It was late at night.
The heavy raindrops pounded against the window of a car parked outside a fast-food restaurant, producing a rhythmic sound that was oddly pleasant to this particular man.
On the deserted streets nearby, no cars or people could be seen, except for the restaurant's small staff. No matter how much one strained their eyes to see into the distance, there was nothing but solitude.
Of course, who would be out on the streets at this hour on Christmas night?
The sky was so hazy that it seemed to mirror a day steeped in melancholy—a gloomy, somber atmosphere. The rain made being outside even more unbearable, but at that moment, from the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant, a man sat in his car, listening to the radio in silence while enjoying his dinner.
As with every Christmas, he couldn't be at home. Of course, he wasn't just some ordinary person waiting for attention either.
For anyone who had never been alone in a place late at night, this would be the perfect moment to fear that a serial killer might emerge to hunt for victims.
Ordinary people often watch too many movies and connect those events to real life. To some, this might sound ironic, but others live in places where the night is an open invitation for someone to kill you and get away with it.
As a result, some people grew fearful and sought out the most visible corners of the city to have a clear view of their surroundings while minimizing exposure to danger.
But this man, named Larry Luk, was hoping for something interesting to happen that night.
"It's 12:45 a.m., and we continue with our special Christmas broadcast. We hope everyone has had a night full of joy and special moments with their loved ones. However, the celebrations have also brought some incidents across the country."
"That's right, Tom. At this hour, emergency services are still responding to traffic accidents in several cities. In Miami, a multi-car crash on Highway 405 has left at least four people injured, according to authorities. A combination of alcohol and rain-slicked roads appears to have been a key factor."
"Those aren't the real numbers..." Larry Luk lazily leaned back against the driver's seat, his bangs covering a third of his face. His tired expression was filled with indifference as he listened to the radio and ate a hamburger.
He glanced at the car window, where his reflection revealed an eight-pointed star tattoo on his neck. Anyone looking at him might suspect there was something off about him, but those who knew him would discover much more.
The neon lights in the surroundings gradually faded, and fewer cars sped along the wet roads.
Larry let out a long sigh, closing his eyes in an attempt to rest. His hands ran over his exhausted face, revealing diamond tattoos on his fingers.
Of course, Larry could be anything but a man of low manners. Who was he fooling? He liked tattoos—they suited his personality—but that didn't mean he was some easily recognizable criminal.
The end-of-year holidays always reminded Larry of the dark days of his childhood, forcing him to take refuge in his work in Miami.
The pay was good, he had excellent recommendations, and he was here because the workload was enough to keep him busy. Besides, in this city, he wasn't underestimated for his young age.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
Larry opened his eyes and glanced at the phone beside him, pulling it from his heavy, dark thoughts.
"Damn, just when I was celebrating with my big family..."
He let out a long sigh, grabbed the phone in the darkness, and held it up to his bored expression.
The screen read 00:50 a.m., November 29, 2006, with the words "Command Center" flashing repeatedly.
All the discomfort and unease he had felt moments before disappeared instantly at the sight of those words, and he quickly pressed the button to answer the call.
"Hello?"
"Forensic Specialist Luk, sorry to bother you at this hour. A few moments ago, the primary forensic team on duty was dispatched southeast to investigate a major traffic accident. However, we've just received a report of a homicide that requires your presence…"
Luk sat up straight, switched his phone to speaker mode, and interrupted the woman as he started his car.
"Any details on the case?"
"A male body was found in the bathtub of Oceanview Towers, Bayshore Avenue 1425, Apartment 907. Sergeant Doakes is on the scene and urgently requesting a forensic specialist. Although a team has been sent, the sergeant specifically asked for you at the crime scene."
"Alright, I'll be there immediately!"
Larry had already started his black Camaro, grabbed a bottle of pills from the glove compartment, and called his assistant.
After ending the call, he drove toward the building.
As soon as he entered the residential area and approached 1425 Bayshore Avenue, he saw the flashing police lights. Larry stepped out of his car and walked over, carrying a black case.
A police officer spotted the investigation kit in Larry's hand, checked his ID, and greeted him.
"Hello, Forensic Specialist Luk, we've been expecting you. The crime scene is in Apartment 907."
Larry nodded, said "Thanks," and entered the apartment building without another word.
Since becoming a forensic pathologist, Larry rarely shook hands with people around him. Over time, it had become a habit.
But this wasn't something that affected his job, nor did he care about it.
After all, even police officers found it unsettling to touch someone who spent their days handling and analyzing corpses.
When it came to dating, unless the women he met were prostitutes, finding a girlfriend was complicated. But right now, Larry's life was so chaotic that small concerns like that didn't bother him much.
"It's a good night..."
Perhaps the sedative he had taken before arriving had kicked in, calming his overly excited nerves about the new case.
The itching sensation in his left eye, which had been twitching constantly, gradually subsided, and he breathed in relief.
Taking sedatives wasn't something that troubled Larry—what truly worried him was that his enthusiasm for his work might disturb those around him.
Most of the time, while working as a forensic specialist, Larry had to maintain a composed appearance. Like now—he had to fake seriousness, even though examining a crime scene thrilled him.
There were so many details to observe that simply discovering clues about criminals excited Larry.
"How stupid must criminals be to get caught before the detectives even start their investigation?"
"Good evening."
There was a group of people waiting to see the spectacle ahead, so he couldn't afford to show any flaws in front of strangers.
The elevator chimed as it reached the 22nd floor, and Larry stepped out, carrying his black case.
From what he could observe so far, this community had an excellent geographical location. The building had been constructed ten years ago, which explained why the elevator wasn't at the main entrance.
As soon as he stepped off, Larry saw that the police had already set up the yellow caution tape around the area.
At that moment, a familiar yet annoying silhouette appeared in front of him.
"Sergeant Doakes…"
Doakes was an African American man who always kept his head shaved but maintained a mustache. He was about 5'8" (1.72m) tall, with a defined, muscular build.
His attire usually consisted of business casual clothing—dress pants and polo shirts tucked into his trousers. When the occasion required, he wore a full suit or an elegant jacket for formal events.
From what Larry had observed, Doakes often wore shoulder holsters over his shirts. Occasionally, he wore a black sleeveless shirt with a red open button-up shirt over it. Most of his dress pants were dark-colored, ranging from gray to solid black. At times, he also wore khaki pants.
What bothered Larry was that Sergeant Doakes' keen instinct could identify problems and see the dark side of people.
Of course, to be a forensic expert and analyze crimes correctly, one had to be even worse than the killers. His colleagues understood that. As for everyone else, Larry didn't think much about it.
"Luk, it's about time you got here."
Larry glanced at the phone in his hand. The time read 1:25, and he asked, "Don't you sleep, Sergeant?"
"Do you think the city sleeps from the heinous crimes that idiots like the ones I catch daily commit?"
"I suppose not…"
"Hurry up!"
"Is it a difficult case?" Larry looked at the ground, thinking carefully about what he would encounter. Complex cases were his specialty. He was good at finding things others had missed and could recreate a murder scene using only his imagination.
"The command center called me first when this body was reported, so I arrived before the other detectives due to the highway accident. However, when I got here, the place seemed to have been thoroughly cleaned, and the floor was covered in water."
"Additionally, the exterior of the site where the body is located was completely ruined by dogs, so there were no footprints to collect."
"We didn't find anything in the bathroom at first glance."
"On the door handle, there was only a single bloodstain, as if it had been wiped with a latex glove, which could help determine the cause."
"Blood? Then we should call Dexter…" As he spoke, a middle-aged police officer, short but strong, emerged, leading a forensic team.
"I don't think that's relevant," Doakes said while holding a golden retriever. Observing the dog's apathetic appearance, one could tell it must have been hungry for quite some time.
"I'll decide that when I enter the crime scene."
Doakes observed Larry's actions, his sharp eyes fixed on the young forensic expert who seemed to reconstruct the entire crime scene, starting from the surroundings. He had no issue with the methods Larry used. After all, thanks to his great talent, he had secured an important position in the police department.
Larry's recommendations granted him more involvement in analyses. His mind, which could enter the world of killers, was highly valued, and many considered it a shame that he became a forensic expert instead of a special detective.
But there was one thing that bothered Sergeant Doakes—the indifference Larry showed toward the people around him, as if only the result of the investigation mattered. Now, Doakes not only had to deal with the odd Dexter, but also with a forensic scientist who seemed to enjoy his work in a way that went beyond professionalism.
Maybe Doakes could sense how Larry analyzed the crime scene and gathered information on how criminals were typically caught to create a perfect profile of a crime lord?
Larry, of course, didn't care. The only reason he became a forensic expert instead of an FBI agent was that he had realized most forensic scientists didn't do their job well. Their mistakes had allowed some of the most famous serial killers on the internet to remain uncaptured. That was why he chose this profession—to show people that the perfect killer didn't exist.
The Zodiac Killer…
He could swear that if he had analyzed his crimes earlier, he would have caught him. It was a shame that now he was one step closer to his death.
Weaknesses were common in people, inherent to their nature and consistent with their behavior.
"Larry Luk, are you still at the crime scene?" Doakes asked, nearly losing his patience as he noticed Larry hadn't moved for the past two minutes.
"Sergeant, now tell me the specific details."
Doakes nodded and handed the leash in his hand to a police officer.
"At 00:20 in the morning, a resident of this very building, but one floor below, called the police. They said there was a dog barking upstairs, preventing them from sleeping, so they didn't knock on the door to check what was happening."
"An on-duty police officer was sent to take a look. Upon arriving at the scene, he found that the dog continued barking. Since no one responded, and there were doubts about whether the apartment was empty due to the lights being on, he kept knocking on the door."
"After knocking for a long time without getting a response, he contacted the building's security department. The security officer provided a phone number, saying it belonged to the apartment's owner."
"The officer called and realized the phone was ringing inside the room. The dog barked even louder when it heard the ringtone. The officer sensed something was wrong and called a locksmith. When they opened the apartment door, they found that the entire floor was covered in water."
"A golden retriever was standing on the living room sofa, barking wildly, occasionally directing its attention toward the bathroom."
"The officer walked down the hallway on the west side of the living room and found the bathroom door wide open. He discovered a man lying face-up in the bathtub, completely submerged in water."
"The bathtub water was still overflowing. Even though the flow was very small, it had already flooded the hallway floor."
"They then notified the command center, and our branch took over the case. Unfortunately, nothing was found at the scene."
Larry, who had listened to all the details, understood the nature of this crime—or maybe not.
While absorbing the information, he had already put on protective clothing.
Seeing that the water had reached past his toes in the room, Larry put on shoe covers and walked on the inspection mat to avoid getting his shoes wet.
It seemed that the dog knew its owner was in trouble and kept barking for help.
How did they know it was a murder? The answer was simple: everything was excessively clean.
The fact that the killer managed to clean the scene indicated that they were methodical, had a clear plan, and were extremely meticulous.
But why didn't they get rid of the dog? And how did the dog allow the killer to leave without attacking them?
Larry entered the room carrying a suitcase. He had barely taken two steps when the elevator dinged at the door.
A young man with rimless glasses came running out. Just as a police officer was about to stop him, Doakes gestured with his hand.
"He's one of us. That's Max, a student learning from forensic expert Luk," Doakes said as he looked at the young student.
Max greeted everyone with a friendly smile.
"Hurry inside!"
Max hunched his shoulders, quickly put on shoe covers and protective clothing, grabbed an SLR camera, entered the inspection area, and caught up with Luk.
But before he could get closer, Larry raised his hand.
"Be careful! Otherwise, the water on the floor will ripple. This is stagnant water; I don't want to get dirty."
Max was so startled that he nearly dropped the SLR camera in his hand.
"Alright, I'll only move where you tell me to…"
Larry entered the bathroom. The door was open, but there were faint traces of blood on the handle, barely visible.
Surveying the surroundings for a brief moment, he placed the heavy forensic kit he had been carrying on the sink.
Larry then approached the bathtub and saw a deceased male completely submerged in it.
At that moment, the faucet was turned off, but the bathtub continued overflowing.
In reality, a scene like this no longer warranted much investigation.
The man was submerged in the water very peacefully, with a slight smile on his lips.
The deceased was shirtless, wearing black silk pajama bottoms.
His arms were stretched out, with some fingertips slightly above the water.
Except for a small wound on his chest, the body had no other notable marks.