Chapter 104: Oil Painting Beauty: I Hate Detectives!
"What?"
Detective Amy Santiago was stunned: "How can the problems be different?"
"Wait until the tech guys at your precinct crack the killer's phone, then we should have an answer."
Chuck said: "If I'm not mistaken, the killer first targeted the math treasure hunt game, then noticed the victim, discovered the victim's scratch-off lottery scheme, killed the victim and stole the lottery plan for himself."
"What's the motive?"
Detective Amy Santiago frowned: "Why would the killer target the math treasure hunt game?"
At this point, she glanced at the professional sniper equipment and looked at Chuck seriously.
"Because someone is targeting mathematicians."
Chuck said calmly: "Using the various levels of the math treasure hunt to screen mathematicians with sufficient ability, then using text messages to lead capable but not well-known mathematicians to alternative clues. After completing cryptographic work that requires mathematical expertise, they eliminate them to prevent loose ends. Once I crack the encryption in this notebook, I'll know who sent him—the anonymous organizer or a third party who intercepted the information and exploited it."
"Cryptographic work."
Detective Amy Santiago said grimly: "This sounds like prep work for something major."
"You can't necessarily say that."
Chuck looked at her: "CIA, FBI, NSA and other US intelligence agencies are the prime suspects. They do this regularly."
"..."
Detective Amy Santiago was speechless for a moment, then said uncertainly: "You can't really mean that? If it were these professional agencies, they could just recruit and hire you directly. Why use such underhanded methods?"
"You think they haven't tried?"
Chuck shook his head: "They all tried, but we refused them. When the NSA approached me, they claimed they were inviting me to study cutting-edge technology—chaos mathematics and advanced algorithms unavailable elsewhere. In reality, it's code decryption, which is intelligence work. Now it seems when the direct approach doesn't work, they resort to covert methods."
"That's legitimate work though... Don't you also cooperate with the FBI and our NYPD?"
Detective Amy Santiago, also being part of law enforcement, made a final protest.
"My response to their invitation was that if I did it, they'd give me an extremely difficult code to crack. No one else could break it, but I might be able to."
Chuck said, "But that code might contain coordinates for military targets in the Middle East or elsewhere. They'd get the coordinates and carry out indiscriminate carpet bombing without distinguishing civilians, killing hundreds of innocent people.
Then politicians would send troops to occupy the region, and they wouldn't care, because it wouldn't be their children getting shot or killed on the front lines. Their kids mostly join the National Guard.
The ones getting shot over there would only be regular soldiers. When they returned home wounded, they'd find the factory where they used to work had been outsourced to the country they just fought, and the enemy who shot them had taken their jobs.
Because the once-prosperous country had been destroyed, survivors there could only earn less than a dollar a day to survive, and then they'd realize they went to war just for the country's oil, so domestic oil companies could exploit the war panic to raise gas prices and rake in profits.
These oil companies need time to ship the seized oil back home, they might hire a drunk tanker captain who then hits a reef, causing an oil spill that wipes out all marine life in the Gulf of Mexico.
Now, regular soldiers are unemployed, can't afford gas, and have to walk to job interviews. Bullet and shrapnel wounds leave them in constant pain and hunger, and the only food they can afford is Gulf Coast seafood that's on clearance because it's contaminated with oil.
Frustrated but powerless to change anything, they turn to alcoholism, domestic violence, sexual deviance, and crime, contributing to increased violence in society. Maybe all this happened because I casually cracked a code.
Code-breaking benefits the privileged few, while working with you to catch criminals benefits ordinary people. Everyone at the bottom just wants to live peacefully.
Not cracking codes is one way to break this vicious cycle, making your job easier, allowing you to have casual conversations while solving cases, rather than living in constant fear of encountering some psychopath."
"Do you still think I should accept that legitimate job?"
Detective Amy Santiago completely gave up defending her profession.
Not all of her seven cop brothers had joined the force directly; some had served in the military before becoming police officers.
She had seen more than one of her brothers suffer similar fates, and had gained deeper insight into the root causes of the increasing numbers of alcoholics, domestic abusers, serial predators, and violent organized crime in society.
As expected, Chuck was right; these things, completely different from what the media promoted, really shouldn't be discussed.
Fortunately, after she called for backup, other officers and the crime scene unit arrived, some taking photos and others collecting evidence, preventing the atmosphere from becoming more heavy.
She drove Chuck back to the precinct.
On the way.
A question suddenly occurred to her: "Wait, even if that's the case, why bring a sniper rifle?"
"Personal preference and operational security,"
Chuck said calmly. "Who would want to risk getting close when you can eliminate someone from a distance? Plus it's convenient for quick extraction.
Or maybe someone pissed off the wrong people so badly that whoever hired the killer specifically requested an extremely violent method like a headshot to ensure they never see that person again.
I'll contact the naked professor later and have him compile a list of math treasure hunt participants to see who else is as widely disliked as Sheldon Cooper."
"I think I know the answer."
Amy Santiago glanced at Chuck and tried hard to suppress a smile.
The buzz cut killer recognized Chuck and smirked when he saw him. Chuck was also participating in the math treasure hunt. Although they didn't know what kind of person this mathematician named Sheldon Cooper was, Chuck's brutally honest personality made him very easy to dislike.
Moreover, the buzz cut killer was so dangerous that no ordinary organization could afford him. The prime suspects—NSA, CIA, and FBI—had all approached Chuck before, but he had rejected them with his previously consistent, damning assessment.
The buzz cut killer was sent by those agencies to monitor the math treasure hunt and look for an opportunity to eliminate Chuck if things went their way. What could be a more plausible explanation?
"You're wrong,"
Chuck saw her thinking and shook his head.
"Why?"
Detective Amy Santiago was unconvinced.
"The reasons I rejected them wouldn't provoke murderous intent, because they're open secrets that everyone knows,"
Chuck said bluntly. "And my value and reputation within the industry make it impossible for them to act against me.
Besides, I'm not Sheldon Cooper; I'm not universally disliked."
"..."
Detective Amy Santiago's eye twitched.
She found the first two reasons plausible, but was deeply skeptical of the last one.
After just a few hours of working together, she'd already gone from initially being attracted by his looks and demeanor to being completely stunned and convinced, even feeling like she was facing a vast ocean and enjoying spring warmth. But then things took a sharp turn. Now, even compared to her usually annoying partner Jake, she found Chuck more insufferable and irritating.
Come to think of it, this was simply terrifying!
And yet, Chuck had the audacity to claim he wasn't disliked...
Chuck noticed her expression again, but this time he remained silent. He wasn't like Sheldon Cooper, who despite being obviously hated, insisted he was adorable, saying "How could anyone possibly dislike me? They must love me." That was objective enough, right?
London.
A grand reception was underway, filled with men and women in formal attire and evening gowns. Their outward refinement, regardless of their inner qualities, was truly elegant.
The most striking figure was a blonde beauty who seemed to have stepped out of an oil painting. She wore a classic ballgown, her hair elegantly upswept, revealing her slender, pale neck. Her face was breathtakingly beautiful, her bearing incomparable.
Unlike the other women, who seemed like mere accessories to the men, this one stood with a glass of champagne, smiling as she conversed with a group of balding, elderly gentlemen, seemingly looking down upon them. The bald men, clearly wealthy, powerful, or high-ranking, gazed into her eyes and listened intently, without the lewd or flirtatious glances they might give other women.
Just then, an equally well-dressed young woman approached and caught the oil painting beauty's attention.
"Excuse me,"
the oil painting beauty understood, smiled at the group of bald men, then gracefully followed the young woman to the side.
After listening to the young woman's report, the oil painting beauty frowned, "Him again... I hate detectives!"
"Yes, I understand,"
the young woman immediately nodded and walked away.
The oil painting beauty watched the young woman's retreating figure, took a sip of champagne, and narrowed her eyes slightly, making her mood impossible to read.
New York.
NYPD 99th Precinct.
"You're back?"
A veteran detective stood up with a smile: "How did it go?"
"We found the suspect's residence and discovered evidence..."
Detective Amy Santiago briefed the veteran detective on the situation.
"Excellent work, Dr. Wolfe."
The veteran detective nodded at her perfunctorily, looking at Chuck with a grin: "You made this look easy. You were right—Jake got nothing in the interrogation room. The suspect didn't say a word, just laughed, and it was genuinely creepy."
"I have to see this!"
Detective Amy Santiago perked up when she heard this.
She loved seeing her partner make a fool of himself.
"The company that issued the scratch-off lottery has been notified and has stopped selling this particular game. They're urgently recalling all remaining tickets."
Chuck understood what the veteran detective's look meant, and directly shared what he knew.
"..."
The veteran detective suddenly stopped smiling.
(End of Chapter)
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P@atreon/Soulforger (45+ advanced chapters)