The man was now handcuffed, sitting on the cold concrete floor like a broken puppet with his strings cut. His head hung low, his face bruised beyond recognition. Blood had dried around his mouth, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He was waiting—defeated—for the police to take him away.
He was completely fucked up.
The Director really did a number on him. She wasn't the type to hold back when she was pissed, and judging by the sorry state of this bastard, she'd definitely taken her time.
"I'm honestly jealous of you, man," I said, tilting my head and smirking. "Getting to kiss the Director's feet like that? If I were in your shoes, I'd probably be a corpse floating in the river right now. You're pretty damn lucky, you know?"
He stared up at me, dazed, like I was some kind of demon that crawled out of hell just to ruin his day.
"I see that I've been played..." he muttered weakly. His voice came out rough and muffled, probably because of that ballooned-up face. "I really didn't expect this... A normal investigator would've taken months to figure this out, you know? But you... you did it in less than an hour. That's something no other detective could've pulled off—except you, of course. Too bad you decided to waste your time on something this boring. I thought you wouldn't even care, since everyone knows you're lazy as hell. So what gives?"
I shrugged and leaned back, hands in my pockets. "Well, if someone told me I could finally get a little peace and quiet with no one breathing down my neck or nagging me about my work—I'd take the job too. Wouldn't you?"
"You're such a scum," he spat. His glare was sharp, but honestly, with his face like that, it looked more pathetic than threatening.
"Hey," I said casually, flashing him a grin, "how's your wife?"
The moment the words left my mouth, his entire expression changed. His bruised jaw tightened, his eyes went wide, and then that murderous look came right at me. For a second, I thought he'd actually try to bite me.
"You son of a bitch..."
"Alright, take him away," I said, still smiling. "We're done talking."
The officers grabbed him by the arms and started dragging him off. He kept twisting his neck, trying to glare at me even as they ducked his head into the back of the police van. I didn't bother looking back. He wasn't worth the time.
Instead, I turned toward the Director. She was leaning against the side of a sleek black car, one leg crossed over the other, her crimson lips wrapped around a cigarette. She took a slow drag, the glowing ember lighting her face for a moment, and then exhaled a stream of smoke that curled through the air like a silver ribbon.
"You really are something, Detective," she said, her tone calm but her eyes glinting with amusement. "Just like my father said. I didn't expect anyone could solve it that quickly."
I smirked. "You would've figured it out too, though. Maybe not as fast as me, but eventually."
"Which is exactly why I asked Thessa to assign you here," she said. "The files of the murder were deleted... every lead of it wiped clean—and the guy was good. Too good. His forgery work fooled me, the higher-ups, everyone. If it weren't for you, that bastard would've kept playing us for fools. I didn't want him getting away with what he did, walking around freely like he hadn't done a damn thing."
I chuckled lightly. The guy really was clever, I'll give him that. He wasn't just a musclehead bodyguard. I mean, he handled data collection too. With those quick, twitchy hands of his, I could tell the moment I saw him—he knew his way around a computer. The contradiction was perfect with him bein muscles on the outside, hacker on the inside. Nobody would've guessed.
"I'll make sure Thessa compensates you properly for your efforts, Detective Caine," she said, her voice smooth and professional.
"Well," I replied, grinning, "I'd like one more form of compensation, if you don't mind."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what would that be?"
"Your number," I said, dead serious.
For a moment, she went completely silent. Then she let out a short chuckle, tapping the ash off her cigarette. "I've heard rumors that you're quite the pervert," she said, eyes narrowing playfully. "But I didn't think you'd actually have the guts to flirt with me in the middle of a crime scene. Thessa did mention that I might be your type... I guess she was right. But well, I don't really mind."
Jackpot.
"I hope we get to work together again, Detective," she said, giving me a sly look. "Better yet, why not join the Secret Service? You'd be rewarded a lot better there."
"Yeah, sure," I said with a chuckle. "If I did that, Thessa would kill me before I even signed the papers."
She smiled faintly. "I see. That's unfortunate. Well then, Detective, see you next time."
She turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement. My eyes, of course, followed her every step... the gentle sway of her hips, the curve of her waist. Damn, that ass could start wars.
I let out a quiet whistle. I want to get in that ass, I thought.
"Detective," my handler said, breaking my little daydream. "Your face looks absolutely disgusting right now."
I flashed her a grin. "That's because you haven't fallen for my charm yet, Miss Handler."
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. We both got in the car, and she started driving, pulling us out of the crime scene.
As we rolled down the road, I caught her glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
"What's wrong, Handler? Don't tell me you're falling in love with me already. Sorry, but I prefer busty mature women," I teased.
She gave a dry laugh. "What kind of dumb assumption is that? I'm just curious—how the hell did you solve the case so fast?"
"You're curious, huh?" I asked, smirking.
"Well yeah," she said. "You cracked the case in record time. Honestly, I didn't think you had it in you. So, how did you know it was him?"
"Simple, Lady Handler," I said, leaning back with a grin. "Affairs."
"Huh?"
"Affairs and infidelity," I said. "Those things are dangerous, you know? When someone finds out their partner's been cheating, tell me—what would you do? Could you resist killing the person who stole your lover?"
"I don't really know, since I haven't been in any relationship before..." she said.
"Oh, so you're a virgin, huh? Well, that makes sense," I said with a teasing smirk.
Her eyes shot daggers at me through the rearview mirror. "Shut up," she snapped, glaring. "Anyway, how did you come up with that it was an affair?"
I leaned back, one arm draped over the backseat, letting out a small sigh. "The death happened roughly seven hours before the body was found floating down the river," I began, my voice calm, almost lazy. "I said that already, didn't I? Because of that time frame, I could piece together where he was before he got killed. From the bridge where he was tossed off, to where he probably spent his last moments alive." I paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "So, roughly four hours before his body was thrown in, he was still breathing. Then it floated downstream for about three more hours until someone spotted it. Now, the real question—what was he doing during those missing hours?"
I leaned forward a bit, my voice dropping. "Well, truth is... before he got killed, he was fucking the wife of that guy."
She flinched a little at how blunt I was. "You seriously have no filter, huh? You could've said that in a more decent way, you know?"
"Decent doesn't solve crimes," I muttered, waving her off. "Anyway, that couple—him and his wife—were already falling apart. Their marriage was barely holding on and it was practically on life support. The wife knew it, too. She probably figured it was only a matter of time before it ended, so she started having an affair. Classic move, really. The husband, though? Poor bastard still loved her. So, imagine finding out the woman you love is screwing another man. That kind of thing can make anyone snap. Bitterness eats you alive—slowly, until one day, you just lose control. Boom. You do something you can't take back."
She let out a quiet sigh. "Well, I guess that's... believable. But what I still don't get is how the hell you figured all that out with so little information."
I couldn't help but grin. "That's the thing—people always overlook the small stuff. You just need to pay attention." I tilted my head. "The man who was killed was clearly on a date. Even though the river water washed away the scents of blood and cologne, there was still a faint trace of men's cologne mixed with women's perfume on him. That tells me he was having sex before or during his death. At first, I suspected the woman he had sex with was the killer, but then I realized something—if it was some random woman, the Secret Service would've already figured it out. They wouldn't need me. The fact that they hired me means they had no clue. Which immediately ruled out the possibility that it was just some random woman. No ordinary person could've covered their tracks that cleanly, not from the Secret Service's eyes."
She blinked, visibly impressed. "So that's why you immediately thought the killer was within the Secret Service. If you're gonna murder someone, you'd better make sure the Service can't trace it and wipe every trace clean afterward. And those with the ability to do just that were inside the Secret Service."
"Exactly," I said with a small grin. "That's why I went to their office in the first place. I didn't actually know who the killer was yet—I just needed to stir the pot. I told the Director I already knew who the murderer was, but honestly, that was pure bluff. All I wanted was to see who'd flinch first."
"You did that on purpose... to bait the killer into making a move."
"Yup," I said simply. "And the coin toss sealed it. Out of the two bodyguards there, he was the only one married because of the ring on his hand. That told me he had a wife—someone he actually loved because he was still wearing the wedding ring. That already lined up with the motive I suspected. And there was something else—he was left-handed. The wound on the victim's forehead couldn't have been made from the right side at that angle. Only a lefty could've done that." I paused for a moment, tapping my temple with a finger. "After killing the guy, he tried to make it look like it was the Viper's work by copying the same torture style and the same level of brutality." I raised a finger. "However, the blood under the victim's fingernails was still wet, while the blood around the gunshot wound was already drying. That means he tortured the guy after killing him. Which means he did it to cover it up as well as to pin it on the Viper and make them take the blame. He probably thought it'd make the scene look convincing, but all it did was show me he didn't know what the fuck he was doing."
She blinked at me, her mouth slightly open. "Y-You're actually pretty capable... I mean, I was seriously doubting you because you're such a pervert, but I guess you didn't get the title of 'great detective' for nothing..."
I grinned, folding my arms. "Told you. That was just a warm-up, anyway. A real case would've taken a day or two, maybe less if I didn't get distracted by beautiful women."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. She seemed a little giddy.
"Stop the car right here," I said suddenly.
"H-Here?" she asked, confused, as she slowed down in front of a small family diner.
"Yup," I said, already reaching for the door handle. "I've earned my few days of freedom now. Which means..." I stepped out with a grin, stretching my arms, "...I can flirt with the waitress all I want."
She gave me a long, unimpressed stare through the rearview mirror. "You really are a piece of crap after all..." she sighed, shaking her head.
I shot her a lazy salute and walked off, whistling.