"There's a house like the one Terry discovered, but it was sold a few months ago. We have the address—we can go take a look."
While Jane was checking the address, Larry quickly got in touch with Jack, who was at the police department.
"Captain, we've analyzed it. I think it's best if Alan and William are kept in separate rooms. Yes, we'll send in what seems to be a witness—we have advanced information that might lead us to something interesting."
"Also, have someone look into Terry's background and find out what he was running from. We can't rule out the possibility that this is all a setup and that he's the real killer."
"But Alan is our main target. Yes, dig up everything—especially information about his wife; make sure it's verified. After all, some cases haven't been uploaded online. I've always had the feeling these matters are somehow connected."
Jack took note of what Larry said and handled the procedures.
Downstairs, as the patrol car carrying Terry drove past, the two investigators shoved him inside roughly.
"The cuffs are too tight."
"Shut the hell up. Keep walking."
The car roared off, police lights flashing.
"What will you charge him with?"
"For now, nothing. Let's hold back for the moment."
Larry waited until the property manager arrived, guiding the group to the house, especially to the basement, which everyone was interested in.
Only when they entered the house and went downstairs did they truly understand the structure. With the manager leading the way, they began searching for the garage with the electrical distribution box. After a couple of turns, they finally found one in a discreet spot.
The garage door was barely visible from the side, set at a 90-degree angle to the distribution room, making it easy for passersby to miss.
What's more, it wasn't a roll-up shutter but a completely sealed wall, with only a single door in the corner near the distribution room.
As soon as they approached, however, a fishy odor caught their attention. There were patches of dried water in the corners, clearly a place often used for urination.
The manager raised a bunch of keys, trying the lock repeatedly, while Max turned the inspection light to full brightness, flooding the dark underground garage with light.
"That's blood!"
At Max's words, Larry bent down. Following his finger, he saw a bloodstain on the door. Everyone held their breath as the heavyset man sprayed the reagent, and instantly the stain glowed.
"Human blood!" Max shouted, having already found the right key.
The door creaked open, and Larry raised his hand to stop him. Max lifted the light and peeked inside. With a loud metallic clang, his inspection lamp fell to the floor.
Even after the fall, the lamp stayed lit. Larry peered into the room from the side, but saw nothing.
"What's going on?" Jane asked as she came up from behind.
Larry turned, and just then Jane whispered, "A human silhouette! There's a figure hanging there!"
Slightly relieved, Max took a deep breath and raised the inspection lamp again, shining it forward. Sure enough, an object shaped like a human figure floated in the depths of the garage.
Larry narrowed his eyes. This seemed to be Alan's most private space. He took the lamp from Max and found an old cable along the wall. With a slight tug, the entire garage lit up instantly.
Light is mankind's greatest comfort. Even the most fearful feel their terror lessen in a bright environment.
The room was divided into two parts by a large floral curtain that stretched from floor to ceiling.
The terrifying figure from before was only the shadow of a suit hanging on a rack in front of the curtain. Max exhaled in relief once he saw it clearly.
In front of the door was a large bed, and to the side, a wardrobe. The floor wasn't covered in boards but painted red in the style of an old renovation. The walls were also painted red up to about 1.8 meters high.
The red paint was as glaring as blood, and the garage, decorated this way, unsettled everyone.
Mike and the other officers were already at the door, peering inside.
Max had marked several spots on the floor with white chalk—clearly footprints.
Larry walked past them and reached the large floral curtain. He grabbed it and yanked it to the side.
"My God!" Max clenched his teeth and shuddered. This was a slaughterhouse. No wonder the walls had been painted red—it was to cover the bloodstains.
A white cutting board the size of a massage table appeared. A knife rack on the wall held a row of blades in various styles.
Next to it were two massive buckets—one filled with water, the other stained with blood at different depths. On the floor sat a gas stove with a huge iron pot on top.
Larry stepped closer and pulled out a long, narrow, curved knife. The handle was dark brown at the joint with the blade, and the whole blade reeked of blood.
The white cutting board beside it looked as if it had been scrubbed thoroughly, yet the bloodstains couldn't be erased by brushing. Larry used tweezers to pick up a fragment of bone and held it under a magnifying glass.
The cross-section was smooth, the overall shape round and slightly convex on one side. It was a lesion from the articular surface of the humerus.
Larry remembered that only Alan's humerus had that defect. He raised his hand and dropped the bone fragment into the evidence bag.
"Max, take all the knives for analysis. This looks like the primary scene. Let's get to work!"
Max began collecting evidence—walls, floor, cutting boards, pots, curtains, every possible spot.
He didn't even overlook the blackened barrel. Using a knife, he scraped the reddish substance from its rim, divided it into samples, and sealed them in separate bags.
Jane stayed outside the curtain. On the top of the bed, she noticed small dark spots that must have been blood. She called Max over, and he rushed to collect them.
Larry stood in the middle of the house, turning in a slow circle.
"They painted the walls and floor red just for killing?" Mike asked, stepping inside. "This feels too deliberate! Normally, you'd paint for looks—or to hide something."
Larry suddenly turned to the property manager. The man stood frozen in the doorway, clutching the keys with both hands, terrified.
"When did Alan buy this garage?" Jane asked, watching the trembling man in the corner.
"He bought it in 2000, just six months after the community was built. Since it wouldn't sell, I didn't mind not being the owner anymore. But he never lived here—that's why he sold it this year."
"Five years?" Larry murmured to himself, cutting into a slightly bulging section of wall with a scalpel.
Perhaps because the garage was damp from lack of ventilation and excess water, Larry's movement peeled away a large patch of red paint.
Beneath the flaking paint, the wall was covered in dark brown bloodstains.
Max stepped forward and measured the height and pattern of the stains.
"This is blood spatter, with a distinctive spindle shape. Looks like a murder happened here before the wall was painted."
Larry glanced at Max. "Be careful. Strip this whole wall down and mark the position and order of every piece, alright?"
Mike, spurred on by the question, asked, "Is it okay if we do that?"
"Just do it carefully."
Mike waved his hand, leading his men inside. Following Larry's example, he cut into the wall, lifted it cautiously, and then pulled it down forcefully.
Max had already examined the area around the bed, watching the others' work. He tried to drag it inward, but when he pushed, the bed didn't budge at all.
Larry narrowed his eyes, sensing the weight wasn't right. He stepped over, tapped Mike on the shoulder, and gestured for him to pause.
"Hold on—lift the mattress."
Several men worked together, heaving the mattress aside. Four huge boxes, fitted into compartments, were revealed before them.
"Boxes?" Max reached out to open one.
Larry suddenly noticed something and shouted, "Don't move!"