77: Chapter 77 The Return of Police Officer Robert

At the entrance of the 127th Precinct in New York, the police badge was polished until it gleamed.

A Porsche 911, only about seventy percent new, pulled up with a screeching halt, parking sideways right next to the Chief's designated parking spot.

The car door opened.

A polished Italian handmade leather shoe stepped onto the concrete ground, which was littered with cigarette butts.

Chen Mo stepped out of the car.

He was wearing an extravagantly tailored Armani suit with the collar open, revealing a somewhat dazzling gold chain underneath.

On his wrist, he wore a Patek Philippe watch with a dial as large as an alarm clock.

He had a thick Cuban cigar clamped in his mouth, and even without being lit, its pungent tobacco scent had already drifted out.

"Yo, isn't that our 'big hero' Robert?"

Officer Mike, the veteran officer on guard duty at the entrance, squinted his eyes, his tone laced with bitterness.

"Heard you struck it rich in Washington? What's the matter, don't want to work anymore?"

"Struck it rich? No, no, no, Officer Mike, your choice of words is inaccurate."

Chen Mo took off his sunglasses and tossed a cigar to Officer Mike; it was a high-end product worth fifty dollars apiece.

"That's called love."

He grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth, smiling like an upstart who had just won the lottery.

"When love comes, you can't stop it. That girl Ava insisted on giving me this car; if I didn't accept it, she would have made a scene. Tell me, why are women these days so hard to please?"

Officer Mike caught the cigar, held it under his nose to sniff it, and the jealousy on his face deepened.

"Get lost inside, the Chief is looking for you."

Chen Mo shrugged and swaggered into the police station.

The entire office area was filled with the smell of stale coffee and sweat.

Seeing Chen Mo walk in, the previously noisy office fell silent for a moment, followed immediately by all sorts of whispering.

Everyone knew that this Chinese-American detective, who used to only know how to slack off and play tricks, had now hooked up with an illegitimate daughter of the Rockefeller Family, becoming the biggest joke and the greatest "legend" in the entire precinct.

Chen Mo enjoyed this kind of attention.

Greed, jealousy, contempt.

These emotions were like the best camouflage, allowing the eyes hidden behind his sunglasses to observe everything here without restraint.

He walked to his desk.

The desk was piled high with unprocessed files, and a thin layer of dust had accumulated on the chair.

"Robert!"

The loud voice of the new Chief Sullivan rang out from his office.

"Get in here!"

Chen Mo propped his feet up on the desk, took a slow puff of his cigar, blew a smoke ring, and only then did he get up and saunter inside.

Chief Sullivan was frowning at a pile of reports.

Seeing Chen Mo's devil-may-care attitude, he slammed the pen in his hand onto the desk.

"Back from leave?"

"I am." Chen Mo flopped onto the sofa, the spot reserved for the Chief to receive distinguished guests.

"Since you're back, don't cause any trouble for me." Chief Sullivan stared at the watch on Chen Mo's wrist.

"I know you have backing now, but this is a police station, and we still have rules. We're short-staffed lately, so since you're so idle, go clear out those backlogged cases."

He casually pulled a blue folder from the pile of documents and tossed it to Chen Mo.

"Go handle this case."

Chen Mo caught the folder and flipped to the first page.

Deceased: Jenny Fox.

Occupation: Nightclub dancer.

Cause of death: Falling from a building due to heroin overdose.

Location: A cheap apartment in the Upper East Side.

Cases like this happen ten or eight times a day in New York, usually closed hastily; even the medical examiner can't be bothered to perform an autopsy.

"Chief, this kind of small case..." Chen Mo curled his lip, looking disgusted.

"Think it's too small?" Chief Sullivan sneered. "Then why don't you go solve that dismemberment case in Brooklyn?"

"No, no, no, I still prefer this simple one."

Chen Mo closed the folder, stood up, and casually swiped a nice-looking fountain pen from the Chief's pen holder.

"I'll go take a look at the body, after all..." He winked, "I have to live up to this police uniform, right?"

Chief Sullivan watched his retreating back and cursed.

As Chen Mo walked out of the office, the exaggerated smile on his face vanished instantly.

He looked down at the photo on the folder.

The girl named Jenny was very young, with an exaggerated shock of pink hair.

This wasn't a random assignment.

It was because he had already tampered with the system through Old George, making this case "happen" to land on him.

Because this Jenny was not an ordinary dancer while she was alive.

She was the mistress of Samuel Weiss, the Chief Risk Officer of Astor Bank.

Half an hour later.

The morgue at the Medical Examiner's Office.

The air conditioning here was still as strong as ever.

The old medical examiner wasn't there; only an intern was nearby taking notes.

Chen Mo put on gloves and lifted the white sheet.

Jenny's body was already somewhat bloated, and her neck was at an eerie, twisted angle—the result of falling from the fifth floor.

"Heroin overdose?" Chen Mo asked the intern.

"That's what the blood test report says." The intern didn't even look up, "Typical 'high' thinking they can fly."

Chen Mo didn't say anything.

His fingers gently touched Jenny's cold forehead.

[Ding! Residual obsession detected.]

[Extracting...]

A cold current surged through his fingertips and into Chen Mo's mind.

The images were fragmented and shaky.

It was a dim bedroom.

Jenny was huddled in the corner of the bed, holding a black notebook, trembling all over.

Heavy thumping sounds came from outside the door.

"Jenny! Open the door!"

That was the voice of Samuel Weiss, filled with rage and fear.

"Give me that thing you saw! That's not something you can touch!"

Jenny cried and stuffed the notebook into a waterproof bag.

The scene shifted.

She ran out of the apartment and rushed into the subway station.

She stuffed the bag into a locker at the Times Square subway station.

Locker number: C-104.

The images fragmented again.

This time, she was by the window.

Two men in black suits broke in.

No nonsense, no interrogation.

A syringe was plunged into her neck.

Then, a pair of strong hands pushed her toward the open window.

The wind howled.

Falling.

Darkness.

Chen Mo opened his eyes.

He pulled his hand back, took off his gloves, and tossed them into the trash can nearby.

"This is just a normal drug overdose."

He said to the intern, his voice so calm that not a ripple could be heard.

"Hurry up and cremate her, don't take up space."

He turned and walked out of the morgue.

The lights in the corridor were ghastly pale.

Chen Mo took his phone out of his pocket and sent a message.

Recipient: Nightingale.

Content: Times Square subway station, C-104.