William Carter's previously somber expression forcibly warmed up, and he returned an impeccable smile: “Big Brother Miller, you’re just being polite. Who knows how much you’re secretly resenting us for coming to steal your credit.”

Matthew Miller grinned so wide his eyes disappeared, his two big front teeth jutting out majestically from both sides of his lips: “We’re all here to serve the people—what’s this about credit or no credit?”

But before he could finish boasting, Samuel Reed suddenly interjected: “Director Miller, the evidence chain in this case isn’t complete yet, right? The murder weapon hasn’t been found, and Kevin Parker hasn’t confessed. There are still a lot of doubts. Do you think there’s any follow-up work we can help with?”

Samuel Reed was a bona fide “big-eyed lamp.” After a personal assessment by the city bureau’s forensic expert, Director Morgan, it was said her eyes were even bigger than “Xiao Yanzi” from TV dramas. To prevent wrinkles around her eyes, Samuel Reed rarely smiled. Even on special occasions when she had to, she’d mostly just move her mouth, keeping her eyes stiff. Over time, she mastered the art of smiling with her mouth but not her eyes. Though she was a bit of a goofball at heart, she always looked especially noble and aloof.

She could easily take on roles like interrogating suspects or playing the “bad cop”—all the fierce, intimidating parts—without any pretense.

Though she said “help,” Samuel Reed’s tone was so sharp it was almost like she was about to spit in Matthew Miller’s face. At the same time, she glared at him coldly with her unnervingly large eyes, forcing Director Miller’s “serving the people” big front teeth to retreat back into his mouth.

Matthew Miller’s expression changed: “Little Reed, what do you mean by that?”

“Hey, Little Samuel, why do you have to talk like that?” William Carter reached out to block Samuel Reed behind him, scolding her lightly, then looked down at Matthew Miller from above, offering a fake, insincere smile. “Director Miller, we didn’t really help much before either. If there’s anything we can do in the follow-up, just let us know.”

Matthew Miller was rather wary of him and didn’t want to fall out openly, so he pretended not to understand, grunted, and turned to leave.

Samuel Reed stood with her hands on her hips, glancing at Matthew Miller’s back: “I heard that old guy’s complaint letters could fill a shoebox, yet he’s still so cocky.”

William Carter stuck a cigarette between his lips and shot her a look: “What if we can’t get him removed this time? Aren’t you afraid he’ll climb over your head in the future and make things hard for you?”

“Ha!” Samuel Reed rolled her eyes. “Worst case, I’ll just quit and live off my looks.”

“A grown woman shouldn’t be so shameless.” The smile on William Carter’s face vanished in a flash, then he added, “That Kevin Parker, he’s either the killer or an idiot. Personally, I lean toward the latter, because if I’d killed someone, I’d at least come up with a reasonable story afterward. Even saying ‘I was at home watching TV and didn’t hear anything’ would be better than telling ghost stories to the police. So far, there’s not a single trace of the killer at the scene. This person is bold, meticulous, calm, and ruthless, with a clear sense of counter-investigation. I don’t believe he could be that stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s him either.” Eric Harris briefly repeated what Edward Bennett had said in the car the night before. “So it seems we should start by looking into Stephen Wright’s personal connections. For example, who gave him that phone? Maybe we could ask the person who lent him the shoes.”

William Carter listened and made a thoughtful sound, hesitating: “You mean his shoes were borrowed? That’s an interesting angle…”

Eric Harris: “That’s not my idea.”

William Carter was stunned for a moment, then, as if he and Eric Harris were on the same wavelength, instantly understood where the idea came from. His brows furrowed sharply: “Edward Bennett? I told you, it’s best not to let him get involved in these things.”

“I know, yesterday was an accident.” Eric Harris cut off the topic succinctly, then changed the subject, “What do you think of this line of investigation?”

“Good, let’s start by checking out those shoes,” William Carter decided. “Eric Harris, keep following up on this case. Samuel Reed, keep an eye on the task force working on Kevin Parker. There are still a lot of doubts about him—see what else he knows. Also, watch out for any tricks from Matthew Miller’s people. I’ll go keep Fat Miller in check. If you need anything, call me anytime—let’s go, beauties and handsome guys, we’re working overtime today, and there’s no overtime pay.”

Samuel Reed was burning with curiosity. As soon as William Carter left, she hurried to catch up with Eric Harris: “Deputy Harris, who was that handsome guy yesterday? Why did Boss Carter say he shouldn’t get involved in the case?”

Eric Harris: “Of course it’s not appropriate for him to get involved—he’s not a cop.”

Samuel Reed wouldn’t let it go: “Then why did the boss immediately agree when he heard it was his idea? Is that guy Conan or something?”

Eric Harris sighed and turned to look at her. Samuel Reed widened her already striking eyes, blinking at him.

Eric Harris: “You’re going to get wrinkles from blinking like that.”

Samuel Reed quickly used her fingers to hold the corners of her eyes and forehead.

Eric Harris paused, then simply said, “Edward Bennett was the… informant in a case William and I handled together years ago. That was seven years ago.”

Back then, both William Carter and Eric Harris had just graduated—youngsters with no facial hair and little experience. Especially William Carter, a cadre’s son, who was extremely arrogant in his youth, always rebellious, convinced he was a genius and the best in the world—second only to that British guy named Sherlock Holmes.