Chapter 63 - The Roadside Mystery 4
Larry had thought countless times about the most perfect way to kill murderers. He had created his own method, and it was anything but discreet.
He wanted the world to see it, to be feared by criminals, and for them to confess their crimes on their own just at the thought of being caught by him.
He wanted to be justice itself—a symbol people would think of every time they were about to commit a crime.
Of course, that was much harder now that he had two jobs, especially being the advisor of a special pathology unit.
"Much harder than you thought, huh Larry?" asked Ángel, going through several documents handed in by field officers.
"Huh?"
"The job, man."
It was true. About five days had passed since Larry had taken on this new case, and once again, it wasn't his fault that solving it was taking so long.
The way they had to narrow down a refined list of suspects was very discreet. Larry didn't want to scare the killer off before they could get close.
That's why he opted for a more low-profile investigation, working in collaboration with other police departments.
Beep-beep!
"I'll get it."
Before Larry could even glance at the phone, Max had already answered the call meant for him. On the other end of the line, a strangely sweet laugh was heard, hard to tell whether it was male or female, but disturbing enough to send chills down anyone's spine.
"Luk, you son of a bitch, you're not planning on playing old Blackyack with me again?"
Max smiled awkwardly. "Ahem! I'm Forensic Assistant to Mr. Luk. Who's calling?"
"Your father."
Max's eyes widened, and he looked to Larry for help. But before he could say anything, the voice burst out laughing again.
"Just kidding. This is Alex, forensic assistant to Dr. Williams."
"Is Larry available?"
"You can tell me whatever message you have for Mr. Luk," Max replied, trying to keep his composure.
"Since I'm practically a slave to these detectives, they sent me to tell you that with your reports included, we've only been able to compile 18 profiles matching the suspect data you sent."
"Perfect. Please send the photos to my personal email."
While Max handled the call, Ángel had already turned on the computer and started typing the address.
"Email sent," Ángel announced once he was done.
"Got it! I'll give you the results as soon as possible," said Alex before hanging up. Even though he introduced himself as a simple assistant, he was probably one of James's friends, playing a prank on the inexperienced Max.
"For now, let's focus on what we have," said Larry after finishing his report. Just then, the report with the possible suspects arrived.
"The closest departments and the Sheriff's offices inspected the factories and repair shops in the area," said Ángel, presenting the case he was leading as the main detective.
"Even though the search has been extensive, we will find the killer."
"Each team member received a detailed report. Eighteen people matched the criteria you set… So, all these suspects know how to repair cars and had access to the two tools used in the crime."
"They're residents of the suburbs and nearby neighborhoods. They're between 20 and 40 years old. During the interviews, we found that they're all physically strong, which is expected given the type of work they do," Ángel explained, reviewing the new profiles added to the report.
"However, from what I can see, only four of them are left-handed," said Ángel, offering the first bit of good news for Larry that day.
"Show me the photos of those four!"
Ángel handed him a folder with the files. Larry quickly opened it and began going through the faces one by one. Sergeant Doakes also stepped closer to examine the profiles. He pointed at a dark-skinned man with a simple, almost naïve expression.
"And this one?" asked Doakes, looking at Ángel. "What's this guy doing here?"
"Is he a relative?" Max blurted out a dumb question at the worst moment.
"Got something to say, student?"
Just because he was Black didn't mean all Black people were related to him—and Max realized too late how it could be misinterpreted.
"No…"
Ángel smiled and said, "This is the limping guy I told you about over the phone."
Larry said nothing. He had overlooked something, and now Captain Hu had noticed. To ease the tension, Ángel stepped in with a couple of trivial questions for the captain, trying to steer attention away.
Larry, on the other hand, turned his gaze back to the printed profiles before him, reviewing every detail carefully.
Suspect No. 1 — Alan Harrinson
Male, 170 cm tall, slim build, 24 years old, single. Works at a machinery factory as a maintenance technician. Left-handed, with strong engine repair skills.
Psychological profile: Described by coworkers as loud and hot-tempered.
…
Suspect No. 2 — Jonathan Wills
Male, 175 cm, average build, 37 years old, married with children. Works maintenance at a forklift plant. Left-handed, notably skilled with his hands; built musical instruments for his kids in his free time.
Psychological profile: Colleagues say he's very reserved and struggles with communication. However, he once assaulted the maintenance department head after an argument.
…
Suspect No. 3 — Harrison León
Male, 172 cm, stocky, 32 years old, divorced. Owns a heavy vehicle repair shop. Left-handed. Born with a disability in his right leg. Specializes in large trucks.
Psychological profile: Neighbors describe him as introverted, stubborn, and difficult to get along with.
…
Suspect No. 4 — Arthur Wick
Male, 176 cm, strong, 27 years old, single. Works as a quality inspector at a metal structure company. Previously worked in maintenance. Also left-handed.
Psychological profile: Described by coworkers as impulsive and easily irritated.
"How did you figure out their dominant hand?" Larry asked inquisitively.
"Simple observation, my friend," Ángel replied, then explained in detail: "We asked them to fill out a form by hand. Plus, with how hot it is, they were all sweating a lot. Watching how they wiped sweat from their faces also helped us figure out which hand they naturally use."
Larry nodded with satisfaction.
The work was meticulous. There was only one key piece left: the photographs that were about to be sent of the possible dentists who could help them identify the one who treated the victim.
Sergeant Doakes looked at his watch: it was almost noon.
"Let's grab something to eat!"
But Larry stretched out his arm to stop them. "Eat something light in the cafeteria. We can't be late."
Sergeant Doakes didn't argue. Several team members quickly rushed down the stairs to the dining area.
They had barely started eating when Angel's phone rang. It was Debra, who had recently become a detective. Larry sensed that something important had happened; Debra's tone of voice gave her away.
"That's good news…" Sergeant Doakes hung up the call and said, "We found him."
"What did you find? Why the fuss? Explain yourself!" Sergeant Doakes said, quite excited.
"We managed to find the doctor who made the prosthetic device for the deceased. He's on his way here with his team and the medical records. They called us to wait for him."
Upon hearing that, Max immediately buried his head in his plate and swallowed the last of his food, eating so quickly that he ended up choking and hiccupping.
Larry slowly closed his eyes and endured it in silence.
Aside from having a good appetite, there was really nothing wrong with Max. He was willing to learn, work hard, and always seemed ready for any task that was asked of him, even if it wasn't part of his job.
…
Metropolitan Police Department, Miami.
Five minutes later, several people returned to the office, and Debra had also come back with some officers.
The dentist, still wearing his white coat, was being supported by two investigators, practically hovering above the ground. His face was pale, and he looked terrified.
Angel couldn't help but run, pushing the detectives' arms aside, and "rescued" the dentist.
Max opened a cold bottle of mineral water and handed it to him.
In an instant, the dentist dragged a stool over to Larry and the others, lifted his head, and drank half a glass of water.
Sergeant Doakes looked at Debra, who this time had indeed called for reinforcements when she learned they had the dentist. She showed indifference, as if the treatment of the doctor didn't matter much to her.
"Excuse us, Dr. Huston, it seems we scared you…"
Dr. Huston quickly raised his hand and shook his head. "No! No… it's fine."
Larry knew how intimidating a police uniform could be. Detectives were different; they didn't wear uniforms, so they could easily scare people.
For the dentist, that created a natural psychological affinity, so Larry asked in a slow tone: "Is your last name Huston?"
"Yes… My name is Mikael Huston."
"Perfect, Dr. Huston. We called you today mainly because we want to know if you remember a young woman who had only twenty-four teeth."
"She was murdered. The only mark on her skeleton, found on August 7th, was this dental device. That's why we need your help."
After saying this, Larry asked, "Do you remember this girl?"
Dr. Huston understood what he had just heard. He let out a long sigh and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
"My God! What a scare I got! Of course, I remember her! That girl's teeth were very distinctive! They were underdeveloped and had congenital dental absences."
Huston paused and continued, "That's why the upper teeth were extremely scarce, the gums and upper palate were atrophied, and the best time for treatment had already passed."
"The girl was very nice, and she asked me not to charge her too much money. At that time, I remembered a patient who had an issue with custom-made braces, and since the materials were still available, I made some adjustments."
"That's why I have a very clear impression of her. After all, she had to adjust her braces every fifteen days, and she had been wearing them for seven or eight months. The result of the treatment was quite good."
Maybe because he felt the matter wasn't directly related to him, Dr. Huston gradually relaxed and began speaking more freely.
"Well then… Do you remember her name?"