Corpses, explosions...

When these elements presented themselves, Dean knew they were a step too late.

Or rather, the moment they learned of this illicit workshop, they were destined to witness this scene.

The fire was a terrifying spectacle.

Dean stood at the front of the car, letting the scorching wind buffet his face. His eyes, reflecting the crimson glow of the fire, narrowed slightly as he muttered, "There's a mole tipping them off!"

Everything had happened too coincidentally, too suddenly. There had to be external forces influencing all this!

...

Dean looked at the firefighters who had arrived. They were smoking and joking, showing no intention of entering the inferno. He then turned to the thin man examining a body beside him and greeted him, "Holz, long time no see."

Holz, without lifting his head, muttered, "Since you transferred to the precinct, my life's been much easier. That guy Lawrence isn't nearly as efficient as you at cracking cases. I don't have to pull all-nighters every day anymore."

Before arriving, he'd had a hunch Dean would be here. After all, if a case was even slightly major, this guy wouldn't miss it.

"Dean, the body is pretty fresh," Holz stated confidently, having finished his examination of the body. "The time of death should be right around when you guys arrived. He used a specialized rope-and-gear contraption around his neck, relying on the inertia of his falling body to instantly sever it. As long as the inertia was sufficient, the victim wouldn't even have felt pain before death, because his nerves would have disconnected at that precise moment."

A curious expression touched Dean's face. "Why are you so sure it was suicide?" he asked.

"Because of this." Holz pulled a prepared letter from the headless victim's jacket pocket, looking at Dean with a grin. "Dean, this isn't like you. Normally, you'd have finished examining the body before we even arrived!"

"Because this time, the examination was meaningless." Dean glanced at the letter Holz held out, a dismissive sneer on his face. "I reckon it's some kind of confession letter. Utterly pointless."

He mentally reviewed the timeline. His sister, Sinclair, had been at the amusement park this afternoon. While playing a ring toss game, she'd inadvertently stumbled into a scam. Later that evening, the stall owner and his entire family were murdered. This implied that the mastermind hadn't anticipated the police discovering the incident so quickly before they eliminated the stall owner; hence, they went ahead with the murders. Unfortunately for them, fate had led them to Dean. His theory was that when the police discovered the family annihilation, the mastermind received word and immediately alerted the illicit workshop. This would explain why, upon the police's arrival, the workshop's warehouse exploded and the unidentified individual committed suicide right in front of them. So, would this mole be easy to find? Difficult! Too many insiders could be involved: precinct patrol officers, investigators interviewing locals, the amusement park manager's relatives and friends, forensics department personnel, and others within the precinct... To crack a case like this, the key was to uncover the source and distribution network of the drugs. Once those were clear, everything else would fall into place.

First, they needed to identify the headless body.

...

The head of the decapitated body had been crushed and dragged by a vehicle's wheel. Examination of dental wear, hair color, and other details only confirmed that the victim was elderly; an exact identity couldn't be immediately determined.

Everyone gathered to look over the letter Holz had found in the old man's chest pocket.

According to the letter, the old man claimed to be Vienna. Driven by greed, he had acquired some cheap 'flour' from small-time traders and incorporated it into ceramic toys. But before he could separate it and sell it, the ceramics were stolen. Vienna, using surveillance footage, immediately went to the thief's home. He originally only wanted to retrieve his stolen goods, but unexpectedly, the thief's children pulled out a gun and drove him away. Having no other choice, he resorted to a scheme and eliminated the entire family. Afterward, Vienna stated he felt deeply uneasy and returned to the crime scene, only to find the police had already discovered the bodies. Panicked, he ultimately chose suicide to atone for his sins...

In short, it was a confession letter!

Once it was confirmed that the headless body was indeed Vienna and the handwriting in the letter could be authenticated by the police department's experts, Dean's team could start writing the closure report for the previous case of the theft leading to the family's slaughter.

Hmm... An open-and-shut case and all the credit. Very enticing.

Dean watched as everyone discussed the letter's content, his fingers absentmindedly fiddling with a bullet.

This letter... it was actually an out for them, the detectives. Considering how commonplace 'flour' was in the United States, in reality, nine out of ten detectives faced with such an 'easy way out' would take the credit immediately rather than risk further investigation. The one who persisted would be deemed a nuisance by superiors and a crank by colleagues. The drug dealers would see him as an idiot who didn't know when to quit and would resort to 'warnings.' Under pressure from family, colleagues, and superiors, that detective would eventually, reluctantly, compromise. That was the script of real life. Unfortunately for them, they'd run into Dean. Dean was no movie hero, nor did he care about the brand of justice others flaunted. As a pragmatic, mature man, he wanted the credit! And he certainly wouldn't miss out on the Experience Points from the panel!

...

"With this letter, can't we just close the case on that family annihilation we saw earlier?" Hawk asked in a relaxed tone, rubbing his bald head, which was slick with sweat from the heat.

"As long as we can confirm the deceased is Vienna, find the criminal tools mentioned in his letter, and verify the handwriting, then yes, you can," Holz nodded.

Hawk grinned. Indeed, luck was always on your side when you were with Dean. In a year or two, he might actually get his own office at the precinct.

Nearby, Harry stood with a cigarette pinched between his fingers, his brow slightly furrowed.

Carlo, his expression stern, glanced at his uneasy colleague. "Harry, aren't you happy this case is wrapping up so easily?" As a rookie, solving cases quickly meant a faster path to becoming a confirmed officer and bigger bonuses. It was a good thing, right?

"I can't quite put my finger on it," Harry said, shaking his head. "It just feels too easy, like someone handed us the credit on a silver platter. I get the feeling we're being led by the nose." He looked at Dean, who had been silent throughout. "Boss," Harry said, "you're as quiet tonight as a nun meeting a priest for the first time—legs clamped shut, mouth sealed tight. We need your next directive."

"Since the case is solved, of course, it's time to knock off," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Let forensics take the body. Carlo, you follow up. We'll deal with the rest tomorrow. As for Harry..." "Buddy," he sneered, pointing to his car, "I need you to clean my car, inside and out. I don't want to drive a bloodmobile to work tomorrow."

Harry's eyes widened. "But it's the middle of the night now!"

"Yes," Dean glared. "Which is why you'll have to pull an all-nighter to get it done."

Harry quickly lowered his head. "Alright," he said meekly. "Can I take a day off tomorrow then?"

"If you take a day off today, you'll want to skip work tomorrow. I can't let you fall into bad habits." Dean tapped Harry's shoulder. "Hang in there, Harry. Only after you've seen the 4 a.m. Los Angeles sun will you truly understand what 'putting your foot in your mouth' means!"

Watching everyone leave one by one, Harry, holding the car keys, felt like crying but had no tears.

Dean was nearly six-foot-three, so how could he be so petty???

...

「The next day.」

The office was even quieter.

Carlo, under Daisy's guidance, was familiarizing himself with report templates.

Dean propped his feet on his desk, leisurely reading a book. It was a miscellany filled with strange and unusual tales. Dean was originally not interested in such books. But when the bookseller told him the very first page featured a true story about a man whose two testicles together weighed a good fifty pounds, Dean bought the book. No man could feign disinterest in something like that!

Dean was deeply engrossed when Daisy brought over a cup of coffee and placed it in front of him. "Dean," she said, "I didn't expect you to be all bark and no bite. It's made me reconsider my opinion of you."

Today, seeing that Harry hadn't shown up, she had asked Carlo and found out about Dean's pettiness yesterday—making Harry work all night on the case and then clean the car, without allowing any time off. Yet, Harry didn't come in today. Clearly, Dean was just talking tough and wasn't actually that mean.

Little did she know, Dean picked up the coffee, took a sip, and said with a smile, "And how do you know Harry isn't busy right now?" The source of the 'flour' from the illicit workshop still hadn't been figured out!

Before Daisy could ask anything further, RING-A-LING! Dean's desk phone rang.

They both looked at the phone. As a Detective Captain, having a landline in his private office in affluent Los Angeles wasn't a big deal. The only peculiar thing was, this was the first time it had ever rung.

"Your landline is in the department's internal system," Daisy said. "It could be someone from Administration. They sometimes do follow-up inquiries on cases."

Dean picked up the receiver, unperturbed. "Maybe." Even though Daisy wrote all the case closure reports, he'd read and memorized every one. He wasn't worried about being caught off guard.

Surprisingly, the voice on the other end was Eve's. "Dean, care for some fish?"

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