American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

While these physical evidences are not conclusive, they constitute strong circumstantial evidence. They indicate that Martin's parachuting equipment was indeed recently used in the Adirondack mountains.

Now, Lynn needs to connect all the evidence and build a complete chain of evidence.

After returning to his temporary office, Lynn reviewed all the evidence on the whiteboard. This was a habit he had developed over the years—before conducting any important interrogations, he had to clarify the logical chain of the entire case, ensuring that each link supported the others and leaving no loopholes for the suspect to exploit.

Sarah pushed open the door and came in, holding a new report. "Lynn, the radar data analysis is in."

Lynn turned to look at her. "Speak."

“Michael’s plane took off at 4:15 p.m. on Wednesday, and radar tracking showed that it was indeed flying north, heading directly towards the Adirondack Mountains,” Sarah placed the report on the table. “The flight altitude gradually increased to 12,000 feet, which is the ideal altitude for a high-altitude skydive.”

"Then what?"

“After about forty-five minutes of flight, the aircraft made a noticeable deceleration and descent over the Adirondack Mountains, dropping from 12,000 feet to 8,000 feet, lasting about five minutes, before climbing again,” Sarah said, pointing to the flight path diagram on the report. “This flight pattern is perfectly consistent with standard procedures for dropping parachutists.”

Lynn nodded; this was precisely the crucial evidence he needed. "Have you calculated the possible drop locations?"

“Yes,” Sarah unfolded a map, “based on the plane’s position when it decelerated, the wind speed and direction at the time, and the descent rate of a standard parachute, we calculated the parachutist’s likely landing area.” She circled a region on the map in red pen, “This area is only about three miles from where Sarah was killed.”

“Three miles,” Lynn repeated the number, “less than an hour’s walk for an experienced hiker.”

“Furthermore,” Sarah added, “we discovered another important detail. Michael Chen’s bank account received a $10,000 cash deposit last Tuesday.”

“Cash?” Lynn immediately sensed something was wrong. “Who is the depositor?”

“Bank records show it was an anonymous cash deposit,” Sarah said, “but the timing is very coincidental—it was exactly the day before that flight.”

Lynn walked to the window, gazing at the street outside, his mind rapidly processing all the information. The chain of evidence was complete enough. Although there was a lack of direct video footage or eyewitness accounts of Martin in the mountains, the accumulated circumstantial evidence constituted a convincing case.

“Prepare to summon Martin Reynolds,” Lynn said, turning to Sarah, “and Michael Chen as well. I’ll interrogate them separately.”

"Who do you plan to see first?" Sarah asked.

“See Michael first,” Lynn decided. “He’s an accomplice, and his defenses are probably weaker. If we can get him to implicate Martin, the interrogation of Martin will be much easier.”

Two days later, in the afternoon, Michael Chen was taken to the FBI's field office in Albany. He was an ordinary-looking Asian man in his thirties, wearing glasses and a casual jacket, who looked more like a programmer than a pilot. When he was brought into the interrogation room, he was visibly nervous, constantly wringing his hands.

Lynn made him wait for half an hour before entering the interrogation room. This is a classic interrogation technique—causing the suspect to become anxious while waiting, thus lowering their psychological defenses.

“Good afternoon, Michael,” Lynn said calmly, sitting across from him. “Thank you for cooperating with our investigation.”

“I…I don’t understand why I’ve been summoned,” Michael’s voice trembled slightly. “I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“We just want to know a few things,” Lynn said with a smile, then took a photo from the folder. “Do you recognize this person?”

The photo shows Sarah Johnson's memorial portrait.

Michael glanced at it and shook his head. "Don't know it."

“Her name was Sarah Johnson, and she was a photographer,” Lynn explained. “She was murdered last week in the Adirondack Mountains.”

“This is terrible, but what does it have to do with me?” Michael tried to remain calm, but sweat was already beading on his forehead.

Lynn didn't answer directly, but instead took out another photo. "Do you recognize this person?"

This time it's a photo of Martin Reynolds.

Michael's expression changed noticeably—his pupils contracted, his breathing became rapid, and his fingers gripped the armrests of the chair tightly.

“I know him,” he admitted. “He’s my friend; we go skydiving together.”

“Very good,” Lynn nodded. “Then, can you tell me where your plane went last Wednesday?”

Michael paused for a moment. "Last Wednesday? I...I took a private flight to a small airport nearby."

“Really?” Lynn pulled out a radar tracking chart. “According to FAA radar data, your plane flew north towards the Adirondack Mountains, not that small airport to the south.”

Michael's face turned pale. "I...I might have misremembered the date."

“Michael,” Lynn’s tone turned serious, “lying will only make your situation worse. We have complete radar tracking data showing that your aircraft conducted a standard procedure of dropping a parachutist over the Adirondack Mountains. More importantly,” he paused, maximizing the effect of his statement, “we know that parachutist was Martin Reynolds, and we know what he did in the mountains.”

Michael's mental defenses were clearly beginning to crumble. His hands started to tremble, and his eyes became unfocused.

“I…I didn’t kill anyone,” he said urgently. “I just drove him there; I didn’t know what he was going to do!”

"So what do you think he's going to do?" Lynn pressed. "If someone asks you to do an unreported flight, landing in the middle of nowhere with parachute equipment, would you assume he's going on a picnic?"

“He told me he was going to take pictures,” Michael argued, “saying he wanted to photograph the Adirondack from the air and then hike for several days.”

"How much did he pay you?" Lynn asked bluntly.

Michael fell silent, and that silence itself was the answer.

“Ten thousand dollars, right?” Lynn stated the figure. “The cash deposited into your account last Tuesday. Michael, for ten thousand dollars, you became an accomplice in the murder.”

“No!” Michael jumped up agitatedly, but was immediately gestured to sit down by the guard at the door. “I really didn’t know he was going to kill someone! I thought he just wanted to sneak into the protected area to take pictures!”

“If it was really just taking pictures, why be so secretive? Why give you ten thousand dollars? Why conduct an unreported flight?” Lynn’s barrage of questions overwhelmed Michael. “Michael, you’re a smart man, don’t tell me you have absolutely no suspicions.” Michael slumped into his chair, hands covering his head. “I…I did find it strange, but I needed the money. My flying business hasn’t been doing well lately, I have bills to pay. When Martin made this request, I…I didn’t think much of it.”

Lynn's tone softened slightly. "Michael, you now have two choices. First, continue lying or remain silent, in which case you will be prosecuted as an accomplice to the murder. Second, cooperate with our investigation, tell us the whole truth, and we can consider your cooperation when sentencing."

Michael looked up, his eyes filled with fear and regret. "What would I get if I cooperated?"

“It depends on how cooperative you are,” Lynn said truthfully. “If you genuinely don’t know Martin’s true intentions, and if you can provide detailed testimony to help us convict Martin, the prosecutor may consider mitigating your charges. But I can’t make any specific promises; that’s up to the prosecutor to decide.”

Michael remained silent for a long time, then finally sighed deeply. "I'll tell you everything."

Over the next two hours, Michael recounted the entire process in detail: how Martin had contacted him a month earlier and proposed the "photo tour" plan; how he had paid the $10,000 "flight fee"; the specifics of the day of the flight; and how Martin had contacted him on Thursday night to ask him to take him away from the mountains.

“Wait,” Lynn interrupted him, “you said Martin contacted you Thursday night?”

“Yes,” Michael nodded, “he texted me from a number I didn’t recognize, saying he needed backup.”

"Then what?"

“I drove to a pre-arranged location, a secluded parking lot on the edge of the mountains,” Michael recalled. “Around nine o’clock in the evening, Martin showed up. He looked exhausted and was covered in mud, but he wasn’t injured.”

What did he say?

“He barely said anything,” Michael said. “He got in the car and closed his eyes to rest, and I drove him back to his home in Albany.”

"Did you keep that text message?"

Michael shook his head. "Martin made me delete all my communication records."

Lynn recorded these details. Michael's testimony filled many gaps in the case; although he claimed to be unaware of Martin's true intentions, his involvement was sufficient to warrant charges of accomplice.

After the trial, Lynn immediately arranged for the prosecutor to negotiate a plea agreement with Michael's lawyer. In exchange, Michael agreed to testify in court against Martin.

Now, it's time to confront the real culprit.

The following morning at 10 a.m., Martin Reynolds arrived at the FBI office accompanied by his lawyer. Unlike the nervous Michael, Martin appeared quite calm, even confident. He was dressed in a neat shirt and trousers, his hair meticulously combed, as if he were attending a business meeting rather than undergoing a murder investigation.

“Mr. Reynolds, thank you for your cooperation,” Lynn said, waiting for him in the interrogation room. “Please have a seat.”

After Martin sat down, his lawyer—a middle-aged woman in an expensive suit—also sat down beside him. “Agent Holt,” she said, “my client is here voluntarily to cooperate with the investigation. I hope this conversation will proceed efficiently.”

“Of course,” Lynn nodded, “I only have a few questions I’d like to clarify with Mr. Reynolds.”

He opened the folder, took out Sarah's photo, and asked, "Mr. Reynolds, do you know this lady?"

Martin glanced at the photo, his expression unchanged. "I know her. Her name is Sarah Johnson. We used to date."

"Before?" Lynn asked, "When did you break up?"

“About six months ago,” Martin answered calmly, “it was an amicable breakup; we just realized we weren’t a good match.”

"Was it really an amicable breakup?" Lynn questioned. "According to our investigation, Sarah's friends say you've been harassing her frequently since the breakup."

“That was a misunderstanding,” Martin explained calmly. “I did contact her a few times, but only to return some things and settle some shared bills. There was nothing going on.”

His lawyer added, "Agent Hall, my client has never been subject to a restraining order by Ms. Sarah, nor has he made any allegations of harassment."

“I understand,” Lynn nodded, then changed the subject, “So, Mr. Reynolds, could you tell me where you were last Wednesday and Thursday?”

“Of course,” Martin answered without hesitation. “I worked from home on Wednesday, which was a remote work day. I went to the office on Thursday and attended several meetings. My colleagues can vouch for that.”

“Really?” Lynn pulled out a printed document. “This is your phone’s location history, which does show you’ve been in Albany. But did you know that phone location data can be faked?”

Martin's expression finally shifted slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. "I don't understand what you mean. Why would I spoof my phone's location?"

Lynn didn't answer directly, but instead produced another document. "You're a member of the 'Free Skydiving Club,' right?"

"Yes, skydiving is my hobby."

“Last Wednesday, you booked a skydiving activity, but then canceled it because of bad weather,” Lynn said. “But according to the weather records, the weather that day was perfect for skydiving. Why did you cancel?”

“I don’t remember very clearly,” Martin said. “Maybe it’s just me, or maybe I’ve misremembered the weather.”

“Or,” Lynn’s tone sharpened, “you never intended to skydive at the club at all. You just needed a booking record to cover up your real activity.”

Martin's lawyer immediately intervened, "Agent Holt, you're speculating, not asking questions."

“Let me ask you a question that isn’t a guess,” Lynn said, pulling out the map of Adirondack. “This map was found in your locker, and this location marked on it,” he pointed to a red circle, “is where Sarah Johnson was murdered. Can you explain why?”

Martin stared at the map, a look of obvious tension on his face for the first time. His Adam's apple bobbed, and his fingers began to tremble slightly.

“I enjoy studying topographic maps; it’s one of my hobbies,” he explained. “I’ve marked many locations.”

"Is there anything special about this location?" Lynn pressed.

"I don't remember, it might be a place I planned to hike in the future." (End of Chapter)