allendalepharm Chapter 15 Methods for Handling Major Criminal Cases
Chapter 15 Methods for Handling Major Criminal Cases
Lee En had experienced what Brock called "the first night of the adult night".
When he pushed open the police station door, he felt much better than usual.
He walked a beat faster than usual, with his coat draped over his arm.
The police station was busier than usual today.
Li En turned the corner of the corridor and scanned the entire office area.
There were more than a dozen people sitting on a row of chairs against the wall on the right.
They were all women with dark skin and soft facial features typical of Southeast Asia.
They were wearing dark coats, some of which were clearly two sizes too big, with the sleeves rolled up several times to reveal their fingers.
Everyone's heads were down, and their bodies were huddled together in a small ball.
Their gazes had no fixed point of focus; whenever footsteps came from the other end of the corridor, or someone shouted something, everyone's body would tremble simultaneously.
After shaking, they huddled even tighter, their shoulders almost touching their earlobes.
The temporary detention cells were not far from that row of chairs.
Several thugs who had been locked up inside overnight were leaning over the iron bars, reaching out their hands and waving in the direction of the group of women.
"Hey little girl! I can make sure you live a good life."
"My house is big enough to help you achieve the American Dream."
Several people nearby started laughing.
Laughter echoed between the iron bars, sharp and shrill.
Li En walked to the front of the police station.
Brett held a pen in his hand, the nib poking at the form, his gaze fixed on the group of women.
"What happened?" Li En asked.
Bright put down his pen, pulled out the ink-stained form, folded it in half, stuffed it into the drawer, and lowered his voice, looking away:
"They escaped from the port last night."
"It's probably because of..."
He didn't say the rest.
Those women were obviously brought from elsewhere by the gang.
They stole it, they cheated it, they boarded the ship with the promise of a suitcase in exchange for a ticket.
If no one had opened that door last night, their fate would have been one of a few things.
To become a service worker in some place, a plaything of the rich, or a corpse in the cracks of concrete deep in the harbor.
From the moment they were brought into this country, their bodies no longer belonged to themselves.
Bright has been working at the Manhattan precinct for almost a year.
He grew up in Hell's Kitchen, so he didn't need anyone to teach him these things.
That's why he chose to wear this light blue uniform.
Auxiliary police officers don't earn much and don't have much power, but at least they are the ones standing behind the call center.
Instead of anyone else who wouldn't even bother to glance at this neighborhood.
But the rescue wasn't done by the Manhattan police.
Last night, a masked man wearing a headscarf opened that door.
It wasn't a police car, and it didn't have blue and red lights.
Brett turned his gaze away from the women and onto Li En.
He stared for several seconds, his lips moved slightly, but he didn't say anything.
This person graduated first in his class from police academy and immediately became a criminal investigator.
From the moment he entered the Manhattan precinct, Officer Lee demonstrated a strong sense of justice and was an upright police officer.
But later, Li En became no different from others.
Brock took him out into the street, and he learned to sit still in the car and to stand outside the line at the scene of a car accident.
The day before yesterday, he seemed to have returned to the energy he had when he first arrived, but his attitude changed again yesterday.
"What's wrong?" Li En asked quietly when he noticed that Bright had been staring at him.
Bright looked away, took the pen out of the drawer again, and tapped it on the table.
"Cortel went home last night."
"I was taken to the community by a masked man."
"That's great," Li En replied with a smile. "Now I can have a good mood today."
He turned around and walked into the office area.
Bright stood behind the dispatch desk, watching his back as he twirled the pen in his hand.
Brock sat behind his desk, a thick stack of documents spread out in front of him.
His hat rested on the corner of the table, two buttons of his shirt collar were undone, his fingers flipped through the corner of a document, and his gaze swept across it.
There aren't many days when this guy can look at the information so seriously.
Lee walked over to Brock and greeted him.
"So early today, Brock."
Brock looked up and glanced at Li En's face.
"This is the first time you've been late, kid."
Was it intense last night?
Li En smiled and said:
"Payment is coming soon, I need to spend all the money I have."
He made a knowing look.
Brock did not respond to this topic.
He picked up the stack of documents from the table and closed it.
He stood up and handed the document to Li En's chest.
"We'll explore as we go; that's our job."
Lee took the document and followed Brock through the office area. As they passed the police station, Bright looked up at him.
The police car in the parking lot was the same one, but it was covered in an extra layer of dust compared to yesterday.
Li En opened the passenger door and got in. Brock started the engine and sped out of the precinct.
The car was not going fast.
Brock rested his left hand on the car window sill and gripped the steering wheel with his right, just like when he first took Lee En out on patrol.
The air blowing from the air conditioner vents carried a lingering smell of smoke, seeping out from the gaps in the instrument panel.
Li En opened the file.
The first page is a blurry photograph; a black headscarf is stretched into a long, indistinct line in the image.
The second and third pages are also full of photos, some showing the back of the person, and others only showing half of their body flashing past the alley entrance.
The further you flip through the photos, the clearer they become; in the most recent ones, you can make out the person's outline.
Medium build, wearing a black fitted top and a black headscarf.
Each photo is labeled with the date and location, dating back to when it first appeared more than half a year ago and continuing until yesterday.
"Are these all cases involving masked men?" Li En flicked his finger across the page number.
"That guy killed someone, so he's under our jurisdiction."
Brock's voice came from the left, his eyes sweeping from the windshield to the left rearview mirror and then back.
"But if we arrest him, won't our sales figures all drop?"
Li En thought about the package she carried in from the doorway steps on her first day there.
I get at least several a week, and over half a year that's more than a hundred.
When these numbers were entered into the report, the Manhattan police department's data looked much better.
The government allocated more funds, and the voluntary donations from street shops also increased.
Regardless of how chaotic Hell's Kitchen is, just look at how impressive the criminal arrest statistics are!
Brock didn't laugh; he tapped his fingers twice on the steering wheel.
"Who told the masked man to kill someone last night?"
"Someone came to report it to the police and a case was filed."
"As a criminal police officer, I have to arrest people."
Li En flipped through a few more pages of the document, his gaze sweeping over the timelines.
The masked man's activity pattern was very regular. He appeared at night, attacked and left without chasing or finishing off his victims. There had been no record of any deaths in the past few months.
But last night, someone died at Port 10.
Whether it was the masked man himself or someone else who did it, the blame has been placed on him.
Li En closed the file, glanced at the street, and casually asked:
"But the information says that the masked man always fights alone."
"Given the timeline, it's unlikely he could have saved both the women and Cortel at the same time."
Block turned the steering wheel half a turn to the left, the car turned into a narrow road, he took his left hand out of the window and changed his posture to lean back in the seat.
"Why worry so much? What if he has accomplices? They're all masked anyway, there's definitely something fishy going on."
He paused, and the corner of his mouth twitched to one side.
"And if we don't take this case, we'll have to deal with the dead body on West 38th Street."
"Then there won't even be time for drinking."
Li En understood.
The masked man's file had been lying in the system for more than half a year. Every single thing was recorded, but no one actually checked it.
It's not that we can't find it, it's that we don't want to.
This person is doing what the Manhattan precinct can't do.
Tie up those who should be arrested and put them at the door; solve those cases that should be solved ahead of schedule.
His name is written in the report, but it will never appear on the arrest warrant.
Someone died last night, and someone has to take the case.
Who will answer? Brock will answer.
Why?
Because there were no leads in the case of the masked man.
No clues means you can wander around, you can drive around the streets in a police car.
You can sit in a coffee shop and flip through the newspaper, or write down your visits and investigations in your patrol log.
No one will rush you, no one will put pressure on you.
Anyway, no one can catch that masked man, not even the entire New York police department.
Li En leaned back in her seat, looking at the street outside the windshield.
To be able to snatch such a case, Brock's connections within the department were deeper than he had imagined.
Brock glanced at him, then turned back to look at the road.
He slowed down even further, almost riding alongside the cyclists on the side of the road.
"Rookie, it's good that you understand." His voice carried an almost imperceptible sense of relief.
"This is one of the few easy cases."
He removed his right hand from the steering wheel and felt around in the gap between the seat and the center console.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, took one out and put it in his mouth, but didn't light it.
"I'll teach you how to start investigating a major criminal case."
"Then I'll leave it to you, Brock."
Li En put the documents on the back seat and put his hands in his pockets.
The street scenes outside the car window receded one by one.
He walked this road yesterday.
The metal door to my mom's grocery store was closed.
Brock pulled the police car over to the side of the road, engaged the handbrake, and opened the car door.
Li En followed.
Brock walked to the door and reached out to pull open the metal door.
The copper bell rang, just like yesterday, three times.
The shop lights were only half on.
The aisles between the shelves were darker than yesterday; two light bulbs were broken, and the ends of the fluorescent tubes were blackened.
Barrett sat behind the counter, with a small television in front of him, the screen flickering.
He turned the volume down to the lowest setting, so he couldn't hear anything.
Brock walked straight to the counter and slammed his right hand on the counter.
boom!
Barrett looked up.
Brock braced his hands on the edge of the table, leaned forward, and tucked his chin in.
His gaze pierced through the brim of his hat and fixed on Barrett's face.
He hadn't taken off his hat, and the shadow it cast covered half of his face.
"You think you can mess with the police?"
Barrett stood up from his chair and placed his hands naturally on the table, his palms resting on the polished wood.
His gaze first fell on Brock's face, then swept over Lee, and then turned back.
"Brock, what do you mean by that?"
"In Hell's Kitchen, how could we not give the police a break?"
"Whoa." Brock leaned forward, their faces less than an arm's length apart.
"Then tell me, how did things happen so coincidentally last night?"
He raised his hand from the table, pointed towards the door, then lowered it again, pointing at the documents on the table.
"I asked Li En to come and talk to you. You said Cortel is at Port 12."
"Everyone knows what kind of place that is."
"Yesterday, the 10th port had an accident, and the 12th port also had an accident."
As he spoke, his face turned completely gloomy.
"Are you trying to drag the police station down with you?"
Barrett's lips twitched down slightly, then lifted again.
His gaze didn't waver, but the fingers of his two hands resting on the table began to tap lightly.
"What a joke, Brock, the information I gave you was correct."
"As for what happened that night, who knows what happened?"
Barrett spoke a beat faster, his voice rose a little, then fell back down.
"Right now, I'm in even more trouble than you are. People from both sides are coming to bother me!"
Brock did not speak.
He took off his hat, placed it on the counter, and turned the brim halfway around.
Then he leaned forward another half inch, his gaze fixed on Barrett's nose.
Staring at that spot for too long is more uncomfortable than staring into your eyes.
Barrett seemed somewhat frightened; a white light even shimmered on his dark skin.
"Of course."
"I just run a small business, why would I offend them, let alone you?"
He lifted both hands off the table and pointed to his face.
"In Hell's Kitchen, who would want to cause trouble for the port or the police?"
"That's suicide."
Brock stared at him for a few seconds without looking away.
Barrett's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
After a moment, it seemed that they had confirmed that the other party was not lying.
Brock then straightened up, reached out and took the hat off the counter, and put it on his head.
He adjusted the brim of his hat, tilting it five degrees to the side, and then turned around.
"You think you can get away with this? You'd better watch out."
He didn't turn around; the voice came from behind his shoulder.
"Let's go, newbie."
Lee En stood still, his gaze sweeping over Barrett's face.
Barrett looked away, avoiding eye contact.
Lee turned and followed Brock.
The copper bell rang again.
The metal door closed behind them.
Li En sat back in the passenger seat, the sound of the seatbelt buckling echoing in the car.
The police car started up, glided off the side of the road, and merged into the sparse traffic on Eighth Avenue.
Lee turned his head to look at Brock's profile.
"Have I been framed?"
He understood the conversation between the two people.
Yesterday he came to Barrett to ask for information about Cortel, and then went to Port 12 and met with the people there.
That evening, incidents occurred at Port 10 and Port 12, and Cortel was rescued by masked men.
If someone tries to connect these things, it's easy to point the finger at them.
Was the police officer who loitered around the port during the day connected to the attack at night?
Maybe someone will cause him trouble, maybe not.
But he had already thought about this before taking action last night.
Brock rolled the car window down halfway to let the wind in.
He lit the cigarette he had in his mouth, took a drag, and the smoke leaked out from the corner of his mouth, only to be swept away by the wind through the crack in the car window.
"It wouldn't be considered framing."
His voice was muffled by the wind, but every word was clearly audible.
"This kid is cunning. He won't tell the truth unless you have his life in your hands."
He turned his head and glanced at Li En.
"Let's go grab a drink."
Li En leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the buildings receding into the distance outside the windshield.
The road surface on Eighth Avenue was a bit bumpy and swayed back and forth.
He didn't speak, and neither did Brock.
The car radio was on, the volume turned down low, and a woman was reporting traffic conditions, her voice buzzing from the speaker.
The car turned a corner and headed south.
……