Chapter 6: Silencing the Witnesses

Mona’s sudden shout startled Roan so much he nearly threw the steering wheel out of the window. The next second, he snapped back to his senses and hurriedly turned to ask, “What? When did he die? How did he die?”

Mona bent over her computer, her speech rapid-fire. “I just hacked into the NYPD’s internal network to try to locate West’s position, and I found out that ten minutes ago, West was killed in a car accident at an intersection in downtown Queens. He died on the spot! But the NYPD found explosive residue in the car’s tires.”

“Ten minutes ago?” Roan’s pupils constricted sharply. Mona seemed to realize something at the same time; both looked at each other and exclaimed in unison, “Silencing the witness!”

“They moved that quickly?”

With Mona’s fingers flying over the keyboard, Roan spun the car around toward Queens, rubbing his temple with his left hand, feeling for the first time that the mastermind behind all this was truly troublesome.

After passing two intersections, Roan seemed to recall something and abruptly pulled the car over to the curb. He turned to Mona, his voice low and serious: “Mona, is it possible that West wasn’t Mike’s killer, but actually the person Mike was waiting for at the bar?”

“Huh?” Mona’s fingers froze over the keys, and she suddenly came to her senses. She picked up Roan’s thread and continued, “Mike wanted to meet West to tell him something, but West was worried Mike had been followed, and that the bar wasn’t safe, so he didn’t meet him at the bar. Instead, he waited until Mike left and then got in touch with him elsewhere!”

“Exactly.” Roan nodded. “Their counter-surveillance skills were obviously lacking, and in the end, the killer found them both. The murderer killed Mike in the park last night but didn’t find what he wanted, so today he killed West...”

As he spoke, Roan suddenly clapped his hands, his eyes lighting up. He leaned over and asked urgently, “Mona, was West’s car key at the accident scene?”

“Car key?” Mona was puzzled, but instinctively began typing again. A few seconds later, she looked up and replied, “No, the NYPD didn’t find the car key.”

“I knew it!” Roan laughed and started the car, pulling a swift U-turn and racing off in the opposite direction.

Mona, in the passenger seat, was thrown uncomfortably by the sudden maneuver. Seeing they weren’t heading toward the accident site, she quickly asked, “Hey! Roan, where are you going?”

“To West’s house!” Roan replied, barely disguising his excitement.

Mona thought for a few seconds, then realization dawned. “Most men keep their car keys together with their house keys.”

“Exactly.” Roan nodded, stepping on the gas after passing a traffic light. “The killer didn’t find what he wanted on West or in the car, so he’ll have to search West’s house. If we’re quick enough, we just might catch him.”

Watching the houses whip by outside and feeling the car dart and weave through traffic, Mona swallowed hard. She switched from typing to clutching her seatbelt, turning to say, “Roan, there’s no need to rush this much. If something happens, even if you’re FBI, they’ll revoke your license.”

Roan chuckled, flooring the accelerator with confidence. “Relax, I don’t have a license. They can’t revoke what doesn’t exist.”

“WTF?”

“Heh, just kidding.”

...

Screech—

On a certain road in Scarsdale, a pitch-black SUV braked hard beside a two-story villa.

Mona pulled on a bulletproof vest, stepped out of the passenger seat with her Glock 19 in hand, and glanced at Roan, who was fully armed and helmeted. She couldn’t help but twitch her lips, but she nodded and gave a gesture; together, they approached the villa’s front door.

Roan climbed the steps, weapon drawn, and peered through the glass window—no sign of anyone inside. Seeing Mona look to him for action, he didn’t hesitate; with one swift kick, he blasted the door open, shouting, “FBI! OPEN UP!”

Bang—

The house was eerily quiet, as if no one was home. Mona stared at the shattered door at Roan’s feet, at a loss for words, but she followed him inside, weapon at the ready, and together they swiftly searched every room in the villa.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

Once they’d confirmed the house was empty, Mona began to look for clues, but all she found were scattered magazines, coffee, books, and other mess on the floor.

Clearly, the killer had beaten them there—not only had he found what he wanted and left, but he’d also trashed the place to mislead any investigators.

Mona tried to contact the leader of Investigation Team Five, hoping to get a forensics team to search for clues. Roan, meanwhile, frowned at the shattered kitchen window and the spices spilled across the stairs.

“Something’s off.”

“Hm?” Mona looked at him in confusion.

Without hesitation, Roan donned his helmet again and drew his gun, moving quietly toward the back door as he spoke in a low voice, “The killer hasn’t gone far. This mess was made deliberately, but he actually left in a hurry! Who would scatter spices everywhere? He must’ve seen our car and panicked!”

Mona nodded, weapon ready, and followed closely behind.

Slowly, Roan opened the back door, then spun outside in a rush—only to find the street empty except for a few parked cars.

“Roan?” Mona tilted her head toward him.

Roan gestured for silence, both hands gripping his gun, as he advanced cautiously toward the nearest gold Chevrolet, calling out loudly, “FBI! Roll down your window! Hands on the steering wheel, where I can see them!”

“OK! OK! Don’t shoot!”

The window rolled down to reveal a white girl in a spaghetti-strap dress. Roan glanced inside—she was alone in the car. Mona, seeing this, also relaxed.

It wasn’t her.

Roan and Mona exchanged a look, understanding each other. Roan took a step back, and Mona holstered her gun, ready to question the girl.

Just then, the black Ford parked a short distance ahead suddenly roared to life. Roan raised his weapon to shout, but the Ford’s driver was faster—lowering the window halfway, he didn’t even look at Roan’s position before firing a handgun out the window.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Down!” Roan tackled Mona to the ground, yanking open the Chevrolet’s front door to shield himself. Ignoring the shrill, off-key screams of the girl beside him, he switched his Glock 18 to full-auto and fired toward the black Ford.

Bang bang bang bang—

Roan’s aim was deadly accurate. Not only did he hit the Ford driver’s left hand and wrist, forcing him to drop his gun, but several bullets even whistled past his scalp through the rear windshield, making the driver break out in a cold sweat.

“Fuck!”

Cursing loudly, the Ford driver stopped hesitating, slammed the accelerator, and shot off toward the main road, not caring whether the car was facing the right direction.

Roan reacted instantly, taking aim at the Ford’s right rear tire. Bang!

The gunshot rang out, and the Ford, which had been speeding straight ahead, immediately began to fishtail wildly across the road. It didn’t make it far before crashing headlong into a roadside dumpster.