Shortly after Max ran off in search of the bathrooms in the hospital, Larry received a call from Jack, who was still on-site.
"What's wrong with Max?"
"I think the Mexican food we ate on the street didn't sit well with him. Must have a stomach sensitive to spicy food." Larry handed Jane his car keys and kept talking on the phone.
"Well, there are doctors here who can hook him up to an IV… Anyway, remember not to eat at random public places. They may not look it, but some spots don't follow sanitary rules."
"Does he hate Mexican food?" Larry, who almost never cracked jokes, made one that left Jane a bit surprised.
"I hate food that's not made by me, my wife, or someone I know. I prefer homemade, homey meals—you know what I mean." Jack hung up after falling victim to a joke that left him slightly misunderstood.
Once the call ended, Jane, who was driving, asked, "Did you find anything on this run?"
"Yes. I did some digging, and in case you didn't notice, the angles from the two surveillance cameras they gave us are great—they practically cover everything." Larry kept watching the surveillance footage while Jane drove.
"We took photos of every store within the monitoring range. The rest depends on the second team's investigation to figure out who moved the manhole cover."
Jane knew exactly what Larry meant by that.
The human remains were too large to have been thrown down the drain they had entered through; they must have been dumped directly from where the severed head had been found hanging.
If they pursued this line of investigation, it would significantly narrow the area they had to search.
"I see. Looks like we'll have good news soon. After all, not many people would go out of their way to move a manhole cover." Jane figured the person who had originally opened the cover so the bodies would be found was the killer.
"Not necessarily. The two holes in the manhole cover are tied with ropes to make it easier to lift. Plus, the pedestrian street is low-lying, and wastewater from the three residential zones tends to accumulate here."
After saying that, Larry looked up and added, "That's why it's pretty common for the larger manholes to be in the city center, where more drainage flows through and where people dump trash illegally."
Jane thought about replying, but after a long pause, she stayed silent.
Larry then got a call from Max, who said he was fine. Still, just in case, Larry told him to stay within easy reach of a toilet for a few more hours.
Jane exchanged a look with Larry and, without saying a word, told him Max had made a wise choice.
The home of the victim identified as Amber was the largest of the three residential complexes.
It was a high-rise building, split into two zones: Area A for commercial housing and Area B for relocated residents. Due to complaints from Area A residents, the two sections were separated by a metal fence.
After all, Area B had too many tenants, leading to high turnover and a mix of people.
Larry's temporary residence permit listed his address as 2303, Building 17, Area B.
They found the building and took the elevator up to the 23rd floor.
After a short wait, agents from Larry's unit arrived with a search warrant. The owner and the building manager were also there, their faces tense with nervousness.
"Agent, we knocked on the door of Room 2303 right after getting your call, but no one was home. I'm the owner—Samantha, Amber's aunt."
"Hello, don't worry. I'm Agent Jane Banner with the FBI. Is this Amber the same Amber Heart who rents your apartment?"
Samantha clenched her fists and nodded vigorously. "Yes! That's her. But I haven't seen her since she paid the second half of this month's rent."
"Do you have a spare key? Amber may have been murdered, so we need to search her apartment."
"No problem." Samantha, who had been called over by her sister, feared the worst. With trembling hands, she fumbled with a key ring, finally unlocking the door on her third try.
The moment the door opened, a nauseating stench spilled out from inside. Larry blinked and raised a hand to stop the investigator who was about to walk in.
"Wait!"
The man froze, turned, and looked at Larry. Seeing that the criminal profiler from the special unit had stepped in, he naturally didn't dare move.
Larry dialed Max's number, and the call connected instantly. "Feeling better? If you can, get over here. I've found something—yeah, gear up."
Max's grin from the hospital could be heard even over the phone. "Heh! Miss me already after such a short separation? Got it—just give me the building number."
A short while later, with a ding-dong, the elevator doors slid open and Max stepped out, wobbling a little. Though he was still weak, his trademark smile stayed in place.
"Surprise!"
Jane lowered her head to hide her smile, but several nearby investigators were clearly amused.
"Let's get to work!"
Larry started changing into protective gear. Max dropped his bag and moved quickly, handing Jane a mask and gloves before he was done.
Given Max's physical state, Larry and Jack—who had just arrived—went in with him. It was a two-bedroom, one-living-room apartment.
The place was dark—not because of the lighting, but because the heavy curtains were drawn tightly shut. The now-familiar stench was overpowering after being trapped inside so long without ventilation.
Even the officers outside put on masks.
Larry switched on the ultraviolet light, and the footprints on the floor lit up clearly—every one of them a blood print, each with a distinct pattern.
There were thick, dark purple-black sticky prints; lighter, more diluted prints; smeared and dragged blood stains; and droplets of blood flanking the smear marks.
Larry glanced at the soles of a pair of sneakers tossed to the side—they matched the pattern exactly.
On the white wall light switch, there was a dark purple-black smudge… a bloody fingerprint. But it was crosshatched—the killer had worn wire mesh gloves, making the print useless.
The blood trails led from the doorway to the master bedroom, and then to the bathroom, leaving spots along the way.
Jack turned to Larry and Jane and asked, "Can you handle it, Agent Banner? Larry and I will take a look. The scene of a dismemberment isn't exactly a sight worth seeing."
Jane rolled her eyes. "Quit the nonsense and move it."
Jack shrugged and jerked his chin toward the bedroom. "Let's check the bedroom first."
Larry walked slowly, taking in every detail along the way.
The bedroom door stood open. A large pool of blood covered the bed. The walls, headboard, and wardrobe were spattered with drops in spindle, teardrop, and column shapes.
"This is from arterial spray. Looks like this was the killer's first crime scene. Let's get photos and samples." Larry still didn't understand one thing—who were the kidnapped victims?
Did the killer actually bring the victim home to kill them here?
The wardrobe doors hung open, clothes and bags scattered all over the floor.
"Looks like the killer was searching for something."
Jane asked through the mask, "The place is a mess—was it a robbery?"
Larry shook his head. "Doesn't look like it. There's a square patch here with no bloodstains. The killer might have been looking for a box to carry the body after the murder."
Larry clenched his fists as another forensics tech finished collecting samples. Then the group headed to the bathroom.
When the light flicked on, even Larry froze. The place was nothing short of a living purgatory.
"Damn."