What the hell is the "kill line" when you're in America?

The night was deep, but the city police headquarters building was still brightly lit.

The office of the Major Crimes Unit was filled with smoke.

The air was filled with the smell of cheap coffee and the sour, musty odor of staying up all night.

Detective Gordon has been here for over thirty-six hours.

The table in front of him was piled high with documents and reports.

There was also a half-eaten, cold sandwich on the table.

The young partner had already exhausted himself and went home to catch up on sleep.

Gordon was the only one left in the entire office.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his throbbing temples, his eyes bloodshot.

The cannery case was a tangled mess, leaving him breathless.

He overturned the branch chief's hasty conclusion of "gang warfare," but in doing so, he found himself in an even deeper predicament.

The scene was so clean.

Aside from the charred corpse, the only other evidence at the scene was the trace of a sniper rifle.

Apart from that, almost no other valuable clues could be found.

The killers were like a group of ghosts from hell, appearing and disappearing without a trace.

"Knock knock".

There was a knock on the office door.

A young police officer in uniform poked his head in.

"Detective Gordon, the medical examiner's report for the second autopsy is out."

Gordon sat up abruptly.

"Any discoveries?"

The young police officer had a strange expression on his face.

"The report shows that most of the victims died from gunshot wounds and sharp object injuries, with the fatal wounds all in vital areas, indicating a highly professional method of treatment."

"But there were several corpses..."

The officer paused, seemingly organizing his thoughts.

"Their cause of death was... fractured skull."

"The forensic doctor said that the wound did not appear to be caused by a blunt force trauma."

"It's more like it was crushed by some enormous force with bare hands."

The officer glanced at the report, then at Gordon, and added.

"The forensic pathologist wrote a comment at the end of the report, saying that this was something that seemed impossible for a human to do."

Gordon's brow furrowed even deeper.

Crushing a skull with bare hands?

This sounds more like a scene from a horror movie.

"I see."

He took the report and said, "Thank you for your hard work."

After the young officer left, Gordon read the report over and over again.

Every word felt like a stone weighing on his heart.

This case was even more bizarre and complicated than he had imagined.

He had a strong premonition that he was walking on a dangerous minefield.

Every step he takes could detonate a bomb capable of blasting him to pieces.

He stood up and walked to the window.

The city lights below, like stars, outlined the cold silhouette of this steel forest.

He knew that beneath this glamorous facade lay countless untold sins.

He was just a lonely night watchman, trying to cover a festering wound with his bare hands.

Buzz... Buzz...

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

She is his wife.

"Jim, aren't you coming home again?"

On the other end of the phone, I heard my wife's tired and worried voice.

"I'm sorry, darling."

Gordon's voice carried a hint of apology.

"I have a case on hand, and it's very tricky."

"Another case! What else is in your life besides cases?"

There was a hint of resentment in his wife's voice.

Did you know that Annie won first place in the school's drawing competition today?

"She waited until 10 p.m., just wanting you to tell her 'You're amazing' in person!"

Gordon felt as if something had stabbed him hard in the heart.

He could picture his seven-year-old daughter sitting in the living room, holding that painting.

She eagerly awaited his return home.

"I'm sorry... I..."

"Don't say sorry!"

His wife interrupted him, "I just want you to come home now, immediately!"

"I promise, this is the last time."

Gordon took a deep breath. "Once this case is over, I will definitely..."

"Beep...beep...beep..."

The call was disconnected.

Gordon stood by the window for a long time, holding his phone.

In the end, he put out his cigarette, picked up his coat, and left the office.

He needs to go home, even if it's just to see his daughter's sleeping face.

His old Ford Victoria was parked in the police station's private parking lot.

As he opened the car door and got in, he subconsciously looked up and glanced at the sun visor.

That was one of his habits; he always liked to tuck some loose change or parking tickets inside.

Then, he saw it.

A kraft paper envelope sat quietly tucked inside the sun visor clip.

Gordon's heart leaped into his throat.

He was certain that this thing wasn't here when he left.

Someone opened his car door while he was away and left this envelope here.

And he, a seasoned detective in the serious crimes unit, was completely unaware of this.

A chill ran up his spine.

He didn't immediately go to get the envelope.

Instead, he cautiously looked around.

The parking lot was empty, with only a few police cars standing like silent steel behemoths in the dim light.

He carefully inspected the car and found no trace of listening devices or explosives.

In the end, he reached out and took the envelope.

The envelope was ordinary, without any signature or markings.

He tore open the seal.

Inside, there was only one piece of paper.

A piece of paper with charred edges, yellowed surface, and a faint chemical smell.

The writing on the paper was handwritten, and has become blurred due to burning and corrosion.

Gordon managed to make out a few keywords, though he could barely manage.

"Sacred Heart...Asylum..."

"...Missing..."

"Organ...match...failed..."

"......deal with......"

Gordon's pupils contracted sharply.

He looked at the paper over and over again, trying to find more information on it.

But this is just a report that is incomplete.

It's like a huge mystery, and also like a deadly lure.

Gordon knew this thing shouldn't be here.

Someone deliberately placed this here.

who is it?

Was the killer taunting him?

Or is it a "deep throat" who knows the inside story, passing a message to him?

he does not know.

All he knew was that the paper mentioned "Sacred Heart Charitable Asylum".

This shelter is Seattle’s most prestigious charity.

Behind them is the powerful church.

If what's on this piece of paper is true...

Gordon dared not think any further.

Instead of going home, he turned the car around and drove back into the police station.

He needs to verify the authenticity of this piece of paper.

He walked into the empty archives room and opened the police station's missing persons database.

He entered the vague names from the report into the search system.

John Smith, male, 42 years old, unemployed, went missing three months ago in the 7th block.

Mary Jones, female, 35 years old, suffering from mental illness, died two months ago...

Each name represents a vibrant person who once existed.

They all have one thing in common.

They were all recorded before they went missing, having entered the Sacred Heart Charity Shelter for assistance.

Then, they vanished from the face of the earth.

Gordon stared at the cold, hard records on the screen, feeling as if his blood was about to freeze.

He knew he might have stumbled upon a terrifying secret that could turn the entire city upside down.

The person who placed the envelope in his car was secretly watching his every move.