North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws

"I absolutely don't believe anyone can be that fierce in combat! There's definitely something off about Dean. I even suspect he's the reincarnation of a donkey, or maybe he's had a donkey's whip transplanted. If he dies in the line of duty one day, I'm definitely going to apply to dissect him personally."

Dean, who had just gotten out of the car and walked over: "..."

Fuck!

Four grown men, huddled together, not talking about women, but about their own... brothers? Since when did Squad Four get so damn Kiriki!

Holz was enthusiastic in his speech but failed to notice the pity-filled gazes of Harry and the other two looking at him.

Just as he was about to vent a bit more of his dissatisfaction, a strong, powerful hand covered his rather barren 'Fasting'.

Holz's legs drew in, and his body stiffened.

Dean, standing behind him with a smile, said, "Go on, Holz, with such a nice environment here, don't you want to try the joy of having your guts rearranged?"

Simple chaos ensued.

Dean, all business now, said, "The captain told me what happened on the way here. Let's start the crime scene investigation now and wrap up this case. When we're done, I'll treat everyone to the best strip club in Los Angeles!"

A few beleaguered patrol officers nearby mustered their courage and asked, "Detective Dean, does that include us?"

"Of course," Dean said, habitually winning hearts, "Haven't you guys heard the saying? When you stand with Detective Dean, congratulations, you're on the path to getting money, merit, and women! Because there's no case his eyes can't penetrate!"

Whether anyone had heard it before or not, as of today, it was established.

This is why Harry and the others did not complain about Captain Monet's arrangement for Dean.

Over time, they had come to recognize Dean's abilities and status and subconsciously treated him as their leader.

And this influence was already starting to spread to the surrounding precincts.

Because Holz immediately recognized the identity of the deceased, the crime scene was secured in a timely manner.

With the team in tow, Dean got his gear and entered the cordoned-off crime scene, not approaching the body right away but observing the surroundings first.

From far to near, from left to right, every bit of information around him was digitalized within his mind, categorized and sorted.

Seeing him stand still, Holz asked curiously, "Dean, what are you looking at?"

"I'm listening to the feedback from nature."

Dean pointed to the irregular fallen leaves around them. "See those marks? They mean this area is frequently visited, especially below the tree where the body was found. More than five people of different heights have stood shaking in place over the past three days."

The others followed Dean's pointed-out traces and looked back, baffled.

Even the veteran coroner, Holz, shrugged helplessly, "Sorry, I can only tell there are a lot of footprints here, but I can't determine when they were made or deduce what they were doing here."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Didn't notice the mini umbrellas around the footprints? And look, those footprints are definitely longer than a normal foot size. That clearly indicates someone was leaning against the tree, being taken from behind..."

With that explanation, the others had a moment of realization.

Especially Harry, with a lecherous expression, "Right, this area is near a university, and the person who found the body was a student out for a morning run. These hormone-driven youngsters love to 'exercise' in places like this for the thrill."

Dean, ignoring Harry's jest, finished collecting information from the surroundings and quickly walked over to the body to examine it.

The victim's name was Mike Smith.

He should have been a psychology expert and professor who commanded respect wherever he went, but his current state was quite pitiable.

His head was bowed, his body professionally bound with hemp rope, similar to some country's performance art, leaving him rigidly kneeling.

The end of the rope was tied to the tree above.

Someone had used a pulley system to hang him up there and then tied him into his current position before leaving him on the ground.

The body's surface was covered with wounds, and his lower legs, pressed against the ground, were pierced by two slender steel bars connected by ropes to the tree above, holding him in position.

Dean carefully examined the wounds on Mike Smith's body.

There were over fifty wounds of various sizes, all of them not wide but deep enough to expose bone, with signs around them that attempts had been made to stop the bleeding.

And beneath these wounds were countless old scars of various sizes.

Dean had only seen such marks on hardened individuals often subjected to interrogation.

Besides that, Mike Smith's skin showed large, sheet-like patches of purplish bruising.

This was bruising caused by being bound with ropes for too long, resulting in pooled blood.

Such bruising only forms on a living person, which is why the marks remained after death.

This meant that the victim had been arranged in this position while still alive.

Dean stroked his chin.

No wonder Monet had treated this murder case as a major one.

Because anyone's first impression upon seeing the body was that Mike Smith had been severely tortured.

Monet probably considered the murderer to be an enemy of the Ashton Family.

But Dean had a different view.

He sensed a feeling of vindictiveness from the victim's death posture.

This was a vendetta murder! However, understanding the full circumstances would require more information.