Chapter 108: Why Are You Here So Late?
The bald professor was stunned.
Ever since he'd discovered his true calling as a killer, he'd been like a sharp yet incredibly precise scalpel, orchestrating assassinations with the finesse of a master surgeon. In his 31 kills, not even the police, let alone the targets themselves, had ever seen him coming, leaving them unaware until their final moments.
On those rare occasions when they did realize what was happening, it provided him a precious opportunity, free from distractions, to stand before his dying targets and chat for a few minutes.
After all, everyone needs someone to talk to.
And who better and more reliable confidant than someone about to die?
As his targets pleaded, tried to bribe him, or cursed as they lay dying, he would gaze into their fading eyes and calmly say, "I don't want anything. I just want to kill you."
This time, when he met his target's gaze again, he encountered eyes not filled with panic, hatred, despair, or final acceptance, but with an unusually calm and profound depth. Suddenly, he seemed to see his own reflection staring back at him.
These thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant. His razor-sharp intellect told him to turn and run.
Chuck's systematic sweep of each floor was designed to trap the man inside, preventing his escape. Even if he did get away, all the surveillance cameras around the building were already focused on him, and with a little more time, they could still track him down. Now that they were face to face, there was no doubt he couldn't escape.
Chuck increased his speed again, climbing the stairs almost as fast as an elevator. He quickly reached the floor where the bald professor was located. Exiting the stairwell, he saw the bald professor frantically pressing the elevator button. Clearly, he had calculated both their speeds and done the basic math. He simply couldn't outrun Chuck.
Watching Chuck rushing toward him at relentless speed, the bald professor looked slightly panicked. After all, a direct confrontation was so exhilarating—something he'd never experienced before as an architecture professor who moonlighted as a killer for thrills.
But he quickly composed himself and pulled out a scalpel.
That's right!
He prided himself that his assassination techniques resembled the delicate art of surgical precision. Besides the stylistic similarity, there was another crucial reason: to expand his killing repertoire, he truly embodied the principle that passion is the best teacher. He'd devoted his spare time to studying anatomy and had become quite skilled with a scalpel.
Chuck, charging toward him, stopped three meters away from the bald professor.
The bald professor smiled at Chuck.
As a serial killer, after overcoming the initial panic—whether from nerves or excitement—he felt no fear.
Besides, though Chuck was tall and muscular, he had a knife.
Chuck stood there silently for a moment, then reached into his suit jacket and pulled something out, revealing a large handgun.
"..."
The bald professor looked at the heavy, black, extended-barrel Desert Eagle in Chuck's hand, then at the small scalpel in his own hand, and fell silent.
Just then, an elevator door opened, and an African-American woman emerged.
The bald professor couldn't help but glance over, the scalpel in his hand shifting slightly toward her, and he made eye contact with Chuck, signaling his intent.
BANG!
A gunshot echoed, and the bald professor felt a violent shock in his hand. His hand went numb, and the scalpel clattered into the corner.
"..."
Seeing Chuck calmly pointing the gun at him, the bald professor fell silent again. Faced with such a formidable opponent who clearly wasn't interested in fair play, rational as he was, he made his final gesture of resistance—raising his trembling hand that had been struck by the bullet, and surrendered.
Yeah.
He wasn't about to give Chuck a chance to empty the magazine.
The African-American woman who had exited the elevator had already quietly disappeared. Obviously, she had enough street smarts to know how to handle such a situation. She was a true New Yorker.
"Nice to see you again."
This building was right next to the NYPD's 99th Precinct, so Jake and Amy were naturally the first to arrive. Seeing the bald professor with his hands raised in surrender, Jake grinned at Chuck. "What's the situation here?"
"He's a killer."
Chuck had already holstered his weapon and nodded to Jake, briefly explaining the circumstances.
"Aren't you overthinking this? While this kind of accident might be unusual, it's not unheard of."
Jake searched the bald professor and found his wallet. He pulled out the driver's license and looked skeptical. "He's an architecture professor at NYU."
"Yes, I am a university professor," the bald professor smiled.
"That's his murder weapon." Chuck pointed to the scalpel in the corner. "Room 18 on the 12th floor—that's where the air conditioner was pushed from. There should be evidence up there."
"Holy crap!" Detective Amy Santiago, crouched in the corner examining the bullet-damaged scalpel, exclaimed, turning to look at Chuck. "What kind of bullet was that? What kind of gun are you carrying?"
Chuck drew his weapon again.
"..." Detective Amy Santiago stared. "Do you normally carry a gun like that?"
"I'm from Texas."
Chuck said matter-of-factly.
"...Even Texans don't usually carry such a high-powered long-barrel pistol, right?"
Detective Amy Santiago protested.
"I follow human instinct and prefer big ones."
Chuck frowned at her. "Don't you like it?"
"..."
Detective Amy Santiago was speechless.
"Yeah, Detective Santiago, don't you like it?"
Jake couldn't resist adding his trademark teasing comment.
"Let's get him back to the precinct first," Detective Amy Santiago said, no longer wanting to engage with Chuck and Jake, worried they might attract attention from federal agencies who could take over the case. With that, she escorted the bald professor downstairs.
The crime scene and evidence would naturally be handled by the forensics team.
NYPD 99th Precinct.
Interrogation room.
"You have the right to remain silent..."
Jake was about to begin the Miranda warning when the bald professor, seated calmly, smiled. "I'll tell you everything."
He then began recounting, one by one, his experiences as a hobby killer, in meticulous detail.
"What's happening here?"
Detective Amy Santiago, standing behind the one-way glass, seemed bewildered.
"He knows he can't get away with it, so he's laying it all out."
Chuck wasn't surprised. "He needs an audience, and this is New York—no death penalty. The only difference between killing one person and killing dozens is that killing dozens gives you negotiating power, and you'll live better behind bars."
With that, he opened the door and walked into the interrogation room, leaving Detective Amy Santiago stunned.
She wanted to argue and complain, but once again found herself speechless. What Chuck said seemed incredible, yet it was the reality of New York's justice system.
After the NYPD fails to dispense street justice during arrest, things get even more surreal with the prosecutors. To get killers to reveal additional victims, DAs practice the art of plea bargaining.
If this bald professor truly had killed dozens, then with that leverage, in a New York without capital punishment, he could indeed negotiate a far more comfortable life than someone who'd only killed one or two people.
He'd probably have crazy female admirers competing to marry him and bear his children during conjugal visits. As long as he was notorious enough, a bald old man's chances of finding romance in prison were infinitely higher than pretending to be normal on the outside.
In the world of American justice, it really was that twisted!
"Who hired you?"
Chuck got straight to the point after entering. "If you don't tell me, I'll find your pressure points and exploit them. If you do tell me, I'll have this detective arrange a cushy prison assignment for you."
"So direct?"
The bald professor's face lit up with amusement.
"Because I know you understand incentives."
Chuck gave him the same look he'd given during their previous armed standoff.
"..."
The bald professor's smile faltered.
Facing Chuck's gun with a scalpel at the elevator had not been a pleasant experience. It wasn't that he was scared, but Chuck's complete disregard for a "fair fight" really frustrated the serial killer's sense of drama.
Jake remained silent this time. Though he was usually a chatterbox, he knew when to shut up during crucial moments.
"Alright, I'll tell you."
As expected, the bald professor didn't resist. He nodded, his smile returning. "But if you're hoping to get useful information from me, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, because I don't know who he is. I know absolutely nothing about him."
Chuck said nothing, simply glanced at him, signaling him to continue.
"Three years ago, I was on a business trip to London. I was sitting in a pub that evening when a tall man suddenly sat down next to me. I was startled—I'd heard about those British urban legends..."
The bald professor spoke calmly. "Then he bought me a drink. Just as I was trying to figure out how to politely decline, he explained his purpose. I had completely misjudged him.
He didn't give me his name, but said he was a client. He just wanted to discuss the fact that I was a serial killer. He said he had experience identifying hidden sociopaths. He said he'd stay in touch. I never saw him again—we only communicated by phone and text. But he was absolutely right. I am a serial killer."
"How many people have you killed?"
Detective Amy Santiago entered at that moment, and hearing this confession, couldn't help but ask.
"Thirty-one," the bald professor stated frankly.
"Thirty-one?" Detective Amy Santiago couldn't process it. "You mean there were 31 'accidents' in New York City?"
"Yes, compared to the real legends, I'm still an amateur," the bald professor sighed. "Over the past three years, I've only made national news maybe three times."
Detective Amy Santiago was stunned.
Welcome to America—mass shootings daily.
In America, there's more than one mass shooting every single day, as everyone knows by now. Therefore, a shooting with fewer than 10 casualties (not including the shooter) wouldn't make national headlines or trending news.
Even being referenced by this bald professor serial killer still shocked her.
"Actually, although I acted decisively and carefully, I've always secretly hoped you'd discover me and catch me," the bald professor looked at Detective Amy Santiago and sighed. "It's just that you never did. All my cases were closed as accidents. I'm somewhat disappointed."
At this point, a strange, sinister smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Why did you take so long to find me?"
(End of Chapter)
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