Chapter 193: Drugs in Hand
Carlos's Art Studio, a nondescript place named after its owner, specializing in religious sculptures, was the scene of this murder.
Perhaps it was a psychological factor, but despite being filled with saint statues, the studio felt anything but reassuring, only a more eerie atmosphere.
"The energy is scattered and negative. This place is cursed! Hurry up! We can't stay here any longer!" Tommy had pulled out his dowsing rod, prompting the accompanying police captain to roll his eyes.
His two subordinates were both eccentric: one sergeant was involved in the heist, and the other's informant was a fortune teller. He felt exhausted.
Ron's system, which hadn't been active for a long time, suddenly sounded an alert: "Golden Legendary Equipment Found: Tommy's Ancestral Dowsing Rod. Whenever you feel lost, it will point you back in your life."
The description was simple, but Ron knew something considered a Golden Legend was far from simple! Ron was already considering his escape plan, hoping to snag the dowsing rod if he had the chance.
Of course, not right now. If the timeline didn't shift, Tommy would eventually bring Quinn to New York with him. That would be the plot of their next adventure, and there would be plenty of opportunities.
Meanwhile, Quinn had already donned plastic shoe covers and began examining the evidence at the scene one by one. His technique was clearly professional, worthy of a student planning to attend the police academy.
"There's really no other entrance here," Quinn concluded after his inspection.
"Of course! We cops are professional after all. If there were another entrance, we would have found it long ago," the captain protested. After all, Tommy had Ron's backing, and the captain's tone was unconsciously a little more polite.
Walking down the hall to the office area, they found a digital camera next to a computer, facing the user's seat. Unfortunately, the memory card had been removed. Ron glared at the captain.
"I didn't take anything from here. When our people got here, the camera was empty."
Well, it seems the police aren't that incompetent. Ron sensed something unusual, something vaguely familiar.
"The room is clean and spotless. Either this guy was a neat freak or had OCD," Tommy commented on Carlos's workspace, then dove under the desk. "Hey Quinn, come and see why there are footprints underneath here?"
"Why are there footprints on the wall under the desk?" Several people gathered together, even the captain's expression showed surprise. They hadn't noticed this during their previous investigation of the scene.
"I don't think anyone would choose to hide under a desk instead of sitting at it," Ron finally connected all his memories:
"Or maybe Carlos wasn't alone in this room from the beginning, but there were two people. The other one was Carlos's murderer, the one who called my army buddy Tommy to transport the package."
"Or, we don't know whether the box he transported out actually contained drugs. Maybe the box contained a living person."
Ron's words struck the three of them: "There are many examples of people being transported in and out of murder scenes like this using containers. Many crime novels use this plot. For example, in Michael Crichton's book 'The Andromeda Strain', the killer hid in a containment unit and infiltrated the facility."
Quinn suddenly realized and raised his hand: "Yes, I've read that book!"
The captain asked, "Then I don't understand, how did the murderer get in? The surveillance clearly didn't capture him entering or leaving. You said he left hiding in a container, so how did he get in?"
"That's your problem to solve. Come on, little detective." Ron patted Quinn's shoulder, then turned his gaze to the captain: "Now just continue to trace the murderer along this clue, and you will definitely find him. My two buddies will help you. The case is basically solved. The evidence here is useless, why don't you let me buy one of these to take home? This saint statue looks good."
Ron walked around examining a statue that was missing a cross, turned it around twice and praised it.
"Well..." The police captain hesitated. "You're a perfectly good American, why would you want a Catholic saint if you don't go to church?"
This seemed off, but he couldn't quite place it.
"Don't worry, I'll pay for it. How much does a statue of this size usually cost?" Ron looked at Tommy.
"A statue of this size usually costs around 400 dollars. One with better workmanship can be sold for 600."
Ron took out his wallet and put a stack of money in the captain's hand: "Here's 800 dollars, no need for change, help me ship this to this address in Los Angeles. How much is the shipping fee? Or you can treat the guys to coffee."
"By the way, since this is my personal property, just go through the federal exemption channel, it will be faster."
Ron threw the money down carelessly and turned to leave. Tommy hurried over to grab him: "Army buddy, don't you care about me anymore?"
"Didn't I help you clear the suspicion of the drug heist? I believe Quinn here will be able to handle the rest. You guys work hard, I'm here on vacation."
Ron straightened his jacket and swaggered out of the crime scene, leaving the three people staring at each other.
"Quinn, what should we do now?"
"Of course, we continue investigating."
"Tommy! Help your buddy pack this up and send it out. Quick," the police captain pocketed the cash and placed a 20-dollar bill in Tommy's hand. "This is for shipping."
"Didn't my army buddy just give you 800 dollars?"
"The rest is for the statue. Hurry up!" the captain barked.
After leaving the crime scene, Ron didn't leave immediately. Instead, he hid around the corner until he confirmed that the saint statue had been loaded by Tommy onto a cargo plane and airlifted to Los Angeles. Only then, contentedly, did he emerge from the shadows and approach the airport ticket counter. "Please give me the fastest flight to Los Angeles, thank you."
Six hours later, after a comfortable nap on the plane, Ron finally arrived back in Los Angeles. At his apartment, a large saint statue had arrived before him, and Ron stood beside it, holding a hammer.
"Now is the moment to witness a miracle. Don't let me down," he said, and then he brought it down on the statue's arm.
"Bang!" The plaster on the saint's arm shattered, fragments scattered everywhere, and small plastic bags filled with white powder appeared from the broken section.
It was the drugs that Ron had been waiting for so long.
(End of this chapter)
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