American forensics, but the gourmet system

Clarkson sat on the sofa, holding little Kawhi in his arms, with Captain Hansen and Russell sitting opposite him. A rustling sound came from the basement; it wasn't rats, but the forensic technicians extracting fingerprints from Joey's belongings.

In a standard DNA comparison, identical twins have completely identical DNA.

However, their fingerprints could not possibly be exactly the same.

If all the fingerprints left on that pile of junk belong to Joey, then it would be sufficient proof that it wasn't Romo living in that house, but Joey.

Joey's body is still frozen in the forensic center, so comparing fingerprints is a simple matter.

Moreover, the pile of debris might contain evidence of Joey's murder of Romo, which made Captain Hansen even more cautious, and he even brought two on-site investigation technicians with him.

Footsteps came from the basement, and a few dozen seconds later, the police dog handler led the black Labrador up from the basement, followed by Jesse.

This three-year-old Labrador named Luodor has been serving at the Brooklyn Criminal Investigation Center for two years, making him a veteran employee with more seniority than Russell.

Luodor displayed the composure expected of a veteran employee, walking along the corner of the wall, sniffing around with steady, deliberate steps. Compared to little Kawhi wriggling in Clarkson's arms, it was like an African elephant compared to a wild monkey.

"Don't be too nervous, Mr. Clarkson," Captain Hansen reassured him gently. "Although this case is unfortunately related to your residence, as long as you cooperate with our investigation, no one will dare to make things difficult for you."

"I'm just a retired old man..." Clarkson muttered, "I just want to live here bored with my dog..."

Actually, I just wanted to be an ordinary forensic doctor, but what can I do when the system awakened within me...

Russell's expression remained unchanged, but he silently complained to himself.

Little Ka wanted to jump off Clarkson's arms to play with Luodor, but Clarkson held it tightly by its hind legs, so it could only wriggle and whimper in Clarkson's arms.

"Your dog is very lively, sir. I noticed that last time I came."

Jesse, who came up with the police dog handler, smiled at Little Ka.

"Sigh..." Clarkson sighed. "My daughter said my retirement should be more fulfilling, so she bought me some cards as a retirement gift... but it's clearly made my life too fulfilling..."

"If you want it to be quieter, I can recommend a dog training school," the police dog handler said. "Beagles are very intelligent, and with training, they can even perform the duties of a police dog."

"Hmm..." Clarkson thought for a moment and said, "Let's forget about it. It's good that it's a bit mischievous... I'm not that old yet, I can still take care of it..."

The instructor smiled knowingly.

Ludo sniffed around, then walked behind the sofa and sat down next to the cabinet in the corner. He raised his head and barked at his trainer.

Captain Hansen immediately became alert.

  

"What's in that cabinet, Mr. Clarkson?" He stood up and walked toward the cabinet.

"Some odds and ends..." Clarkson said uncertainly. "There should be some tools like hammers, drills, and handsaws in there... The previous tenant... that poor dead man, probably also left some tools in here. There are quite a few scratch marks from the tools inside the cabinet."

Captain Hansen opened the cabinet.

Indeed, as Clarkson said, there were several commonly used tools inside, and nothing unusual could be seen on the rough interior of the cabinet.

"What was put in here before?"

Russell stood up, took out nitrile gloves and two small test kits from his pocket, and asked Clarkson.

"It should be empty...maybe there were two screwdrivers?" Clarkson recalled. "I don't quite remember...but if there were any tools he left behind, I think he moved them all to the basement..."

"Is there a chainsaw or a chainsaw in the tools?" Jesse suddenly asked.

"No," Clarkson said firmly. "I definitely remember something that big. Absolutely not."

Captain Hansen stood beside Russell and whispered:

"This cabinet seems big enough to fit a portable chainsaw..."

Russell didn't answer him. He opened the test kit, took out a small spray bottle from his pocket, and poured the liquid from the two test kits into them respectively.

"Your pockets are definitely full of stuff..."

Jesse couldn't help but complain.

But Captain Hansen turned around and glared at him, and he immediately shut up.

"Could you please turn off the light, Jesse?"

Russell turned around and said.

The lights were turned off, plunging the room into darkness.

A faint hissing sound filled the darkness, and everyone held their breath.

Clarkson was no exception; he bit his lip, barely daring to breathe, though he didn't know what he was expecting...

Slowly, a faint, blue-white fluorescent light began to illuminate the bottom of the cabinet.

"Alright, Jesse," Russell said, "turn on the lights."

As soon as the lights came on, the fluorescent light immediately disappeared.

"What...what does this mean?" Clarkson asked tentatively.

"This is luminol reagent," Russell said, shaking the small spray bottle in his hand. "It reacts with blood, producing the blue-white fluorescence you just saw."

"Good heavens..." Clarkson was stunned.

"So, Joey might have hidden the murder weapon in this cabinet, and the blood flowed to the bottom..." Captain Hansen said in a low voice. "Although he cleaned up the blood afterwards, Luodor still smelled it..."

"Well done, Ruodor. Smell again, is anything else amiss... see if there's anything new you discover."

The trainer patted the dog's head and praised it. Luodor calmly accepted the praise, its tail swaying slightly. Then it walked straight along the wall to the door leading to the backyard, raised its paw, and scratched at the crack in the door.

The instructor understood immediately and opened the door.

Luodor went out of the yard and sniffed around on the grass. A few minutes later, it stopped on a patch of freshly dug grass, sat down beside the soil, and looked up at its trainer and barked again.

"Who dug there?"

Captain Hansen turned to Clarkson and asked.

"The dog..." Clarkson said awkwardly, "I mean... Little Carter has been digging, he always likes to dig things up... I have to stop him, I don't want to spend hundreds of dollars repairing the lawn, lawn care in New York is just too expensive..."

"The lawn over there seems to be a bit denser than the surrounding area..."

Jesse stroked his chin, pondering as he spoke.

Russell and Captain Hansen exchanged a glance, both seeing the excitement and anticipation in each other's eyes.

"May I borrow your shovel for digging, Mr. Clarkson?"

Captain Hansen pointed to a shovel leaning against the corner of the backyard and asked in an unyielding tone.

"Sure, of course," Clarkson nodded. "As long as you don't dig up my lawn."

"It's unfortunate that we're going to do the same thing as Kawhi... but don't worry too much, we'll help you apply to the NYPD for compensation for property damage caused by the investigation."

Russell grinned at Clarkson, stepped forward, picked up the shovel, and handed it to Jesse.