Los Angeles was his home base, and Dean wouldn't jeopardize his foundation there for a moment's pleasure. After soothing Niel's reluctance, he disposed of tens of thousands of US dollars' worth of weapons he kept for emergencies, boarded the earliest flight, and rushed back to Los Angeles.
"Wow, Captain Monet, you actually came to pick me up yourself! It seems this case is quite troublesome," Dean said to the enthusiastic Monet, teasing him.
"Haha, I just saw the recent news. I know something big happened in New York recently, so I was a bit worried about your safety," Monet replied with a smile.
Because Amon had specifically sealed off and cleaned Dean's traces on the plane, erasing his travel records, Monet didn't know that Dean had been on that particular flight.
Seeing Monet's reaction, Dean had an even stronger feeling that the case was likely complicated, so he rubbed his forehead. "It's alright, Captain. Just tell me about the case."
"Get in the car; you're back just in time. Because of the victim's special identity, we've kept the crime scene intact."
In the car, Monet briefly described the case.
This morning, a student, while jogging in the woods, found a corpse in a gruesome state and reported it to the police. Since it was in the Fourth Squad's jurisdiction, the case was transferred to Daisy.
Old Hunter led the team to the scene. The forensic team, with Holz in charge, also headed out and recognized the victim at a glance.
Monet said with some fatigue, "The victim is named Mike Smith, British, 38 years old. He's a forensic psychology specialist in Los Angeles and an honorary psychology professor at several prestigious universities, highly respected in the academic community.
"If it were just that, it wouldn't be too troublesome. But he had another identity."
Dean lit a cigarette. "What identity?"
"A special advisor to the Ashton Family!" Monet adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses with one hand, his tone melancholic. "Weren't you curious about who's behind me? It's a member of this family.
"The Ashton Family isn't as renowned in Los Angeles as the Carmen Family once was. However, throughout California, many companies, guilds, and gangs involved in daily life are actually controlled by members of their family.
"If the Carmen Family was once the political 'sky' of Los Angeles, then the Ashton Family is its nocturnal ruler, commanding a formidable reputation throughout California.
"That's why I say this is a major case, not just a simple murder."
Dean understood immediately. A renowned scholar dying was one thing; at most, it would put some public pressure on the police department. But when that scholar was the psychological advisor for a powerful family, the nature of the situation changed. He might have known many secrets not meant for outsiders. Any family would instinctively want to find out the cause of such a person's death. His death, therefore, had become a major issue.
Dean was somewhat annoyed by this. But then again, such is life—things rarely go as planned, eight or nine times out of ten. He was still just a sapling. Since he had enjoyed their protection, it was only right to put in some effort, as long as it wasn't too troublesome.
Dean exhaled a puff of smoke. "Alright, I'll do my best on this case. But Captain, it seems we're not on the route back to the police department."
Monet smiled faintly. "Correct. We're heading to the woods where the body was found."
"The crime scene discovered this morning hasn't been moved yet?"
Monet shrugged. "Because I thought this might help you solve the case better."
He had an inexplicable confidence in Dean. Because the case was special, Monet had resolutely ordered Old Hunter and the others to preserve the scene, not following procedure to take the body back to the forensics department for an autopsy.
Dean was rendered speechless. Monet was blatantly telling the Fourth Squad and the forensics department: *I only trust Dean, not you!* This was certainly a development.
At this moment, several searchlights bathed the area, making it as bright as day. A group of men lounged in a corner, puffing away contentedly and playing cards, seemingly untroubled by any annoyance or irritation from waiting.
"FUCK!" Harry, having a bad run of luck, slammed his cards down in frustration and looked gloomily at Holz, who was gleefully collecting money. "Buddy, your luck's good today. Speaking of which, where are your two assistants?"
"They've gone back to school for further studies," Holz said, looking at Harry as if he were a simpleton. "They were just here for a temporary internship. For official employment... they'd have to wait until they graduate. And besides..."
He sadly took a drag of his cigarette, lay down, and even the joy of winning money seemed diminished.
"And besides what?" Old Hunter, no longer yawning, perked up. His years of detective intuition told him there was a tragic yet touching story hidden here.
Holz glanced at the old fox and said dully, "And besides, they've already taken Dean's shape, so forget about any other ideas. You'll never guess what they told me when I asked why they were willing to break up with a scumbag like Dean!"
"Tell us!" Harry and Old Hunter chorused, joined by Robert, who had just returned from relieving himself.
Gossip knows no gender.
Holz, a cigarette dangling from his lips, let the ash fall onto his shoe as he pointed at Harry. "They said they didn't want to work one day only to need sick leave the next!
"FUCK, and those were two women!"