“Go, go, go,” Eric Harris put away the card and found a discreet spot to hide the flowers. “Where did this girlfriend come from? Stop making things up.”

As soon as everyone heard this, seeing such a huge bundle of incriminating evidence exposed in public, and yet this person still trying to bluff his way through, the crowd instantly erupted, swarming forward to surround and intercept Deputy Captain Harris.

At that moment, William Carter, who had just hurried out, pushed the door open again and slapped the doorframe: “There’s been a homicide in the Flower Market District. I need two people to come with me, now. Move.”

Author’s note:

Note: “The wind is fierce, my hands and feet are frozen, but my heart is warm. Yet I don’t know why, my heart feels so soft. I need to be close to you, or else I’ll feel sad.” — Shen Congwen, “Letters from the Xiang Journey”

Chapter 3: Julien II

Near Nanping Avenue is a disaster zone during the morning rush hour, with congestion from 6:30 a.m. to 10 p.m.

The high-end white-collar workers heading to the central business district in the east often have narrow encounters with the little electric scooters darting everywhere. If a slow-moving city bus happens to cut in, it can create a “no one escapes” century collision.

The road conditions in the western district are especially complicated—some roads are wide, some are narrow, all crisscrossing. Unauthorized construction by local residents is rampant, and man-made dead ends are everywhere. Motor vehicles that stray in are like insects caught in a spider’s web—only by desperately darting left and right can they see daylight again.

William Carter stuck his head out the car window, sounded the siren once, and shouted, “Hey handsome, we’re on official business and can’t get through. Could you please move that BMW at the entrance?”

An old man answered from the small courtyard next door, glanced at him with pursed lips, and shakily pushed his elderly mobility scooter back into the yard.

On the left side of the scooter was a sticker reading “For picking up grandson only,” and on the right, “The more you rush me, the slower I go, I’m awesome.” As he walked, there was even a “woof”—William Carter raised his sunglasses in surprise and looked down, only to see a big yellow dog dart out from behind the scooter.

The big yellow dog strolled over to the police car, locked eyes with him, and brazenly lifted its hind leg at the tire.

William Carter whistled at it and said kindly, “Go ahead and pee, little buddy. Once you’re done, I’ll chop off your little weenie and cook it in a pancake.”

This method of eating was truly bizarre—the big yellow dog had never heard of such a thing, and was so intimidated by Officer Carter’s seasoned rogue aura that it tucked its tail and fled with a howl.

Samuel Reed used her tablet to cover her face: “Chief Carter, did you notice there’s an unmarried young woman in the back seat? The sub-bureau just sent over the available information.”

“Comrade, please summarize the objective information,” William Carter slowly drove the police car out of the now-cleared alley. “Ignore the subjective speculation—Matthew Miller is just a bootlicker, and the Flower Market sub-bureau is rotten from the top down, all useless.”

“Oh, the victim’s name is Stephen Wright, male, eighteen years old, a migrant worker, worked as a deliveryman at a chain coffee shop. There’s a groove-like indentation on his neck, cause of death is asphyxiation… basically, he was strangled. Preliminary guess is the murder weapon was something like a soft cloth strip. Estimated time of death is between 8 and 11 p.m. last night, but the exact details will have to wait for the forensic report. Oh, right, the body was found not far behind the group rental house where the victim lived, so the identity was confirmed right away.”

William Carter’s driving skills were top-notch; he maneuvered through the perilous alley with millimeter precision, and still had time to ask, “How did the rumor about the robbery-strangling gang start?”

“They say it’s because all the victim’s valuables were stolen—his phone was gone, wallet emptied and tossed aside. But it’s still unclear if the killer took them.” Samuel Reed quickly skimmed through the email. “Oh, the person who reported it said there was a piece of paper covering the victim’s face, with a small strip of tape stuck to his hair. On the inside, the word ‘money’ was written.”

Eric Harris closed the navigation: “Turn right up ahead and we’ll be there.”

“Mm,” William Carter tapped the steering wheel. “This case is under the sub-bureau’s jurisdiction, not the city bureau. Do you know what we’re here for?”

Samuel Reed ventured, “Guidance and supervision?”

William Carter: “Do you know who used to do ‘guidance and supervision’ in the past?”

Samuel Reed suddenly realized: “Eunuchs!”

Eric Harris turned around from the front passenger seat to glare at her.

“Is this the level of thinking among the young women in your village?” William Carter grimaced as if he had a toothache. “Move over, I’m being serious here—Director Clark will retire in a few years, and the deputy directors are all about the same age. The rest either lack seniority or are like Director Morgan, who just buries himself in technical work and ignores everyone. So it’s likely they’ll promote some people from the sub-bureaus.”

William Carter steered around a small pile of roadside trash and lowered his voice: “The old director wants to get rid of people like Matthew Miller before he retires, so the city bureau doesn’t end up with a useless drunk as the boss. Do you get what our main task is here?”

As soon as he finished speaking, the police car turned the corner.

It was a desolate open space squeezed between old apartment buildings and small houses with people coming and going. It was right behind a row of self-built private warehouses, overgrown with weeds, rarely visited, with puddles in the corners and a lingering stench that seemed both old and fresh.