"Dean, come with me to the scene!"
After Lawrence got the address from Daisy, he pulled Dean toward the crime scene. He held the rank of detective and had the authority. Strictly speaking, Lawrence's rank wasn't lower than Deputy Team Leader Old Hunter's. It was just that there were no vacant positions or opportunities available for him.
The Karen Hotel was a large, six-story hotel in the suburbs. It featured a small park, seven or eight swimming pools, and two golf courses on its grounds. Because a murder had occurred, the hotel's lobby manager was stationed right at the entrance. When he saw the detective badges on Dean and Lawrence, he immediately approached them. "Good day, Detectives," he said, "I'm the lobby manager here. You can call me Harley."
"Are you the one who reported this?" Lawrence's tone was serious.
"Yes," the lobby manager nodded, a bit nervously. "But I wasn't the first one to find her. Her husband was the first to discover Mrs. Lily's death; he was terrified. Our staff rushed over when we heard the commotion. Someone mentioned it looked like the serial home invasion rape and murder cases from the news, so I helped call the police."
"Manager Harley, are you saying you entered the room?" Lawrence frowned.
Harley nodded. "At first, we didn't know what had happened. We only heard the guest's scream, so..."
"Never mind," Lawrence interrupted. "Manager Harley, please gather the staff who entered the room at the time, as well as the victim's husband. You all need to go to the Detective Bureau to give a statement."
"Ah... alright," Harley nodded, somewhat reluctantly.
The crime scene was in the last room on the hotel's second floor. On the way upstairs, Dean noticed the hotel had almost no visible security cameras, as if it were afraid of recording something it shouldn't. Considering its secluded location, he mused.
At the end of the second-floor corridor, police tape was already up, and two patrol officers who had arrived first stood guard, looking miserable.
"Aha. No wonder it's called the 'Murder Center'," Lawrence whistled.
"What 'Murder Center'?" Dean asked, shifting his gaze from the emergency exit at one end of the corridor.
Lawrence flashed his badge at the two patrol officers, then pulled gloves and shoe covers from his pocket. "Rookie," he said, "ever hear the saying, 'Don't stay in the last room of a hotel'?"
Dean understood immediately. The last room in a hotel is usually close to an exit, making it convenient for a perpetrator to come and go. Consequently, it's often the room where premeditated hotel murders occur most frequently. This room was a perfect example. The emergency exit was right outside, and with no cameras inside the room, someone could go to other floors or leave the hotel without attracting attention or leaving a trace. No wonder it's called the 'Murder Center,' Dean thought.
"Alright, Lawrence, do you think this is a coincidence?" Dean asked. He already sensed something was off.
"Even though I have a pretty good idea what kind of trashy drama this case is, we still need to see the scene to know for sure," Lawrence sighed. He was the first to push open the door to the room.
The entrance was messy, littered with footprints. Any original traces had been completely disturbed, and there were drag marks... After asking the patrol officers who had arrived first, they learned that the victim's husband had fainted from grief. Hotel staff had then dragged him out, leaving the marks and disturbing most of the scene. Fortunately, the area immediately around the victim remained untouched.
The victim was a young, beautiful woman. Her eyes were tightly closed, and she lay spread-eagled on the bed, her torn nightgown gaping open. In this position, she was almost completely exposed. A horrifying ligature mark was visible on her neck. Her pale skin bore large, fresh bruises from abuse, her wrists had purplish binding marks, and there were obvious lacerations on her lower body.
Overall, it did resemble the previous home invasion rape-murder cases. The difference was that those had all occurred in the homes of women living alone, whereas this was a hotel.
"Dean, what do you think?" Lawrence asked, glancing at the body only briefly before looking away.
Dean stated confidently, "This is a very poor copycat crime." He pointed to the bruises on the victim's body. "The original killer, although he drugged his victims, made sure they were conscious during the torture. That's how he derived his sadistic pleasure. The previous victims had expressions contorted by pain and fear, and some even lost control of their bowels and bladder. This woman's expression is too peaceful. It's as if the killer had to murder the victim but couldn't bear to let her suffer.
"There's another crucial point. When a person is under stress, their muscles tense subconsciously. Wounds inflicted in that state look different from those inflicted when the body is completely relaxed. The victim's genital injuries are also wrong. The wounds are too small; they look more like they were caused by an irregularly shaped wooden object. In the previous three cases, the weapon was always a symmetrical cylindrical object, like a plastic air pump. That never changed.
"Lawrence, investigate the victim's husband directly! I estimate he hasn't even had time to dispose of the murder weapon. It's either hidden in his car, in some concealed spot in the hotel like the ceiling space, or maybe even in the lake out front..." Dean's words flowed, one point after another.
Lawrence was dumbstruck. I just asked for your opinion, not for you to crack the case on the spot! he thought, exasperated.
Seeing Lawrence staring blankly, Dean patted his shoulder. "Anything to add, Lawrence?"
"Ah..." Lawrence snapped out of it, his jowls seeming to sag listlessly. "I think you've covered it well."
He had intended to use this typical, if clumsy, case to mentor his protégé, Dean. But reality had dealt him a harsh blow. In everything but sheer breadth of knowledge, Dean's progress in crime scene investigation and criminal psychological analysis was astoundingly rapid. He was like a natural-born criminal profiler, easily slipping into the perpetrator's mindset to meticulously unravel the case and find key clues!
"Dean, it's a good thing you're not a criminal. Otherwise, I have a feeling you'd be even more difficult to deal with than our serial rapist-murderer," Lawrence sighed in resignation.
Dean smiled faintly. "Lawrence, you're looking at Dean Lee, a five-star citizen of Los Angeles. You shouldn't doubt me."
"Lee? Is that your last name?" Lawrence looked as if he'd discovered a new continent. "Buddy, you're of Chinese descent?"
"That's right. Lee. It's one of the imperial surnames from that great Eastern nation, with a very long history. Lawrence, I have royal blood."
It's been passed down to this day, after all, Dean thought wryly. Who doesn't have a drop of blood from the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors in them?
Having spun his yarn, Dean headed out of the room. He was eager to wrap up the case and earn those Experience Points. If finishing this case gets me enough to level up, that would be perfect, he thought.