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

Gordon did not return home early the next morning.

He drove directly to the Sacred Heart Charitable Asylum.

He needed to see for himself what that ominous place, which emanated an ominous aura from the documents, was really like.

The shelter is located in the eastern part of the city.

Compared to the surrounding dilapidated slums, it looks like a white palace standing on a pile of garbage.

There are white exterior walls, neatly trimmed lawns, and a small fountain.

It sparkled in the morning sunlight.

A huge cross stood at the entrance, gleaming in the sunlight, appearing sacred and solemn.

Gordon parked the car on the side of the road but did not get out immediately.

He saw the shelter doors slowly open.

A white van pulled out.

The vehicle was marked with the words "Sacred Heart Charity" and the church's emblem.

Several "clergy" dressed in white robes were getting out of the car.

They wore crosses around their necks and had warm smiles on their faces.

They began distributing breakfast to the homeless people queuing at the door.

There was bread and milk, and also hot oatmeal porridge.

The homeless men were all ragged, emaciated, and had blank stares.

They took the food without even saying thank you, and just greedily stuffed it into their mouths.

Everything seemed so harmonious and so full of goodwill.

If I hadn't seen that incomplete document with my own eyes, and those cold names in the database, I wouldn't have known.

Gordon almost believed that this really was a paradise that God had sent down to earth.

He straightened his trench coat, opened the car door, and got out.

He walked through the crowd toward the gate of the shelter.

A young priest responsible for maintaining order stopped him.

"Hello sir, do you need any assistance?"

The priest wore a professional smile, polite yet distant.

Gordon showed his identification.

"I'm Detective Gordon from the Major Crimes Unit of the City Police Department."

"I need to see your manager."

The young priest's smile froze for a moment when he saw the identification, but he quickly recovered.

"Hello, Detective Gordon."

He bowed slightly.

"How can I help you?"

"We are just a charity here."

"I don't think we've done anything illegal."

His words were impeccable.

"I just want to know some things."

Gordon's tone was calm.

"It's about several missing persons cases."

"Missing persons?"

The young priest frowned.

"Excuse me, Detective."

"We come into contact with a large number of homeless people every day; they come and go."

"We can't remember everyone."

"I need to see your personnel reception records."

Gordon said it bluntly.

"this......"

The young priest looked troubled.

"Detective, this is probably not in accordance with our regulations."

"We must protect the privacy of everyone who receives our assistance."

"This is their right."

"I now suspect that several missing persons cases, and even murders, are connected to this place."

Gordon's voice turned cold.

"Cooperating with the police investigation is your duty."

The young priest's expression changed slightly.

He looked at Gordon and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Please wait a moment."

He turned and walked into the shelter.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged man came out accompanied by a young priest.

He looked to be in his fifties, dressed in an elegant black priest's robe, his hair neatly combed.

He is Father Brown, the head of this shelter.

"Detective Gordon, I've heard so much about you."

Father Brown extended his hand with a gentle smile.

"I'm the person in charge here, Brown."

"I didn't know you were here. What brings you here?"

His smile is like a gentle breeze.

His eyes were clear and sincere.

His aura was very clean, as if he had just been washed with holy water.

Gordon did not shake his hand.

He simply repeated his requirements once again.

"Father Brown, I need to see all your personnel reception records for the past six months."

Father Brown's smile remained unchanged.

"Of course, Detective Gordon."

He readily agreed.

"Our Sacred Heart Charity is always happy to cooperate with any work of the police."

"plz follow me."

He made a "please" gesture and led Gordon into the shelter.

The interior of the shelter was brighter and cleaner than the exterior.

The floor was as smooth as a mirror, and the air was filled with a faint mixed scent of disinfectant and lemon fragrance.

The corridor is decorated with murals depicting biblical stories and photos of recipients posing with priests.

Everyone in the photo is smiling happily.

Father Brown led Gordon to an office.

"All our records are backed up on the computer."

Father Brown pointed to a computer and said.

"You are free to look it up."

"However, Detective, I still want to remind you..."

He then changed the subject.

"We have hundreds of people coming and going here every day, and the records are extremely complex."

"Moreover, many homeless people do not have legal identification at all; they use aliases."

"If you want to find a few specific people here, it will be as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack."

Gordon ignored his "well-intentioned advice".

He walked to the computer and sat down.

He opened the personnel records database.

Just as Father Brown had said, the records inside were densely packed, numbering in the thousands.

He entered the names of the missing persons one by one.

The query results were all "no matching records".

Gordon's brow furrowed deeply.

This isn't right.

If that document is genuine, and if those missing persons really did come here, then there must be a record of it here.

Unless the record is deleted.

Or they used a separate, closed-off internal record-keeping system from the very beginning.

"So, Detective, have you found anything?"

Father Brown's voice rang out behind him at just the right moment.

Gordon closed the database and stood up.

"Not at the moment."

He looked at Father Brown with a gaze as sharp as a knife.

"However, I will come again."

"You're welcome anytime."

Father Brown continued to smile.

"The doors of the Sacred Heart are always open to justice."

Gordon turned and left.

When he walked out of the shelter and returned to that dirty, dilapidated neighborhood.

He felt as if he had returned from a false palace to the real world.

That palace was built with lies and hypocrisy.

He glanced back at the building, which gleamed in the sunlight.

He knew that there must be some kind of shady secret hidden inside.

He had already stepped inside.

He got into the car and was about to start it.

He suddenly noticed a man in a black trench coat standing quietly at the entrance of the alley not far away.

The man, wearing a hood, was looking at him.

The distance was too great for him to see the other person's face clearly.

But that gaze felt somewhat familiar to him.

He remembered the young man named Li Ang in the police station who claimed to have amnesia.

Is it just my imagination?

Gordon shook his head and started the car.

Gordon had no idea.