18: Chapter 18 On-site Investigation

"We're here."

Shaun pushed open the car door.

It was a dead end, or rather, an abandoned alleyway.

On both sides were the red brick walls of two old factory buildings, covered in vines that cast dappled shadows in the afternoon sun.

At the end of the alley was a wall painted with faded graffiti, where the insignia of some gang was faintly visible.

The alley was filled with a damp, musty smell, mixed with the stench left by stray cats and the rotting odor of garbage from somewhere unknown.

Ballard had already walked deep into the alley and was crouching on the ground.

Shaun followed her.

On the ground was a chalk outline of a body, a mark left by the crime scene investigation.

The outline was clear; hands folded over the chest, legs together, in a posture so peaceful it was almost eerie.

"This is it," Ballard said.

She stood up, her gaze scanning the surroundings.

The alley was about thirty meters deep and four to five meters wide.

Neither of the factory buildings on the sides had windows—or rather, the windows had been bricked up. The ground was concrete, riddled with cracks where weeds sprouted.

Shaun crouched down, looking at the chalk outline.

White had been lying right here when he died.

A man who had been a police officer for fifteen years, wearing his uniform and driving his patrol car to the most remote corner of this city, and then...

And then he just lay down like this.

As if he were asleep.

"What about surveillance?"

Surveillance in the States isn't actually much better than back home; street corners were almost never fully escaped by camera coverage.

Ballard pointed toward the entrance of the alley: "There's one at the entrance that caught him walking in. But the alley itself is a blind spot; it didn't capture what happened."

Shaun asked, "What about after he walked in?"

Ballard shrugged. "There is no 'after.' Surveillance shows him walking into the alley, and then he never came out. Not until four in the morning, when someone found him dead here."

Shaun stood up and looked around.

The alley had only one entrance.

If White didn't leave after walking in, then the person who killed him...

Was either still in the alley,

Or had climbed over that wall.

He looked up at the wall.

The wall was about three meters high, with no visible signs of climbing—at least not to the naked eye.

"Any news from the Medical Examiner?"

Shaun was gradually getting into the zone.

Ballard shook her head. "Still waiting on the toxicology report, but the preliminary finding is no external trauma, no signs of a struggle, and no typical symptoms of poisoning. Just... his heart stopped."

"He was forty-three, had no history of heart disease, and his annual checkups were always normal."

"What do you think?"

Ballard asked suddenly.

Shaun thought for a moment and replied, "It's not normal."

"A cop responds to a call, then inexplicably ends up in a place like this and inexplicably dies. There's a three-hour gap in the middle—where did he go? Who did he see? Why did he come here?"

Ballard nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

"Also, the place he responded to was Robichaux Manor, but he died here. There are at least ten kilometers between these two locations. How did he get here? By car? Then where's the car?"

Shaun had a sharp mind; in a short time, he had laid out all the questions clearly.

Ballard pointed outside the alley entrance. "The car is parked over there. It's his own car, and the keys were still in it."

Shaun frowned.

"So he walked here?"

"I don't know," Ballard said. "The camera at the entrance only covers this stretch of the alley, not the parking lot outside. So we can't be sure if he drove, walked, or was dropped off."

Shaun paced back and forth in the alley a few times, his gaze sweeping over every corner.

Deep down, he didn't believe this had anything to do with the witches.

Although the witches were somewhat temperamental—especially Madison, whose personality was unpredictable—she was clearly in bed with him last night. How could she have had the time?

This guy...

It must have been something else.

Besides the chalk outline, there were other markers on the ground... cigarette butts, soda bottles, a discarded shoe of unknown origin.

The investigators had numbered and photographed them, but Shaun knew most of them probably had nothing to do with the case.

He crouched down, leaning in to look at the cracks.

The grass in the concrete cracks grew tall, and some of it had been flattened.

"Someone has been here recently," he said.

Ballard walked over and crouched beside him.

"That grass has been stepped on more than once." Shaun pointed to several spots where the grass was flattened. "It wasn't today; it was probably in the last day or two. If a homeless person had stayed here overnight, there should be more traces—bedding, trash, or signs of a fire."

"But there's none of that here, so it wasn't a homeless person."

Ballard stared at the grass, her expression shifting slightly.

"That makes sense."

She stood up, walked to the wall, and examined the surface carefully.

"Shaun, come look at this."

Shaun walked over.

Ballard pointed to a spot on the wall directly opposite the chalk outline; there was a faint scuff mark.

It wasn't graffiti or natural peeling, but something left behind by something rubbing against it.

"Looks like a shoe sole," Ballard said.

Shaun took a few steps back and gauged the angle.

If someone stood in front of this wall and kicked off it to climb up, they would leave a mark at this position.

He looked up at the top of the wall.

Three meters high—not too difficult to climb.

But if the person climbing the wall was the killer, then after killing White, they would have climbed over here and vanished into the old factory district.

Beside him, Ballard was already on the phone.

"This is Ballard. Yes, have the Forensics Team come back. Bring ladders and UV lights. There are marks on the back wall of the alley that need sampling."

She hung up and looked at Shaun.

"You mentioned those missing hours—where did White go?"

Shaun thought for a moment.

"He went to Robichaux Manor at seven-thirty," he said. "He died here before four in the morning. That's eight hours in between. During those eight hours, where did he go, who did he see, and what did he do?"

"If we can find that out, we'll know who killed him."

Ballard nodded.

"Check his phone records, credit card records, and dashcam."

"I'll have the Technical Team pull the data. You go find his partner, friends, and family. Ask if he's been acting unusual lately."

Shaun was taken aback.

"Me?"

"You!" Ballard looked at him. "Aren't you part of the Major Crimes Unit?"

Shaun felt it was strange; he had indeed been temporarily transferred to the Major Crimes Unit.

But asking a victim's family questions? He had never done that before.

"What, never done it before?"

After asking, Ballard continued, "I didn't know what to do the first time I did it, either. The victim's wife broke down right in front of me, and I didn't know what to say. I just stood there like an idiot..."