In Larry's mind, numerous possibilities, from the most far-fetched to the most probable, were aligned one by one in numerical sequence.
What objects are missing or out of place?
Did the victim have any planned appointments or meetings?
Does the murder exhibit any known pattern or modus operandi? This was the question that fascinated Larry the most. If he could come across a killer with a profile in the FBI database, then he would be practicing against one of the best predators.
It was a shame that there weren't many fish to catch here, which is why this place was perfect for Larry to analyze and refine his skills.
Any specific motive? Maybe, just maybe, when he finally kills the predator that took his family, he will find the peace he has been searching for.
Max, standing beside him, remained silent. Doakes tilted his head from outside the bathroom, touched Max's lower back, and gestured toward Larry with his chin.
"Don't bother Larry, let him do his job. Observe carefully and take photos according to the required specifications." Doakes knew that Larry was a good forensic expert, but his analyses, when expressed, were always perfect.
The high-ranking officials who brought Larry in had recommended him, and Doakes had set aside his pride when he realized that every single one of Larry's observations was flawlessly analyzed.
He was never wrong...
"This is curious," Larry thought while examining the crime scene.
From what he could tell, the houses in this community were of high quality.
The person who lived here was definitely well-off. There was a lot of water soaking the room and the bathroom for days, yet the people downstairs didn't notice anything because there were no leaks.
Few buildings had such good construction quality—at least, that's what Larry had noticed living here in Miami.
In the first apartment he had rented, if you spilled a glass of water, the neighbor downstairs would rush up immediately to check for a leak.
"Have you taken a sample of the bathtub water?" Larry looked at Max, who, besides taking photos, was also following the investigation process he had learned from him.
"Yes, extracted."
Additionally, only seven or eight blood droplets, each smaller than 0.3 cm, were found on the bathroom wall.
"Judging by the angle, they must have splattered from the direction of the bathtub."
Doakes, standing to the side, aimed a laser at some dark red blood droplets on the tiles on the western side of the bathtub.
Indeed, it was difficult to distinguish them from the black tiles. But the blood was there, so Dexter should be called in. However, Doakes wouldn't summon Dexter until Larry had finished.
"Have you checked the other rooms?"
Doakes nodded, slightly furrowing his brow. "I checked. The door lock was intact, and there were no signs of tampering in the room. Are you questioning my work, Mr. Luk?"
Larry didn't respond to that question. Instead, he had heard that there were no less than $50,000 in cash in the nightstand drawer of the master bedroom, which ruled out robbery as a motive.
However, the killer had strong anti-detection skills and had completely cleaned the entire room, leaving no valuable information behind.
Maybe the money was a red herring, Larry thought the moment he heard about the cash.
While analyzing the scene, Larry pointed to a white, ring-shaped mark on the dead man's right ring finger.
"You weren't the first one to arrive at the crime scene. You're more of an analyst to me, but you'll still be the lead forensic expert," Doakes said. He had called Larry precisely because he knew this crime needed a sharp eye and a twisted mind.
Larry then understood that this was the mark of a ring. According to the sergeant, it had been removed after the victim's death, leaving an indentation from prolonged wear.
"The stab wound in the chest needs to be photographed and recreated in an advanced lab. There's too much water here, so any traces we find are useless. Let's find someone to transport the body to the lab as soon as possible."
Max quickly took the photographs and carefully left the room with the inspection panel.
After reporting Larry's findings to Sergeant Doakes, the sergeant immediately made the necessary arrangements.
Max walked over to Larry and helped him carry the investigation case out of the bathroom.
The two stood in the middle of the hallway, looking at the scene around them.
Larry walked into the master bedroom. The decoration of the house was simple yet grand.
It was clear that the owner was a successful person with good taste. Judging by the evidence found, the room had been meticulously cleaned and was absolutely spotless.
Larry approached the nightstand and crouched down. A reflective, semicircular mark on the table caught his attention.
"It looks like a cup was placed here."
Doakes narrowed his eyes and smirked. "This has been removed, and I feel like there's some substance in this mark. Look, it seems like a kind of white powder that dissolves in water and settles after the water evaporates."
Drugs? Maybe...
"Quiet," Larry ordered, closing his eyes and listening to every vibration of sound around him.
A faint buzzing sound could be heard. Following the direction of the noise, Larry lifted the pillow from the headboard.
Nothing was found—except that the buzzing grew slightly louder.
Larry lowered his head almost to the floor and then saw a charger plugged into a power outlet hidden beneath the headboard.
Tracing the wires, he suddenly spotted a Sony Ericsson Walkman W810i. This type of phone was anything but common, especially since it was ideal for listening to audio.
Doakes was startled and approached with a pleased expression on his face. It seemed like he hadn't done his job thoroughly enough, but it wasn't his fault—he hadn't had much time.
Larry, of course, said nothing. That's why he was here. And that's why he had been called. He had realized from the start that it wasn't due to a lack of personnel.
The previous forensic experts had cleaned up the details, but their reports had left Doakes in a dark abyss. Now, he hoped Larry could pull him out of that darkness.
In a short time, Larry quickly used the evidence bag and prepared to pack the phone and charger.
It was the first time he had seen a battery being charged in such a secretive place.
At that moment, the phone stopped vibrating and displayed more than twenty missed calls.
After checking it, Larry quickly collected the fingerprints. He had his own experience in memorizing fingerprints.
But from the beginning, he knew this would lead them to a dead end.
"I'll hand them over to the analysts."
"You can do that, but no one other than the deceased has touched that phone. I recommend giving it to the technicians instead to trace the sources of the calls," Larry said, trying to save the detective from unnecessary searches.
"You do your job, I'll do mine." Of course, Doakes wouldn't let Larry interfere with his way of doing things unless he had solid grounds for his advice.
That was the limit he could tolerate.
Larry, of course, said nothing. He was a man of few words. There was no need to tell him he was good or that he had been chosen for certain cases; he knew he was irreplaceable.
Aside from explanations during autopsies and scene reconstructions during case analyses, his voice was rarely heard at other times.
After spending half a month at the center, Doakes had already understood his character. He smiled, placed the phone in the evidence bag, and sealed it.
"Has the deceased been identified?"
Doakes handed Larry a high-quality photo frame. The picture was of the deceased himself, sitting at his desk, looking like a successful man.
"LaGuerta just verified that the deceased is the homeowner, Derek Shepherd. He is 35 years old and single. He is the deputy general director of an investment company. He is considered a young and successful man."
"Have you contacted his family?"
"It is said that the deceased's parents settled abroad and that he was the only child in the family.
"He has quite a few lovers, but LaGuerta is still unsure which one to call."
Doakes didn't know what else to say about this information. What else would a young man with a settled life do but live it passionately?
The two walked toward the study while talking. Doakes picked up a handheld ultraviolet fluorescent lamp and showed it to Larry.
"Look, all the cabinets and tables have been carefully wiped clean. There's no trace of anything, even the light switches are covered with knit fabric to open and close them."
Larry nodded, and the two left the room.
Max had brought auxiliary police officers, and Larry helped them place the body into the cadaver bag. This action caused a lot of water from the bathtub to spill out.
"Shit…"
Larry looked at the corpse and noticed that rigor mortis had reached its most rigid and highly unusual stage in these cases, causing the deceased's arms to lift unnaturally.
What had just happened is known as the post-mortem process, where the body's muscles stiffen due to chemical changes after death.
Normally, rigor mortis begins to manifest about 2 to 6 hours after death, reaching its maximum rigidity between 12 and 24 hours, and then gradually disappearing within 36 to 48 hours.
But here, it hadn't disappeared because the body remained in an unusual position before rigor mortis set in, so the muscles may have stiffened in that posture.
He couldn't rule out other factors, such as cadaveric spasm, a rare phenomenon where the muscles contract abruptly at the moment of death, instantly locking the body into a fixed posture.
Although that wasn't the case, neither was the accumulation of gases inside the body, which can cause involuntary limb movements—though this isn't the same as rigor mortis.
"Let's get this over with…"
With no other choice, Larry and Max broke the rigor mortis at the elbow joints before barely managing to close the body bag.
As Larry turned around, he suddenly saw two long hairs in the remaining water at the bottom of the bathtub. He quickly picked them up with tweezers and placed them in the evidence bag.
Doakes, it seemed, wanted to shine on his own, proving why he was a sergeant and boosting his contributions within the Miami Metropolitan Police Department.
Larry tossed the evidence bag to Max and said, "Let's go back and do the autopsy. We mustn't waste time."
Although Max was a little scared, he was also quite excited.
It should be noted that Max had been following Larry for the past half month, and everything had been peaceful and smooth. Today was the first time he encountered a homicide case.
On the way, he noticed that Doakes was on a call. He didn't disturb him and quickly followed Larry back.
The expression on Larry's lips relaxed slightly. Max's behavior at that moment was exactly what a forensic doctor should have.
On the way, he called someone who was practically his superior. "Masuka, I heard you had a busy night."
"Nothing to get excited about—just a bunch of drunk idiots trying to recreate scenes from racing movies. By the way, what do you have on your end?"
"I need to send a sample to the pathology department for analysis. Sergeant Doakes is in a hurry since this is the first Christmas homicide in years within his jurisdiction."
Max helped hold the elevator door open with his hand, and Larry stepped in while continuing the call.
The Miami Metropolitan Police Department is located at 400 NW 2nd Ave, Miami, near the city center in Florida.
On both sides, there are four-meter-high walls with barbed wire hanging from them.
In front of the main entrance, at the end of the concrete pathway, there is a four-story building with a whitish tile exterior.
From left to right, on the first floor, there is the autopsy procedure acceptance room, four autopsy rooms, a locker room, a freezer room, a dressing room, a restroom, and a bathroom at the far right, with stairs leading to the upper floor.
On the second floor, there is the surveillance room, the trace detection and analysis laboratory, and six offices.
The third floor houses the forensic pathology laboratory and the DNA testing center, while the fourth floor contains the conference room and the center director's office.
Larry and the other two quickly walked toward the center.
"I heard you were studying to be an FBI agent. Tell me, Larry, what stopped you?" Max had always wanted to ask that question, and now he thought it was the perfect time.
"The details…" Larry entered the elevator.
Max followed closely, suppressing his smile, and completed the necessary paperwork in the service room before following him to the locker room.
Of course, details were the most important aspect that detectives worked with. If those details were wrong, the entire investigation would stall.
That's why Larry paid attention to details and pursued them thoroughly to provide detectives with incredible tools.
In no time, Larry had already changed into isolation clothing, raised his gloved hands, and looked at Sergeant Doakes, who had just appeared in the hallway.
"Max, follow me."
"Understood."
"You can come too—if you can handle what you're about to see."
Doakes smiled. Who did Larry think he was talking to?