North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 581 - 329 The Case of the Dead Chinese Elderly Lady_1
After some small talk, Dean realized they hadn't seen the news that morning, so he briefly updated them on the current situation.
Everyone in the hospital ward had been on edge. When they learned that the Yamaguchi Family and the members of Japan's Yamaguchi-gumi had all perished in a bloody gang retaliation, they collectively breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Phoebe said hello and then went to work. She had skipped work to be there. Now that Lawrence was on forced leave, she needed to help her boyfriend keep an eye on their squad to prevent anything from going awry.
After Harry comforted her, his mother also took her granddaughter home to rest.
Once everyone had left the ward, Harry turned to Dean with his swollen eyes and asked, "Boss, it was you and Lawrence who did it, wasn't it?"
Dean swallowed the banana in his hand and shrugged. "The official report classified last night's attack as gang retaliation. You'd better be careful, or I might sue you for defamation!"
Harry grinned foolishly.
It really was the Boss and Lawrence.
The feeling of having brothers backing him up was simply awesome.
But thinking about Lawrence and the Boss's situation, he couldn't help but sigh. "Boss, with you gone, the detective agency Happy and I opened isn't making any money. Now we've caused such a huge mess and dragged Lawrence into it too. Being a detective really isn't all that great."
Ever since Dean left, he and Carlo, another squad member, had been solving cases under the temporary squad leader, Old Hunter. Old Hunter had some skill, but that was the extent of it. Lawrence, on the other hand, was stuck with a group of rookies. Squad Four's low case-solving rate meant they were slowly regressing to their former state.
"Don't worry, days like these will be over soon. I might be returning to the Detective Bureau shortly," Dean said, revealing a bit of information to lift his subordinate's spirits.
Hearing this, Harry looked at Dean with excitement. "Boss, are you going to be reinstated?"
Dean nodded. "More or less. So, you need to recover quickly. Otherwise, when I return, I won't have my most reliable errand boy to order around."
Truthfully, he didn't know how Amon planned to arrange things. But since Amon had made an offer, it meant there was definitely a way. Whether it was reinstatement or joining another department within the Detective Bureau, it would be an official return.
"That's great!" Harry tried to laugh aloud but ended up pulling at the wounds on his face, grimacing in pain.
"Oh, right," Dean finally remembered another member of his squad. "What about Carlo? I don't think I've seen him around."
"He's working on a case with Old Hunter," Harry said with a pout. "A week ago, an elderly Chinese woman was found dead in her home by the tenant downstairs. There were hardly any clues at the scene. If it wasn't obviously a homicide, Old Hunter probably would have ruled it an accidental death." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂
Dean's interest was instinctively piqued by the case. "What did the crime scene report say?"
"The deceased lived in an old, six-story standalone apartment building. She was the landlord and occupied the entire connected top floor. Her doors and windows were securely shut, and there were iron gates at the stairwell and elevator entrances that only she could open. She had handed over leasing matters to a rental agency and rarely interacted with her tenants. Consequently, her death went unnoticed for over three weeks. It was only discovered when the tenant downstairs noticed something was wrong."
"Boss, do you know how that unlucky tenant found out something was amiss?"
"Corpse fluid?" Dean guessed. "Those old standalone apartments usually have poor waterproofing. The corpse fluid must have seeped through the floorboards and dripped down, alerting the tenant below, right?"
"Well, I knew it wouldn't stump you." Despite the pain, Harry stubbornly gave Dean a thumbs-up and continued, "That poor tenant was eating when he smelled a foul odor. He looked up at the ceiling, and just then, corpse fluid dripped right into his open mouth... The taste..."
A look of schadenfreude spread across his bruised and swollen face as he said, "Anyway, unable to contact the landlord or access the upper floor, the furious tenant called the police. At the time, he still thought it was just a clogged toilet upstairs. When the responding patrol officers noticed the strange smell, they forcibly pried open the iron gate in the stairwell and found the deceased, who had nearly decomposed into mush."
"So, you can't determine if the iron gate was pried open before then?"
Harry nodded. "But that doesn't matter. The deceased seemed to have a strong need for security and used the best locks on the market. These locks required not only a key but also an electronic code. Usually, it was very difficult for outsiders to enter her floor without her consent. So, after our investigation, we've basically concluded it was a homicide committed by an acquaintance. The victim was elderly, and her activities were generally limited to her community and the nearby park. She often delegated rent collection entirely to the rental agency, so her social circle was simple. We initially thought the case would be solved quickly. But..."
Harry licked his lips, which were parched from all the talking. "At least, before I left, the investigation into the victim's relationships was still at a dead end."
"What about the tenants?"
"A month before her death, the deceased had asked all tenants to move out, citing apartment renovations. However, for some unknown reason, she later decided against renovating. She then informed the rental agency that the renovation plans were on hold and the apartments could be leased out again. That was the last time she was seen by anyone. The apartment's location was excellent, and the rent was very reasonable. The rental agency had no trouble filling the building with new tenants. Based on the estimated time of death, these new tenants are not considered strong suspects. So, Old Hunter had us focus our efforts on the rental agency staff and the previous tenants who had moved out, but we haven't made any progress."
Having said that, Harry looked eagerly at Dean, hoping his boss would pour him some water, and ideally, even help him urinate.
Unfortunately, Dean was deep in thought. He suddenly looked up. "Have you investigated the deceased's bank accounts and financial situation?"
"We did. She had some stock investments, but the amounts weren't large, and her bank deposits were minimal. Old Hunter said that elderly Chinese people of that generation generally don't trust banks. They prefer to convert their money into gold and hide it, or wrap cash in duct tape and bury it in a corner of the yard, or stash it somewhere in the house."
Hearing this, Dean nodded. Old Hunter wasn't wrong about that. In fact, there's a niche market of people who specifically seek out and rent or 'treasure hunt' in the old homes of deceased Chinese individuals. Though they often come up empty-handed, stories of successful finds do circulate occasionally. The origin of this unconventional pursuit probably stems from an American version of 'waiting by the stump for a rabbit to arrive.'
This case piqued Dean's interest. He planned to first handle the matter Little Mike had entrusted to him, then step in as a 'concerned citizen' to participate in the investigation, incidentally announcing his return.
"Alright, Harry, I have to go. I won't disturb your rest any longer."
Under Harry's hopeful gaze, Dean thoughtfully tucked him in, giving him no chance to ask for help, and quickly slipped out of the hospital room.
Was he kidding? With his sharp eyes, of course, he knew Harry was thirsty. The problem was, Dean also saw that Harry needed to urinate. These hands were made for dribbling basketballs and tackling, not for holding chocolate-colored 'pipes'—that was a matter of principle.
Harry watched helplessly as his boss, Dean, closed the door. Feeling rather aggrieved, he wriggled his bandaged body and pressed the call button, hoping a young nurse would come help him relieve himself.
Dean did care about his subordinate. After leaving the hospital room, he went to the nurses' station, intending to ask someone to check on Harry.
This was the VIP住院区. The nurses at the station looked quite attractive, albeit a bit too enthusiastic. Somewhat bewildered, Dean found himself holding several small notes with their off-duty schedules. As a good big brother, Dean took the opportunity to mention Harry's room number. Hearing their assurance that they would send someone immediately, he left, relieved.
Meanwhile, Harry, feeling the painful pressure in his bladder, tossed and turned in bed, desperately hoping one of the pretty nurses from the station would arrive soon. Otherwise, he was facing social death.
After waiting for a moment, a burly, middle-aged Black nurse roughly pushed open the door and, in a gruff, resonant voice, looked at Harry on the bed. "Mr. Harry, what can I do for you?"
Harry's small frame trembled.
Damn it! This is the VIP ward, isn't it? Where are all the pretty nurses?
His exposed toes tensed and curled together as he said uneasily, "Um, my little brother here needs some help... It needs to release the, uh, pent-up flood..."
The middle-aged nurse's eyes lit up.
Lucky for me, that bunch of flirty little vixens at the station were all distracted by that handsome guy who just left, rushing to get his contact details. Otherwise, this VIP patient wouldn't have been my turn.
Seeing her silent, direct gaze, Harry grew even more frightened. He licked his dry lips. "Um, if it's inconvenient for you, perhaps another nurse could help. I can hold on a bit longer."
"No, I can do it!" The middle-aged nurse gave the bruised and swollen Harry a 'gentle' smile, then firmly shut the ward door.
A few minutes later, Harry's cries and pleas, like those of a startled lamb, echoed from the room. "NO! I really just want to take a piss! I don't need VIP service! No! Oh, NO!!!"
Unfortunately for Harry, thanks to his good brother Dean's 'kindness,' he was in one of the hospital's best VIP rooms, which had excellent soundproofing. Even if he screamed himself hoarse, he couldn't deter the middle-aged nurse's fervent desire for career advancement and a generous tip.
After visiting his subordinate, Dean tore the stack of small notes into pieces, tossed them into a trash can, and, satisfied, got into his car, driving towards Los Angeles's largest trade market.
Little Mike needed quite a few things. Some were laboratory instruments and chemical agents, the purchase of which required proper credentials. Dean could only ask his cousin in New York to handle these. Other items included specially bred laboratory mice. These unique living creatures were expensive, and crucially, they were very susceptible to external influences that could cause experimental errors. Therefore, Little Mike had specifically noted in his message, providing Dean with the contact address and details for ordering.
Little Mike was a god in the online world. In reality, however, almost everything was inconvenient for him; he didn't even dare to easily expose his circumstances to the real world.
Upon arriving at the trade market, Dean declined the offers of a swarm of approaching brokers eager to pitch their services and dialed the contact number Little Mike had provided for an intermediary.
