Chapter 26: Another Layer to the Case

Aside from issues such as whether the investigation procedures followed regulations and whether the evidence for taking the blame was sufficient—matters easily scrutinized under the media spotlight—there were many who expressed sympathy for the perpetrator, and a crowd eager to defend them. It didn’t matter what crimes the culprit committed or how many people were killed. Lawyers argued on behalf of the accused to save lives; that was understandable. But why ordinary citizens felt compassion for the criminal… Well, one could only say that America had its own unique national character.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Darren.” At this critical moment, it was Roan who stepped forward. He calmed Darren, ushered him into the conference room, asking him to wait a moment, then exited with a grave expression and addressed August: “It definitely wasn’t anyone from our team who leaked the case.”

Upon hearing this, August’s expression improved, and the agents in the office visibly relaxed. “Then who leaked it?” August pressed. “At the scene, only you and agents from the Forensics Department were present. Could it be the forensic—no, wait!” Suddenly, something dawned on August, his face darkening. “You said earlier you went to the crime scene with Lacey and patrol officers from the NYPD. So, it was the NYPD who leaked the case?”

Lacey’s face suddenly turned grim. Roan shook his head. “Besides us, there was also a freelance journalist, Joseph.”

“Who?” August’s brows knitted tightly.

Roan took Mona over to the computer and had her enter the information from Joseph’s driver’s license, which he had seen earlier. Soon, Joseph’s identity and profession appeared before everyone: “Joseph Smith, thirty-three years old, a ‘Nightcrawler.’ Every night, he photographs conflicts, fires, murders, and other crimes, then sells the footage to news agencies for profit.”

Lacey, nearby, looked particularly uneasy. She hadn’t overheard Roan’s phone call and had simply driven Joseph away, overlooking his presence entirely.

“Damn!” August slammed his fist on the table. Roan explained: “Looks like this wolf-dog caught the scent of a big story from us and, by some means, got hold of the case’s general details.”

He said “general,” because the TV host had only given a vague outline, omitting crucial information.

“I’ll handle that wolf-dog,” August growled.

Joseph had crossed a line this time; August decided to teach him a lesson, perhaps by finding a charge to lock him up for a while. The case hitting the news signaled that events had slipped from August’s control, and when things got out of hand, superiors would inevitably seek accountability.

Sure enough, August’s phone rang immediately. He glanced at the caller: the team supervisor, Veronese.

August: “…A year’s too short. Let’s make it three years!”

He waved his hand, signaling the agents to return to their tasks. Everyone was working overtime tonight for the wealthy woman’s kidnapping case—a rare event.

Taking Roan, August entered the supervisor’s office, took a deep breath, and pressed the answer button.

“August, I’ve already seen the news.” Supervisor Veronese wasted no words; her voice was cool and crisp: “What are you going to do next? Can you crack this case?”

August didn’t know what to say; Veronese knew perfectly well his abilities. So, without hesitation, he handed the phone directly to Roan.

Roan: “???”

Staring at the phone in his hand, Roan was utterly confused. Wasn’t this August’s superior? Only when Veronese’s voice on the other end grew impatient did Roan curse August’s ruthlessness and hurriedly answered, “Hello, ma’am, this is Roan Greenwood.”

The line went silent for a long moment before Veronese’s cold, emotionless voice sounded again: “Why are you answering? Where’s August?”

“He…” Roan glanced at August, who was seated behind the desk, waving his hands frantically, and replied, “He waved me off, refusing to take the call.”

August: “….”

“Hmph.” Veronese snorted coldly. Knowing August’s temperament, she went straight to the point: “The case is already in the news. Higher-ups have ordered a press conference tomorrow morning. Once it’s held, you’ll only have twenty-four hours to solve the case—the clock starts ticking. Can you catch the perpetrator within that time?”

After a few seconds’ silence, Roan asked, “If I crack the case in twenty-four hours, is there any reward?”

Veronese’s tone was harsh: “The case was yours to begin with, and it’s your own failure to protect it that got it leaked. Not only am I not punishing your Fifth Investigation Team, you want a reward?”

Without waiting for Roan’s reply, she continued, “If you can’t solve it, tell me now, and I’ll hand it over to someone else. But if you think you can, and fail within twenty-four hours, you’re out—leave the job when time’s up.”

No matter how tempting the reward for rescuing the wealthy woman, Roan wouldn’t quit now. With a hint of clarity from his earlier deduction, Roan was about to accept when August abruptly snatched the phone from him.

Roan: “?”

August’s expression was somber as he spoke: “Ma’am, has Bronson returned from the Washington headquarters?”

Veronese had meant to mock August, but hearing the content of his words, she fell silent. She understood his implication.

The call was cut off immediately.

Roan looked at August in confusion, who sat with a face as bitter as unsweetened black coffee. Connecting the dots, Roan began to see the picture.

Moments later, August’s phone rang again. He answered, and Veronese’s voice came through: “An hour before the news broke, Bronson was promoted to team supervisor at headquarters. He will officially take office in twenty-four hours.”

Her tone was so cold it sent a chill through the air. August’s expression revealed that everything was as he had expected.

Roan, standing nearby, nodded thoughtfully.

The thirteen investigation teams of the New York branch had long since been divvied up among Veronese and three other supervisors; there was no team left for the newly promoted Bronson. Clearly, Bronson foresaw the predicament he’d face, and to avoid becoming a supervisor with no resources, he decisively struck first—targeting Veronese, who commanded five investigation teams.

This kidnapping case’s escalation into a serial murder investigation was, in all likelihood, leaked to the media by Bronson.

Joseph the ‘Nightcrawler’ was merely a pawn.

Roan had previously wondered: Joseph, a street-roaming journalist, couldn’t possibly be unaware of the consequences of offending the FBI. Was risking his life by leaking the case to the media really just for profit?

Now, seeing Bronson lurking in the shadows, everything finally made sense.