With that, he reached for the jewelry box.
Harry looked at Dean. He felt that this person was lying.
Dean nodded slightly. Harry then smiled and handed over the box, teasing as he did, "Buddy, a man being so afraid of a woman just won't do. You look like you haven't slept well for five or six days!"
The homeowner, Aidor, gave a strained chuckle, his smile unsightly, as he took the box. Then, BANG, he slammed the door shut.
After that, the sound of several chains being fastened echoed from behind the door.
This guy had even added several locks on the inside.
Harry said, "...Dean, why do I get the feeling this guy has been severely traumatized recently? It's making him very insecure and extremely panicky."
Dean let out a chuckle. "Harry, guess why his voice is so hoarse."
"His voice?" Harry looked at Dean in confusion. "Buddy, isn't it normal for a man who drinks and smokes to have a hoarse voice? But speaking of which, since he's been staying home, why would the Wayne brothers choose him..."
At this point, Harry seemed to realize something. His sphincter tightened, his legs clenched. He drew a sharp breath, licked his suddenly dry lips, and said hesitantly, "Dean, are you saying that this guy has also been... uh... by the Wayne brothers?"
Indeed, the way the man had walked just now did seem a bit awkward.
"Yes," Dean indicated. "When the Wayne brothers were casing this place, they probably saw the messy exterior and thought no one was home. Turns out... they have quite heavy tastes."
That also explained why the male homeowner was covering up this incident. Attacked from both ends, a truly 'warm' welcome... After all, it's not something pleasant to talk about.
Unfortunately, Portolia had already contacted the man's wife. Hopefully, this unlucky guy could come up with a suitable excuse to fool her.
Leslie and Portolia had also obtained two names from the husband of the suicide victim.
They were all trivial matters.
One incident was because the female victim had improperly driven her vehicle and rear-ended a resident's car. However, the insurance company had already dealt with it properly, and that resident had been out of California since after Christmas.
This lead was immediately ruled out.
The other involved a dog owner.
His large dog had frightened the female victim and had been kicked by her husband.
According to the victim's husband, the dog owner was a burly, middle-aged man with a full beard, and the two had even gotten into a fight over it.
This dog owner was undoubtedly suspicious.
Leslie immediately relayed this information to Dean.
The four of them met up.
Leslie said cautiously, "Dean, do we need to call a few guys from the precinct for backup?"
If Dean's guess was right, it meant they would be facing at least three men whose firepower was unknown.
Dean shook his head. "Let's confirm if he's actually a suspect before we consider that."
The dog owner's name was Bokke, and he lived in a corner of the community.
Portolia got Bokke's basic information over the phone. "Bokke, Caucasian, single, thirty-eight years old. He formerly served in the military. After being discharged, he became an employee of a circus and currently makes a living as a Dog Trainer."
"Does that make a lot of money?" Harry asked curiously.
Leslie nodded. "It does, especially training specialized dog breeds."
While they were talking, the sound of barking came from ahead.
It turned out to be a man playing with four dogs and a frisbee.
Dean and Leslie exchanged a look.
Leslie understood immediately. She turned and began laughing and chatting with Portolia, pretending they were old friends, and walked past the man a step ahead of Dean and Harry.
The man glanced at them casually, apparently unconcerned, and went back to playing with his dogs.
"Bokke?" Just then, Dean called out to him.
The man indeed turned his head. After clearly seeing Dean and Harry, he said with a puzzled look, "Buddy, you look unfamiliar. If you're looking to hire me for dog training, please make an appointment with my studio."
"I'm a detective from Los Angeles. There are a few things I'd like to ask you. Is it convenient to talk at your place?" Dean showed his badge.
Bokke acted very normally. He shrugged. "Sure, no problem. It's just that my house smells pretty strong; I hope you don't mind."
After saying that, he blew a whistle.
Four medium-sized dogs, about half a meter tall and a mix of white, yellow, and black fur, ran over with a frisbee. They enthusiastically circled Bokke and followed him toward his residence.
Harry looked at the four dogs with envy. "Wow, they're Foxhounds! These cuties run fast, and they aren't cheap. This guy actually has four of them."
"Bokke's a Dog Trainer; they're not necessarily his own dogs," Dean said casually and followed.
So far, he hadn't noticed anything unusual in Bokke's demeanor, but whether there was an issue or not, they still needed to get inside his house on some pretext to check for traces.
Bokke's place was just over ten meters ahead.
The man hadn't deceived them. As they approached, they could smell a strong, rank, dry odor and the sharp reek of urine. Outside the house were seven or eight dog houses of various sizes, covered with thick soundproofing material, their shapes only vaguely discernible.
It was probably designed this way to prevent disturbing the neighbors.
Dean noticed. Not far from those dog houses stood three or four poles with very thin chains and collars hanging from them, likely tools used for training large dogs.
As they arrived at the house, Bokke blew another whistle.
The four Foxhounds then, in a remarkably human-like display, took turns placing the frisbee into an open wooden box outside the large wooden house. Afterward, they willingly entered their respective dog houses and lay down.