Chapter 58: The Case Situation (Please keep reading! Please recommend!)

"Good morning, Roanne."

Hearing Roanne’s question, William, who was sipping his coffee, chuckled and gestured for Roanne to lean in. He then whispered in Roanne’s ear:

“I heard there’s a bank robbery case that’s just landed on the Fourteenth Investigation Team’s desk. Since that team was only just formed and has even fewer people than we do, Bronson, though he’s now the team supervisor, still has to be on the front lines every day, working the case himself.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Roanne shook his head at that. Back when Bronson was just a team leader, he’d already stopped going out on the front lines; now that he’s been promoted to supervisor, he’s forced to run out and investigate cases every day. What a twist of fate…

Roanne couldn’t help but grin. He patted William on the shoulder and returned to his own desk. As for Bronson’s current predicament, Roanne could sum it up in a single phrase: brought it upon himself.

Leaking details about the serial dismemberment case to the media was a blatant act of sabotage. The supervisors above the team leads aren’t blind; there was no way Bronson could go unpunished.

Roanne had originally thought the higher-ups would halt Bronson’s promotion, or even demote him, but seeing the state he’s in now, and recalling what Veronese had said about Bronson joining another foundation…

“Seems like the foundation Bronson joined isn’t so simple either.”

After pondering for a while, Roanne shook his head. These matters were not his concern, at least not for now, so he decisively tossed the thought out of his mind.

He picked up the folder on his desk and once again reviewed the case file for the “Lake Serial Female Homicides.”

The bodies had been found in a lake on the border between New York and New Jersey. All four victims were women, and when they were pulled from the water, there was nothing on them to identify who they were. It was only after the local New Jersey police checked missing persons reports that they were able to confirm their identities.

According to the autopsy reports, all four had been strangled with some kind of rope. There were ligature marks on their wrists and ankles, bruises on their upper bodies, and tears below the waist, suggesting that they had been tortured before death.

Because the bodies had been submerged for so long, any possible traces of the perpetrator—white genetic material or other evidence—had been completely washed away. The forensics team found no traces on the bodies except for the victims’ own.

Beyond that, the victims shared no obvious commonalities in terms of home address, social circles, life history, or work. The only link was that all four were married, and the rings from their fingers were missing.

While investigating the kidnappings, Roanne had speculated that the killer removed the victims’ rings either as trophies or out of a sense of possession.

It was like when Roanne had bought his apartment and felt compelled to replace all the old furnishings—a subconscious human urge to erase the traces of a former owner.

So Roanne had instructed Ryder to focus on investigating the victims’ husbands: their relationships, jobs, personal lives, and so on, hoping to find a clue.

But—

Seeing Ryder’s report, Roanne couldn’t help but wince.

In Ryder’s files, the information about each victim’s husband—their relationships, jobs, and so forth—was simply what the husbands themselves had stated. Ryder hadn’t spoken to anyone else to verify if what the husbands said was true.

As for their marital relationships, Ryder had only written a single line:

Neighbors stated the couples got along well and rarely argued.

Roanne: “…”

Remembering that Ryder came from the SWAT team and was much more skilled at physical persuasion than at casework, Roanne took a deep breath and swallowed the curses that threatened to rise up within him.

“Here’s your coffee, Roanne.”

Just as Roanne closed the folder, Ryder—so broad-shouldered that his suit was nearly bursting—strode into the Fifth Investigation Team and set a steaming mug of coffee on Roanne’s desk. He grinned broadly, flashing dazzlingly white teeth.

“Milk and sugar, your favorite.”

Roanne twitched his mouth, took a sip, and after a silent moment, turned to question Ryder. But before he could speak, the doors to the Fifth Investigation Team burst open. Augustus, his belly straining against his shirt, marched in with Mona at his side.

Bang!

He slapped Lacey’s desk hard enough to rouse her from her nap, then grabbed the whiteboard at the front of the office and shouted:

“A new week has begun! I want everyone sharp and focused! For now, all attention is on this serial homicide case. We must crack it this week and catch the real killer!”

He swept his gaze around the room and, seeing he had everyone’s attention, nodded and pointed to William.

“William, give us a brief rundown of the case!”

“Yes, sir.”

William pulled out a folder and summarized the case Roanne had just reviewed. Augustus, satisfied, told him to sit down, then knocked on the whiteboard again and shouted:

“That’s the situation. I know some of you have read the file more than once, but I’ll say it again: this is no ordinary killer, and we can’t be sure he’s done yet! This week, I need you all operating at two hundred percent. Be ready for new developments at any time. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good.”

Hearing the resounding response, Augustus nodded in approval, then turned his gaze to Roanne and beckoned him toward the team leader’s office.

“Roanne, come with me.”

Roanne: “…”

As all eyes in the squad fell upon him, Roanne sighed and followed Augustus into the office.

“Sit.”

Inside, Augustus poured them both coffee and dropped heavily into his chair, his expression grave.

“Roanne, this case is important for you.”

Roanne: “…”

Why did that sound so familiar?

Augustus caught the odd look on Roanne’s face and paused, then waved his hand and fixed Roanne with a stern gaze.

“Don’t misunderstand, Roanne. I’m not talking about Bronson and the others this time.”

Roanne tilted his head, puzzled.

“If not them, then who?”

“It’s the New Jersey police,” Augustus said, taking a careful sip of coffee, his broad face clouded with seriousness. “You need to understand something, Roanne: No local police force likes the FBI.”

Enlightenment dawned on Roanne. That was certainly true.

Because of jurisdictional conflicts, local police had resented the FBI ever since its inception.

To the police, solving cases and catching criminals was their job—what business did the FBI have meddling? And if the FBI solved a case they couldn’t, what did that say about them?

So many local officers simply ignored FBI agents and never took their advice or orders. Some, in their more aggressive days, would even tip off suspects ahead of an FBI raid, leaving the FBI empty-handed while the police sat back, ate doughnuts, and laughed.

Don’t think these are exaggerations—they really happened.

It wasn’t until after the 2001 attacks, when the Justice Department reformed and the FBI established a national crime database from its Washington headquarters, that relations with local police slightly improved.

But only slightly.

These days, local officers might not warn suspects to run anymore, but ignoring the FBI or going through the motions without helping is still common.

“So, Roanne.” Augustus locked eyes with him. “As you investigate this case, be very mindful of the New Jersey police.”

Roanne nodded, licked his lips, and offered a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry, sir. I never bully anyone, but I won’t let myself be bullied either.”