the insurance waiting period end?"

My wife put a spare rib on our son's plate:

"Soon. This Friday."

Then she looked at the man with playful reproach:

"Not to criticize you, but we've endured all these years, couldn't you wait just a few more days? I was so startled when I saw you that day."

The man hugged my wife and kissed her:

"I just missed you and our son too much. Besides, he's such a wooden, honest guy who only knows how to stay with his bugs. How would he notice?"

My wife looked down pensively:

"Anyway, we should be more careful. If he hadn't provided clues to the police about my ex-husband's death, the police would never have figured out it wasn't an accident."

The man was dismissive:

"So what if they knew it wasn't an accident? You're so smart you got away clean."

At that moment, my heart felt like something was squeezing it tight, then tearing it apart piece by piece.

All these years, my wife and I had pleasant conversations, mutual respect, and harmonious interactions.

She created romance on every holiday.

She'd also complain that as an engineering guy, I had no romantic sensibility.

Those hands I'd held countless times—I never knew they were stained with blood.

Back then, all the clues didn't point directly to Lily Morgan. Even the hit-and-run driver had no connection to her whatsoever, not even any indirect acquaintances.

According to the leads I provided to the police, the driver had a grudge against my wife's ex-husband.

The ex was a player, nearly twenty years older than my wife, always with young, beautiful women.

The ex had seduced the driver's wife, deceived her, and ultimately destroyed the driver's family.

The driver deliberately sought revenge and killed the ex.

There were too many coincidences. The police didn't believe such coincidences could exist.

But solving cases depends on evidence, not speculation.

In the end, my wife was found innocent and successfully received the ex's insurance payout and legally took over his company.

It seemed my wife wanted to use the same trick again.

I listened for a while, wanting to hear how they planned to make me "accidentally die."

But they didn't discuss it further.

Seeing it was getting dark, I took out a bug and fixed it to the curtain.

Since I started helping solve cases, I'd carried recording pens, bugs, and micro cameras.

I never thought I'd first use them on my wife.