Chapter 22: Something Like a Medical Center

In the case of the "Lake Murders of Female Victims," the home addresses, social circles, and life experiences of the four victims appeared to be completely unrelated, with the only shared trait being their personal circumstances. For instance, they were all married women with harmonious relationships with their husbands. Even the youngest, Natalie Carlisle, was only twenty-five but had already been married for two years.

"I recall that New Jersey allows men to marry at fourteen and women at twelve," Roan mused, shaking his head repeatedly. America would feverishly promote all sorts of protections for minors, yet, on the other hand, permitted child marriage and even child labor...

Roan remembered that in his previous life, when a former American president was prosecuted over an adult film star, someone online questioned why the opposition party insisted on using an adult star as the reason for prosecution. Someone replied: "Because all the minors are connected to the opposition party’s leadership..."

Shaking his head to clear these chaotic thoughts, Roan continued reviewing the information in the folder, when he suddenly noticed a detail in the photos: Since all four victims were married, why were their rings missing in both the autopsy report photos and the crime scene records?

"What does it mean that the killer took the victims' rings?" Roan narrowed his eyes, analyzing, "A trophy? Or a twisted sense of possession?"

It was as if someone had stolen a toy from another, and the thief would always want to erase any mark of the original owner.

"Perhaps it has something to do with the victims' husbands." With this in mind, Roan texted Ryder, instructing him to focus on the interpersonal relationships, work, and lives of the four victims’ husbands, then returned to his seat.

Half an hour later, Darren, the husband, arrived at Investigation Team Five. Roan and Lacey led him into the conference room.

Seated, Darren looked at the video screenshot on the laptop, his brows tightly knit. "This person... I don't think I know him, at least I have no impression."

"Are you certain, Mr. Darren?" Roan rested both hands on the table, his expression grave. "This man is very likely the one who kidnapped your wife. I hope you’ll think carefully."

"Okay, okay." At Roan’s words, Darren immediately lowered his head to scrutinize the image again, but no matter how much he examined it, he couldn’t recall anything and could only shake his head helplessly. "I’m truly sorry, Agent. I really have no impression. I’m fairly certain I’ve never met this person in my life."

"Alright." Roan took back the laptop, a bit disappointed, but reminded himself that investigations never yield clues this easily. After thanking Darren, he was about to leave.

"Wait a moment, Agent Roan." Seeing Roan about to go, Darren hurriedly stood and called out, then asked,

"Where did you find the person in the photo? Can you tell me? Maybe I could ask others."

"Uh..." Roan hesitated instinctively at Darren’s question, and Lacey’s gaze toward Darren also grew a bit strange.

"What’s wrong?" Darren was puzzled, but then seemed to realize something, his face suddenly turning anxious. "This isn’t from some crime scene of a serial kidnapping, is it?! Is my wife alright? Is she still alive? Please answer me!"

"Ahem." Seeing Darren so agitated he seemed about to leap at him, Roan quickly stepped back, gestured for him to sit, tilted his head for Lacey to hand over her business card, and then tried to reassure Darren.

"It’s like this, Mr. Darren. This isn’t from a medical center... Well, it could count as one." Noticing Darren’s confusion, Roan sighed.

He placed a pink membership card on the conference table, briefly described the game center beneath the café, Sabina’s status there, and all that Craig, the African American, had mentioned. Then he brought up the video clip of the man in black and said,

"This is the situation. The man in black in the video is the one who broke into your wife’s apartment. He’s very likely the kidnapper. I hope you can carefully identify him; it will help us greatly in finding and rescuing your wife."

Having spoken, Roan glanced at the flushed Darren, then pulled Lacey along as he exited the meeting room. Just as the door closed behind them, Darren’s hoarse voice reached them:

"Could you please make me a cup of coffee later? Thank you."

"Okay."

Ten minutes later, Roan pushed open the conference room door with a cup of coffee, only to see the shattered laptop.

"Thank you." Darren, now back to normal, accepted Roan’s coffee and thanked him, his voice steady and emotionless. "I really didn’t recognize the man in black, but I’ve sent his photo to others in my company. Maybe they’ll recognize him."

"Okay." Roan nodded. Darren was truly a tough one.

"I’ll replace your laptop—ten of them." Darren took a sip of coffee, stood and straightened his suit, his expression solemn. "But I hope to stay with you tonight, until my wife is found."

"Alright... Fine." Roan agreed, considering the laptops.

He led Darren out, signaled Lacey to take Darren to a distant seat to rest, and walked over to Mona, kneading her shoulders as he asked,

"Good work, Mona. Any luck identifying the man in black?"

"Not yet." After searching fruitlessly for clues, Mona looked a bit weary. She pointed at the screen of the bulky computer. "There’s no camera at the entrance of Sabina’s apartment building, nor across the street. On that block, only the easternmost and westernmost bakeries have networked cameras, but neither caught the man in black."

"Didn’t catch him?" Roan’s brow rose in question. "Did the man in black simply never appear, or...?"

"He never appeared at all." Mona clicked on the keyboard, and footage from the bakeries’ cameras played on the screen. "I checked everyone who appeared on camera within half an hour before and after the man in black was supposed to show up. Women excluded, children excluded, elderly with white hair excluded. That left only six men.

But none of them wore black clothes or hats, nor carried bags. I compared their shoes as well, and none matched the man in black."

After Mona finished, Lacey, sitting nearby, instinctively wrapped her arm around Mona’s slender waist, asking in confusion, "Does that mean the killer is hiding in one of the apartments on that street?"

"That’s possible." Roan nodded. The street was only so long; besides the apartments, there was nowhere else to hide.

Seeing Roan agree, Lacey decisively pulled out her phone. "I’ll contact the NYPD right now and have a few patrol officers go door to door on that street, asking if anyone’s seen Sabina, and also check if any place there has old, non-networked surveillance footage. If so, we’ll collect the video."

"Wait a moment," Roan frowned. They were FBI, and had no direct affiliation with the NYPD. Was it really okay to make such a request?

"It’s fine." Lacey smiled at Roan’s concern. "I have friends in the NYPD; this sort of thing is easy."

"Alright." If she had connections, Roan saw no need to object.