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

After surveying the murder scene, Dean had Harry drive him home.

「On the way.」

Monet called, unable to wait. "Dean, have you finished at the scene?"

Dean loosened his tie, suppressing his irritation at being disturbed after work. "Yes," he said. "The perpetrator was very professional, but my current feeling is that it's more like a revenge killing. Also, Mike Smith had some old scars on his body, similar to the new wounds, which indicates he suffered similar torture before. This would require specialized tools. I'm planning to take a team to search his residence tomorrow."

"A revenge killing?" Monet muttered, then said reassuringly, "I understand, Dean. You've worked hard. But you know, I'm not the only one following this case. This is also a chance for you to showcase your abilities. Tell me immediately if you find anything new."

"Got it!"

Dean hung up, lit a cigarette irritably, and stared blankly at the night outside.

Monet's words had served as a reminder. The better he performed, the more the Ashton Family, who backed Monet, would value him. Sometimes, which side you were on wasn't determined by who you actively approached, but by whether those above supported you. The more they valued you, the more you appeared to be one of them in the eyes of others.

Fortunately, from what Monet implied, the Ashton Family had essentially taken over the position of the Carmen Family, which had all but vanished into obscurity. A family of that magnitude was unlikely to decline as abruptly as the Carmen Family had, unless they encountered madmen like himself and Haul. This would give him plenty of time to develop, instead of constantly getting caught up in meaningless factional strife or becoming cannon fodder.

"I hope Dick unifies the Lucchese Family soon," Dean thought, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Then I'll have more allies, just in time to try out some of my previous ideas. And Haul..."

He had a hunch. That guy, Haul, wasn't dead—just hiding. If he could find him, he'd gain an unconventional trump card.

"Hey, buddy, you seem to have something on your mind," Harry teased, noticing Dean's spirits drop after the call. "Don't tell me you got into some romantic entanglement during your trip to New York?"

Dean laughed. "Harry, I'm not like you. I can tell at a glance which women are approachable and which are trouble. You, on the other hand... I worry I'll see you on one of those paternity test shows one day."

Talk shows, reality shows, and paternity tests were guaranteed ratings boosters for entertainment programs. And on those paternity shows, eight out of ten of the primary subjects were Black.

Hearing this, Harry surprisingly didn't argue. He shot Dean a resentful look and seemed to deflate. That bastard. He tries to cheer him up, and Dean just rubs salt in his wounds.

Seeing his reaction, Dean's eyes widened slightly. "Whoa, Harry, don't tell me you actually got someone pregnant!"

"I don't know..." Harry grimaced. "But not long ago, I met this beautiful 'black pearl.' It was an urgent situation, and I just grabbed some plastic wrap... You know, that stuff isn't very sturdy."

Dean patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Let's hope your aim wasn't too good!"

In the United States, certain laws had given rise to a particular type of woman: those who hunted for targets, got pregnant, and then sued for child support. It wasn't just celebrities and wealthy men who faced this. In fact, this trend had spread to the general populace, especially with the rise of online chat rooms and forums, which further disseminated these methods. These women didn't want to marry but needed money to live. So, they selected men with decent incomes, used various means to get pregnant by them, and then sued for child support. As long as there was a child, the lawyers handled the rest.

Apart from that, there were also men and women who would team up to get married, then go domestically or abroad to adopt children, scamming benefits to squander or even engaging in despicable acts.

In short, times were changing, but material satisfaction seemed to breed more wickedness in people's hearts.

Seeing Harry suddenly lose all his verve, Dean, worried about getting into a car accident, offered some consolation. "Don't worry. Those gold diggers usually poke a hole in a condom. You proactively used plastic wrap; it shouldn't be that bad."

"That's what I thought too. She's still young. Even if she did get pregnant, she probably wouldn't be desperate enough to go through with having the kid..." Harry said, though he sounded completely unconvinced.

For a womanizer like him, marriage was tantamount to the grave. Even just paying fixed child support would be a disaster.

Dean, however, wasn't worried about such things. Because... he currently had three identities.

Sheila was undoubtedly thrilled with Dean's return.

But Dean realized something: he should consider buying a house. It had been manageable before his brother returned. Now, he had to squeeze onto a pitifully small double bed with the nearly two-meter-tall man, a bed that creaked with the slightest movement. It was hardly a pleasant experience. Although his brother would be leaving again with their second uncle on another treasure hunt after some time, Dean, considering Niel might come to Los Angeles to live with him later, decided to buy his own house after resolving the current case. It would also serve as a good tax write-off.

「It was a restless night.」

The next day, Dean drove his SUV to the detective bureau early in the morning.

As he handled more cases, Dean gradually developed his own methods for solving them. In his view, solving a case was essentially a process of gathering information: details about the body, the crime scene, and the victim's social network.

The autopsy would take time. But Daisy had already collected most of the basic information on Mike Smith's connections the previous day. Since he'd given her a heads-up, Daisy had already placed the organized files on his desk.

"This guy's social network is a real mess," Dean thought, looking at the dozens of printed pages on his desk, feeling somewhat exasperated.

Mike Smith was well-connected. He wasn't just a forensic psychology expert for the forensics department but also an honorary professor and specialist at many universities and institutions. Additionally, he supervised numerous master's and doctoral students...

There was also an even more troublesome aspect to his identity: he was a psychological consultant for the Ashton Family.

Dean really wanted to scoff at this. A prominent family, yet they still needed a psychological consultant for mental health issues? How pathetic! But then he recalled some fools who had been caught because they went to church to confess, and he suppressed the urge to sneer.

CLICK.

Just then, the door to the break room opened. Dean turned to see it was Old Hunter. Clutching a cup of coffee, Old Hunter emerged, looking bleary-eyed. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, clearly not having slept well.

"Deputy, good morning," Dean greeted.

Old Hunter managed a weak smile, inadvertently revealing a scratch on his left cheek. The movement pulled at the wound, making him grimace. "Good morning."

Dean caught sight of the scratch, obviously made by a woman's nails, and chuckled. "Deputy, looks like you survived a fierce battle last night."

"Quite fierce indeed. I've already brought my blanket to the office," Old Hunter said, changing the subject. "By the way, I've looked over the files on your desk and made some notes on certain individuals. You might want to focus on them."

Although Dean disliked others interfering with his investigations, he still expressed his thanks.

After the brief morning exchange, he sat in his chair and quickly began flipping through the documents.

The information on Mike Smith's social connections was relatively basic, listing many people, but it could generally be divided into three categories: family members, close students, and released criminals with whom he'd had contact.

Considering the old injuries on Mike Smith, Dean primarily focused on information regarding Smith's family and students. These people, due to their frequent contact with him, might know how he had acquired so many old scars.

Mike Smith was nearly forty. His wife had passed away five years ago. He had a twelve-year-old son who had been autistic since childhood, was not enrolled in school, and usually stayed at home, cared for by a nanny.

A psychology expert's child is autistic... Interesting. Dean noticed this piece of information had been underlined in red. Clearly Old Hunter's doing. The old guy still had his skills and insight; he obviously sensed something was off here too.

Besides that, although Mike Smith had taught many students, only thirteen—six men and seven women—were considered his direct protégés, having graduated with master's or doctoral degrees under his supervision. Some had already graduated and moved outside Los Angeles, either opening private psychology practices or joining various institutions. There were currently five students—four women and one man—still pursuing their graduate studies under Mike Smith, all in Los Angeles. Dean listed them as the second group to be questioned.

The third group requiring attention consisted of criminals Mike Smith had interacted with who had since been released. These individuals were highly suspicious. Mike Smith was a criminal psychology expert. Besides assisting the forensics department in profiling criminals' psychological tendencies, he also studied these offenders. No one likes being studied, especially by someone who can often see right through them! That sort of thing definitely breeds resentment.

There were over thirty former convicts who fit this description, but only one currently resided in Los Angeles. This was a criminal with peculiar tastes. He enjoyed picking up drunk men in bars and nightclubs, then taking them to secluded public places in the dead of night to "experience the warmth of their rectum." That in itself wasn't the whole story. This pervert, after each encounter, also liked to strip his victims naked and arrange them in the classic pose of a roasted suckling pig for morning passersby to admire. This had caused severe psychological trauma to every victim.

Though Dean thought this sicko was indeed a pervert, he had already mentally dismissed the possibility of him being the killer. Because these kinds of gay sexual predators were different from typical gay men. They often had emotional deficiencies stemming from childhood or had suffered similar abuse, which later drove their interest in men's backsides. Such perverts usually appeared timid externally and often used deviant encounters to explore these areas, thereby gaining a false sense of psychological conquest and power. So, strictly speaking, while such individuals were猥琐 and perverted, they generally lacked the courage to kill, let alone torture someone to death in such a brutal manner.

By the time Dean had finished going through these materials, the members of the Fourth Squad had trickled into the office.

Dean was about to call a meeting when a call from Holz redirected everyone from the meeting room to the forensics department. The poor fellow had evidently been forced to work all night.

"Holz, what have you found?" Dean gave Holz, who looked utterly drained, a warm hug.

Holz yawned and rubbed his messy hair. "Findings beyond your imagination. Sometimes, after seeing too many people like Mike Smith, I genuinely worry I'll develop psychological problems myself."

"Such as?"

"I found over three hundred old wounds on Mike Smith's body, many of them the type that could have been fatal..."