American forensics, but the gourmet system

Chapter 71 Joint Discovery (Third Update, Please Subscribe!)

Brooklyn streets.

The snow on the street had been crushed into a black, icy mixture by vehicles. On the sidewalk, office workers dressed in formal attire frowned and ducked to avoid getting their shoes dirty.

Marty emerged from a convenience store, carrying two sandwiches.

A black Ford Explorer was parked on the side of the road. Marty opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat.

"How about a chicken sandwich, Thea?"

Marty turned to ask the young girl in the passenger seat, who was wearing an NYPD uniform and had an armband indicating she was a trainee agent.

The girl's brown hair was tied back, and the somewhat oversized uniform made her look rather thin. She sat properly in the passenger seat, holding a folder in her hands.

"No, Officer Cohen," the intern detective named Thea said politely. "I've already had breakfast."

"Just call me Marty." Marty unwrapped a sandwich and took a big bite. "Don't be so formal, Thea."

"Okay, Marty."

Thea readily agreed.

"I'm starving—" Marty mumbled between bites of a chicken sandwich. "I had to take my daughter to school this morning, and then I got a new assignment at the criminal investigation center. I didn't even have time to drink water—"

"It's not really a new mission," Thea corrected Marty. "Didn't we already discuss it last night? Officer Wilson will go to support the medical examiner, and we'll start the investigation with the murderer, Am Fabian."

"Don't you dare call him Officer Wilson in front of Jesse," Marty shook her head. "He'll definitely get cocky—"

"Ah—I called him that for three days—" Thea blinked.

"Alright—" Marty quickly finished his sandwich, tossing the wrapper into the glove compartment. "We're getting started, Thea. Remember what our task is today?"

"I remember," Thea immediately recited as if reading a text from a textbook, "Find the Ford Transit van registered under Am Fabian's name and search the interior for evidence."

"Very good. Did you bring the search warrant?"

"I brought it."

"Did you bring the evidence bag and gloves?"

"I brought it too."

"Let's go!"

Marty started his Ford Explorer and merged into the Brooklyn traffic.

In an apartment in North Brooklyn.

Captain Hansen stood in the middle of the living room, watching several detectives from the Ulster County Sheriff's Department bustling around at Fabian's residence.

"This place is no different from a normal bachelor's place," Captain Hansen whispered to Diaz. "It's cleaner than my house—I suspect he hardly ever comes back to live here."

"suitcase."

Diaz pointed to two small silver aluminum suitcases placed in a prominent position in the living room.

"What do you mean?" Captain Hansen opened the two briefcases, which were completely empty. "What do you think these two briefcases were for?"

"Cash," Diaz said, unusually adding a few more words. "Drug dealers love this stuff."

The idea that drug dealers use these briefcases to carry cash for transactions is a stereotype created in American TV shows and movies.

-

However, once this stereotype spreads widely enough, it can in turn influence the behavior of drug dealers in reality.

"Oh, right." Captain Hansen slapped his forehead, "You went undercover before—why do drug dealers like to use these kinds of boxes to carry cash?"

"Handsome," Diaz said succinctly as always.

Captain Hansen was used to Diaz's silent and abusive behavior. He closed the two suitcases and put them aside.

“Well, at least the presence of this kind of box in a single man’s home is suspicious—” Captain Hansen said in a low voice, as if speaking to Diaz, but also seemingly to himself, “but there aren’t any large sums of money flowing through Fabian’s bank accounts, and we don’t have a search warrant to investigate Dr. Simmons’s bank accounts—hopefully Marty and Russell’s sides can find something soon. Once Fabian’s murder case is closed, we have no reason to get involved in this case—”

"Time is of the essence," Diaz said curtly.

"Yes, time is of the essence." Captain Hansen nodded in agreement.

Why is it sitting here without moving?

Jesse looked at Kay, who was sitting upright and looking around, with some suspicion.

For some reason, Kawhi was unusually calm today. After playing in the snow for a while, he sat down and didn't move.

"Uh—I don't know either." Mr. Clarkson cleared his throat awkwardly. He had volunteered to help Russell last night, but he hadn't expected Clarkson to be so uncooperative. "Maybe Clarkson played in the snow all night and caught a cold, and his nose is stuffy?"

Aina and Russell stood side by side, looking at Kay with concern.

"Go for it, Kay," Russell whispered encouragingly. "Our success in solving this case depends entirely on you—"

"How about we narrow down the search area a bit more?" Aina asked tentatively. "Perhaps Ka's sense of smell has a limit?"

"Narrow down the search area—" Russell glanced around. "That makes sense, Aina. But the problem is, the snow on the mountain is too thick; we can't see anywhere suitable to hide a body—"

"It must be quite far from the highway," Aina speculated. "Otherwise, the smell of a rotting corpse would be easily detected. But it can't be too far, because the difficulty of transporting it needs to be considered—"

"The location must be secluded, perhaps a deep pit surrounded by bushes," Russell continued, following Aina's train of thought. "It could also be a secluded cliff, or a barely noticeable cave entrance—"

Aina snapped her fingers: "Let's climb a little further, get to the top of the mountain. The view there is better, maybe we can find a suitable spot—"

"Going hiking?" Jesse took off his backpack and pulled out a large box. "I almost forgot, I brought this with me."

"A drone?" Russell took the box from Jesse's hand with delight. "Why didn't you take it out sooner? I suspect you were just trying to trick us into going hiking—"

"I really forgot, we don't need this thing in Brooklyn—" Jesse scratched his head, "Actually, it was the new intern who asked me to bring it, she said..."

Jesse's phone rang.

"Hmm—Marty?" Jesse took out his phone and pressed the answer button with some confusion. "What's up, Marty?"

When did you learn to use FaceTime?

"Thea taught me—" Marty's voice came through the speaker, "Let's not talk about that now. Is Russell next to you?"

"Yes." Jesse handed the phone to Russell.

"Hey, Marty," Russell said, taking the phone and greeting him.

Marty's face appeared on the screen; his expression was one of shock and confusion.

Marty's voice was loud, as if he were shouting to Russell from the other end of the football field: "Russell, Captain Hansen sent me to search the Transit van registered under Am Fabian's name—guess what I found?"

"What did you find?" Russell asked immediately.

"Hey, Thea—why did you change this thing to a rear camera?" Marty turned to the person next to him and asked.

The image on the phone screen shook for a moment, and someone helped Marty switch cameras. Russell saw a Ford Transit parked in a suburban parking lot.

"After I found this vehicle, I discovered that the guy seems to have converted it into an ambulance—" Marty's voice came through as he approached, phone in hand. "I don't know if you recognize the equipment inside, Russell. Anyway, it looks pretty strange to me—"