1960: My uncle is the FBI Director

Chapter 143 Impossible! Absolutely impossible!
The address on the note belonged to a newly built community.

The community is located southeast of the Riverside Hotel, almost on the edge of the Third Precinct's jurisdiction.

When Theodore and Bernie arrived, officers from the Third Precinct were already waiting downstairs.

This is a middle-aged duo; one's belly makes his police uniform look tight, while the other has a shiny bald head.

The two have been partners for seven or eight years.

Like couples married for seven or eight years, they barely spoke while waiting; one was reading the newspaper, and the other was listening to the radio.

After meeting, the fat detective shook hands with Theodore, and the bald detective shook hands with Bernie.

The two didn't exchange a single glance the entire time, each skillfully heading towards their own destination.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the chubby detective led the way into the apartment building and headed straight upstairs.

The bald detective, walking at the very back, began to explain the situation:
"The apartment you're looking for is on the fifth floor."

"The registered head of household is Steven Wallace."

This area was their patrol zone. After receiving the notification, they conducted brief interviews with the residents of the apartment and gained some understanding of the target apartment and its residents.

Bernie asked him, "Is it a man?"

Theodore couldn't help but turn around to look at the bald detective.

The bald detective shook his head:
“We asked several residents in the apartment building.”

"No one has ever seen Steven Wallace, but his wife, Mrs. Wallace, is often seen."

He glanced down at the notebook and continued:

"The residents here are discussing evicting the Wallace family."

"They often saw strange men entering and leaving the Wallace home. They believed that Mrs. Wallace had moral problems and were worried that she would have a bad influence on the children."

The bald detective read aloud several descriptions of 'Mrs. Wallace' from the residents' notes.

Besides those with long reddish-brown hair, a plump figure, and good maintenance, there are also those with alluring eyes, revealing clothing, and frequent fevers who don't look like good people.

The wording varies, but the meaning is basically the same.

The bald detective put away his notebook and said one last thing:
"No one has seen Mrs. Wallace this week."

“We knocked on the door, but no one answered.”

As they spoke, the four of them were already standing at the door of the target apartment.

The fat detective took out his keys and opened the door.

I got the key from the apartment manager.

They didn't intend to go inside, and stepped aside after opening the door.

Only Theodore and Bernie entered the room to search.

Bernie found a thick stack of newspapers in the living room cabinet.

The newspapers were all third-rate tabloids, dated from ten years ago.

All the articles about Anne Hallecker were circled.

The descriptions of Anne Hallecker's clothing, speech, and other aspects were highlighted.

Bernie beckoned Theodore over to take a look:

"It seems our identity as the deceased will change from 'Anne Halleke' to Mrs. Wallace."

Theodore came out of the bathroom and shook his head at him:

"There was only a toothbrush, no razor."

"The laundry basket was full of women's clothes."

Bernie corrected: "That's Ms. Wallace."

Theodore suspected that the deceased's surname was neither Halleke nor Wallace.

He opened the wardrobe and rummaged through it, but couldn't find even a single men's sock.

The wardrobe was filled with women's clothes, and in the corner were several neatly folded 'slut outfits'.

There was no trace of male activity in the entire apartment.

Theodore thoroughly inspected the wardrobe, but found nothing except a few revealing pieces of underwear.

He turned his gaze to the bedside table, and from the drawer, he found a social security card.

The name registered on the card is Barbie Joe Carter.

Also included was a photocopy of a birth certificate, which also listed Barbie Joe Carter as the registered name.

According to a copy of her birth certificate, she comes from a small rural town called Tucson, Maryland.

Bernie leaned over to take a look and asked Theodore:
"This must be her real name, right?"

Theodore didn't say anything, but pulled open the lower drawer.

The drawer contained cash.

There were both banknotes and coins, scattered around.

At the very bottom is an envelope containing large denomination banknotes.

Theo counted, and there was a total of $500 in the envelope.

It was nearly noon when I left the apartment.

After lunch, Theodore and Bernie returned to the Department of Justice building and called the Tucson Police Department to confirm Barbie Joe Carter's identity.

Tucson is a small town in northeastern Maryland with a population of less than 500.

The advantage of a small town is that almost everyone knows each other.

When you make a phone call, the person on the other end doesn't even need to check any information or visit her family; they can immediately confirm that there really is a Barbie Joe Carter there.

According to Tucson detectives, Barbie Joe Carter arrived in DC eleven years ago.

She now works as a model and earns a lot of money from shooting commercials.

Barbie Joe Carter sends money home every month.

Her parents were so proud of her achievements in DC that they would boast about her to everyone they met, making her a household name in town.

A few years ago, some people privately discussed that being a model was similar to being a prostitute, and that it was a very shameful job.

This news quickly reached the ears of Barbie Joe Carter's father.

Her father found the person who said those words and nearly stabbed him to death.

The detectives in Tucson could go on and on.

Bernie had to interrupt him to confirm Barbie Joe Carter's physical characteristics.

But because he had been away from home for so long, the detectives in Tucson could hardly remember what he looked like.

Bernie could only ask him to notify Barbie Joe Carter's parents to come to DC to claim the body.

The Tucson detectives were shocked and repeatedly confirmed this with Bernie.

After ending the call, Theodore and Bernie headed to the Riverside Hotel.

According to the hotel staff list provided by the Third Precinct, fingerprints of a total of thirteen people were found in room 511.

This task, along with the questioning of the other five individuals identified through the FBI lab comparison, should have been assigned to Detective Thomas of the Third Precinct.

But Detective Thomas is now without ambition, leaving Theodore and Bernie to handle things personally.

The Riverside Hotel had quite a few guests today; when they arrived, the lobby was already packed with people.

The two receptionists were extremely busy.

Bernie stopped a porter, showed his ID, and the porter helped him find the hotel manager.

The hotel manager warmly led the two to his office and immediately inquired about the reopening of room 511.

Bernie preemptively stated his purpose before Bernie could speak.

He handed the list of thirteen people to the hotel manager and asked him about the thirteen employees.

The hotel manager looked very friendly, but he wasn't stupid.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead asked Bernie:

"You suspect that one of our employees killed the guest in room 511?"

He shook his head repeatedly:
"impossible!"

"Absolutely impossible!"

He explained with a serious expression:

“All our employees undergo a thorough background check before being formally hired.”

“Those with a criminal record or a criminal history simply cannot pass a background check.” Theodore asked him, puzzled, “How do you know if they have a criminal record or a criminal history?”

The hotel manager was speechless for a moment.

Whether someone has a criminal record or has served time in prison is not public information.

Access is required to view these.

The hotel manager shook his head: "In short, our employees would never do such a thing."

Theodore asked again, "How can you be so sure?"

The hotel manager fell into a brief silence.

He glanced at Theodore, then at Bernie, and said in a deep voice:

"I need to make a phone call."

A hotel employee killed a guest. This doesn't even need to be confirmed; just a whisper of it would be devastating for the Riverside Hotel's business.

Hotel managers wouldn't dare take that kind of risk.

He needs to ask his superiors for instructions.

Bernie understood this and nodded at him.

The hotel manager left the office and returned more than ten minutes later, nodding to the two of them.

Bernie handed the list of thirteen people back over, then took out his notebook and questioned each person according to Theodore's profile of the killer.

Soon, only one employee named Charles Anderson remained on the list.

Charles Anderson is the cleaner on the fifth floor.

My main job is to clean the rooms on the fifth floor.

He is 32 years old, not very sociable, and has had several conflicts with his colleagues.

Theodore flipped through the fingerprints provided by the Third Precinct's medical examiner.

Charles Anderson's fingerprints appeared on the doorknob, the wardrobe door, the window, and the lamp.

This is the person whose fingerprints appeared most frequently.

Bernie asked the hotel manager if he could call someone over.

The hotel manager sent an employee to fetch someone.

While waiting, he kept staring at Charles Anderson's name, looking somewhat incredulous:

“Charles has always performed very well; he is very capable.”

"There are many rooms on the fifth floor. Normally, it would take two to three cleaners to keep up with the workload."

“But Charles can do it very well on his own.”

Theodore interrupted his reminiscence and asked him:

Was Charles Anderson on duty on the night of April 3rd?

The hotel manager was also unsure. He shook his head and called over another employee to retrieve the duty roster for the fifth floor.

The first employee quickly returned and informed the group that the cleaner on duty on the fifth floor today was someone else; Charles Anderson was off duty.

The registration form was retrieved quickly.

Theodore flipped through the registration form and found that Charles Anderson's signature made up at least half of it.

April 3rd is naturally among them.

Bernie looked at the hotel manager:

Where does Charles Anderson live?

The hotel manager shook his head, indicating that he did not know.

Theodore looked at him with suspicion:
"Didn't you say you conducted due diligence before hiring employees?"

The hotel manager picked up the phone without batting an eye:
"We have not investigated the addresses of our employees."

As he spoke, he dialed a number and quickly reported to his superiors that a hotel employee might have killed the guest in room 511.

Theodore kindly helped him correct it:
"The killer first assaulted Barbie Joe Carter, then smashed the phone in the room, and finally pushed Barbie Joe Carter out the window, where she fell to her death."

The hotel manager and the person on the other end of the phone both fell silent.

Bernie pulled the kind-hearted Theodore aside, waved to the hotel manager, and then turned to talk to the errand runner.

The employee asked him curiously:
"Was the guest in room 511 killed by Charles Anderson?"

Bernie didn't answer, but instead asked him, "Do you know where Charles Anderson lives?"

The employee nodded.

He glanced at the hotel manager, who was on the phone, and whispered, "..."
“When he’s not home, Charles stays in the linen room on the fifth floor.”

He told Bernie that the linen room on the fifth floor was divided into two rooms, one inside and one outside.

The outer room was used to store bed sheets, pillows, and other miscellaneous items, while the inner room was cleared out and used as a rest room.

In the beginning, the employees on the fifth floor would play cards and smoke there, and sometimes they would also do other things.

Things that are inconvenient to do in the proper lounge, they go there.

But then Charles Anderson arrived.

That place gradually became Charles Anderson's private resting place, and other people rarely went there anymore.

Bernie glanced back at Theodore.

Theodore asked him:
Is Charles Anderson in the linen room right now?

The employee shook his head.

"Where did he go?"

The employee continued to shake his head.

Bernie: "Do you know where he lives?"

The employee still shook his head.

He told Bernie that Charles Anderson had a terrible temper and would often lose his temper over the smallest things, yelling at them.

He and his colleagues didn't want any contact with Charles Anderson. They didn't even want to talk to him unless absolutely necessary.

The staff also told Bernie that they had discussed it privately and unanimously agreed that Charles Anderson had mental problems and was mentally ill.

Bernie wanted to know more, but the hotel manager had already finished his call and was looking this way.

The employee immediately shut up.

Theodore suggested going to the linen room on the fifth floor to take a look.

The hotel manager, who had just been scolded, was unaware that the linen room had been renovated by employees on the fifth floor, and readily agreed.

The linen room on the fifth floor is at the end of the corridor. It is piled up outside, leaving only a narrow passage in the middle.

At the end of the path was a door, which was locked.

The hotel manager stared wide-eyed at the door, his fat cheeks twitching slightly.

He turned to look at the employees who had come up with him, as well as other employees who had come to join in the fun after hearing the news.

His gaze swept over the group of people one by one, then he pointed to the door and asked in a deep voice:
"Where's the key?"

No one answered.

The manager asked again.

The employee who had spoken with Bernie reluctantly pulled out the keys and handed them over.

The manager took the keys, waved away the onlookers, opened the door, and then very consciously stepped aside.

The inner room is not very large, even smaller than the single room on the fifth floor.

A bed and a table filled the inner room to the brim, leaving no room for even two people to enter.

Theodore donned his protective gear and went into the inner room, while Bernie could only stand guard at the door.

There was a radio on the table. It looked very old, and the buttons were worn white and shiny.

There were two books next to the radio, their corners curled up from being turned so many times.

Theodore picked it up and flipped through it; it was a pornographic book.

The bedding on the bed was very clean; it was the same type used in the hotel room.

It was probably taken directly from the linen room outside.

Nothing else.

(End of this chapter)