Again, remembering "The name of the Rose", I ask myself what it means being a detective? It is just being confused of various details available regarding the problem that one is investigating, making a number of hypotheses from them without knowing which is stupid and which is reasonable, eagerly looking for updated information to substantiate or reject at least one of ones hypotheses and to make new hypotheses... This will go on until one cracks the problem. But, if one finally understands that one had been looking for a non-existent mouse in darkness, what will happen to the detective? Will he be just embarrassed of the stupid hypotheses he had made? Will he stop doing detective works anymore? Or, will he go mad?
Whatever it be, I understand that the motive of every detective is to know the truth. It is an inexplicable and, quite often, unjustifiable curiosity to know the truth that makes every detective working... In that process, he himself is madly obsessed with the questions.
