"This is the Homicide and Robbery Division... Okay, got it. We’ll be on our way immediately."
She hung up the phone.
Daisy looked at the lackadaisical Dean and Harry. "Guys, inside the alley at 433 Oren Street, a homeless man rummaging through trash found a body. I’ll notify the forensics department; you two should head out."
"Oh~ the easy life of earning a paycheck is over. I really don’t want to move; this game is too much fun," Harry stretched lazily, somewhat reluctantly getting up.
He had recently become addicted to a character in a combat game.
It was a hero with miraculous marksmanship—Holy Gun Sean, a cool-looking man wearing a half-mask.
Although the crappy pixelation made it hard to see what, if anything, was cool about the character, Harry was deeply fascinated as long as Sean wielded a revolver.
"Harry, you’re like those junkies, except you’re hooked on ’Spirit’ marijuana," Dean quipped.
To play the game, Harry had unbelievably turned down calls from at least five different women asking for dates in the past few days—very uncharacteristic of him.
Harry shrugged. "Dean, you don’t understand. A miserable childhood takes a lifetime to heal. I’m just healing mine. Come on, I was actually thinking about riding in that muscle car of yours; it really attracts the ladies’ attention."
"It actually attracts more attention from men," Dean chuckled. He habitually checked the new pistol he had just received before grabbing the keys and setting off.
Oren Street was located near a senior citizens’ plaza.
Due to the aging public facilities, only some elderly people enjoyed strolling nearby, casually feeding pigeons and savoring their blissful retirement.
At this time, the United States, by exploiting numerous other nations, was seeing its national welfare system at the tail end of its peak period.
Even homeless individuals with legal status received regular subsidies. Older adults who had worked in their younger years received substantial social security benefits, allowing them to live quite comfortably.
Upon arriving at the reported location, a middle-aged man, who looked to be in his forties, was being questioned by a patrol officer.
Dean, with Harry in tow, went over and greeted the officers from the local precinct. "Hey, guys, what’s the situation?"
"Detective Dean?" The patrol officer paused his note-taking and smiled. "I’ve heard the Fourth Squad has a very handsome detective with a high case-solving rate. Looks like my bonus for next month is secure."
Although he was just assisting, he would still get a share of the credit if the case was solved. That was an unwritten rule.
"Wow," Harry said, his eyes filled with envy. "Dean, you’ve only been here for two months, and people at this precinct already know you."
"Gold, after all, will always shine and be well-liked," Dean said, stepping forward to shake the patrol officer’s hand. "I’m Dean. Glad you know me. Can you tell me what the situation is?"
The patrol officer pointed at the homeless man before him. "This gentleman was rummaging through the trash this afternoon. He found a pile of tattered cloth by the trash can and thought about picking it up to use as a mat. But when he lifted it, he discovered the body underneath."
After hearing this, Dean took a good look at the homeless man.
The man had a large frame but was extremely thin, appearing malnourished. His restlessly fidgeting hands betrayed his current unease; he kept his head bowed and curled his feet, clearly embarrassed by the officer’s mention of him rummaging through trash. This was a homeless man with some pride left. There are many types of homeless people in the United States. This particular man might have had a decent life before, then gone bankrupt for some reason. With a tarnished credit record, he probably resigned himself to homelessness. Dean’s Spirit attribute was 11. Though not at a genius level, his memory and other cognitive skills were quite good. After some serious reading lately, he felt he’d made some progress. He figured it wouldn’t be long before he could grasp the basics of microexpression analysis too.
Perhaps worried he’d be considered the perpetrator, the homeless man, after being stared at for a while, stammered, "After I discovered it, I asked a passerby to call the police. I didn’t disturb the body."
Dean nodded, pulled out a twenty-US Dollar bill, and stuffed it into the homeless man’s hand. "Sir, thank you for the information. It’s getting cold; take this and buy some warm food."
"Thank you, you really are a good person."
Dean shrugged, asked where the homeless man could be found if needed, and then headed into the alley with Harry.
The forensics team hadn’t arrived yet, so they had to start examining the scene themselves.
The body lay at the end of the alley, beside a trash can. The area was an old residential district, mainly inhabited by elderly people, very few of whom would come to such a secluded spot to throw out trash.
That homeless man must have been extremely hungry to have come looking here.
The body was by the side of the trash can, covered with a pile of rags. Perhaps because the homeless man had disturbed them, a corner of the cloth was exposed, already stained red with blood.
Looking at the bloodstains, Harry speculated, "The blood looks quite fresh, Dean. Maybe you shouldn’t have let that homeless man go."
Dean shook his head. "Didn’t you smell a faint stench of decay when we entered the alley? The blood on the cloth looks bright, likely due to the humidity here. Let’s pull back the cloth and look at the body."
He had carefully observed the surroundings before entering.
There were no bloodstains, no drag marks, and no signs of a struggle. This place might just be a dumping ground for the body.
The two of them put on gloves.