The impact was quite severe—you could clearly hear the sound even through the screen. But the deceased seemed to feel no pain, only desperately tearing at his own collar. As he did so, the high-definition camera showed a dark liquid slowly trickling down his neck—it was blood flowing from his ear canal. Next, he took off his sweater, pressed his bare upper body against the side of the trash bin, and rubbed himself repeatedly against it, heedless of the filth.

That neurotic, dying movement sent a chill through many in the conference room. At that moment, something behind the half-open KTV kitchen back door seemed to catch his attention. The deceased struggled to his feet and staggered into the kitchen.

The screen flickered, and the last image of the deceased disappeared from view.

Liam Hayes covered his mouth and coughed discreetly.

“The autopsy report is in everyone’s hands. Combined with the fingerprints found on the inside of the freezer, our preliminary suspicion is that the deceased, under the strong hallucinogenic effects of scopolamine, locked himself inside the freezer. Look here—the deceased’s arm veins show no signs of injection, but dissection of the throat and esophagus revealed residues of methamphetamine and other substances. So we can conclude the drugs entered the body orally.”

Liam Hayes put the autopsy photos on the big screen, flipping through them for everyone with a laser pointer, and continued, “The key point is, after we did our best to reconstruct the hallucinogen’s molecular formula, we found that the drug the deceased took does not match any known drug on the market.”

There was a buzz of discussion. Deputy Director Foster leaned forward: “Could it be some kind of new drug?”

In criminal investigation, there’s no such thing as major or minor cases—after all, every life is equally important. But in terms of severity, cases do differ. The seriousness of a new drug entering the jurisdiction is about on par with a deranged serial killer murdering twenty people in a busy district in one day, or Logan Bennett suddenly having an episode and challenging everyone in the police system to a martial arts contest.

If it is a new drug entering the area, where is it coming from? What’s the channel?

Has it become widespread? How many sub-dealers are there already?

The room was silent. Suddenly, a deep male voice said, “…Something’s not right.”

Everyone looked over. Deputy Director Foster tapped his big tea mug: “What’s not right, Xiao Yan?”

Logan Bennett didn’t answer. He watched the surveillance footage from the beginning again. The frenzied, twisted images flickered in the depths of his pupils. Only when the footage ended did he tap the time in the corner of the screen.

“Around 9 p.m. last night, a witness saw the deceased wandering alone on the sidewalk not far from the KTV back door, carrying a black backpack that looked like a school bag. Where is that bag now?”

“The deceased appeared on camera at 9:30, already under the influence of the drug, and died soon after. So, between 9:00 and 9:30, where did the deceased go, what did he do, or, who did he meet?”

Before anyone could answer, Mason Reed shot his hand up: “He went to buy drugs! The bag… the bag had cash in it!”

“Not necessarily cash,” Logan Bennett said.

He paused, his callused fingers tapping his chin. “Let’s suppose the deceased arranged to meet the dealer near the crime scene, got the drugs, and completed the transaction. The deceased swallowed the drugs, and soon, the MDMA caused hallucinations and a spike in body temperature. He started to undress, and the first thing he took off was the backpack.”

A bulging backpack left carelessly by the roadside—even in a deserted alley at night—would likely be picked up by someone passing by.

Besides, the deceased was dressed head to toe in designer brands—even his underwear cost four or five hundred. The backpack definitely wouldn’t be cheap, making it even more likely to be snatched.

Deputy Director Foster frowned deeply: “But the sub-bureau hasn’t identified the body, the dispatch center hasn’t received any missing person reports that match, and phone tracking isn’t possible for now.”

Logan Bennett pointed at the surveillance footage and suddenly asked, “Under what circumstances do addicts take drugs?”

The question was a bit abrupt. Deputy Director Foster didn’t react right away. Someone from narcotics coughed: “From our experience, there are two main types. One is using alone at home when the craving hits, the other is gathering with close friends to enjoy together.”

The speaker looked refined and handsome, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, his tone calm and measured. He was Liam Hayes’s temporary recruit from the neighboring narcotics squad, Noah Wright.

The city’s narcotics and criminal investigation divisions were in similar situations: the top leader was nearing retirement, but the second-in-command wasn’t yet old enough to take over, so the chief had no choice but to hang on. The criminal investigation’s number two was Logan Bennett, and for narcotics, it was Noah Wright.

Although the two were drinking buddies who often went out together, Noah Wright had a much better reputation within the bureau—after all, he was good at playing the part of the big shot, his cultured side left a deep impression, and his roguish side was well hidden. This kind of intellectual youth was popular with the older generation. Someone like Logan Bennett, who would take the whole team of detectives out to sing karaoke at the drop of a hat, was more of a challenge to the nerves of the leadership.