No matter how much they searched, there was nothing wrong with this place. After looking everywhere, no evidence was found, yet the doubts only grew stronger.
Larry, still calm, looked around. He wasn't desperate. The room was far too clean. Not a single piece of wrinkled clothing was in sight. It was so spotless it seemed to lack any sense of life.
It didn't feel like a home, but rather a place where people only worked.
Max had already left the room. When Larry turned around, a picture in the master bedroom caught his attention.
Larry reflected for a moment, then turned to leave the room.
He pulled out his phone, typed a message, and sent it to Mike, asking him to investigate something.
Jane, watching Larry remain silent, asked: "What do we do?"
"Well, let's start by arresting Mr. Terry immediately and take him to the station."
"What? That's illegal…"
"No, we have a warrant. He has the right to remain silent, and anything he says can and will be used against him in court."
Without hesitation, Jane stepped forward to arrest the man who hadn't given her a bad feeling.
But trusting the best criminal profiler in the department, she arrested Terry as soon as Larry ordered it.
Like his partner Alan, Terry was taken to a patrol car, handcuffed, of course.
As they had discovered, Terry ran a fruit stand near the spot where Alan sold burritos.
The group went down the elevator and walked toward the vehicles. After putting Terry in the patrol car, they headed to William's house, which wasn't far away.
They took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor of the building across the street. Since no one was there this time, they went inside without saying a word.
The layout of the apartment wasn't much different from Alan's, but the strong stench of feet filled the air the moment they opened the door.
Max felt nauseous, but Larry seemed fine. He stepped inside, and the place was a total mess.
Five or six pairs of muddy shoes were scattered across the floor, and a pile of dirty clothes and smelly socks lay tossed on the sofa. These two spots were the main sources of the stench.
A small vendor who worked hard every day, earning a living with difficulty—this environment reflected his character perfectly. There were two bedrooms, one of them used as a storage room.
A large basin filled with onions soaked in seaweed sat inside a huge iron tub. The strong smell of onions partly masked the foul odor of the apartment.
The floor was covered with a chaotic mix of ingredients, a complete mess.
The master bedroom was even more disorganized. Except for the most frequently used areas, dust had accumulated everywhere. A thorough search revealed nothing suspicious.
Max had finished checking the living room, and the two moved on to the kitchen and dining area. A large pot sat on a greasy stove, along with a pile of aluminum trays for making dough sheets. Nearby, a basin full of dirty water filled the air with stench.
"Does this guy make birria?"
"That's normal. Considering they lack proper systems, it's common to find things in street vendors' kitchens that you wouldn't imagine. In the end, if you don't eat what you cook, you can expect anything."
Larry's words brought back bad memories for Max, who instantly gagged.
Guided by Larry, Jane sprayed reagent on the knives lying beside the cutting board, one by one, but there was no reaction.
Max and Jane looked frustrated; their investigation had come to another standstill. Closing the door, Max removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"We finally got a DNA match. We've searched both houses, so why can't either be the initial crime scene?" Jane was desperate to find the killer of those women.
Larry stood by the window, looking down. He could barely see the patrol car and an old hotdog stand.
The officer guarding Terry was leaning against the car, smoking.
Terry rested his head on the seat, eyes closed, as if taking a nap, but his thumbs kept circling nervously.
Was he anxious?
They had already searched his house and found nothing, so why was he nervous? Was there something they hadn't uncovered yet?
Glancing again at William's apartment, Larry let out a long sigh and muttered under his breath: "He knows something."
Jane watched Larry leave the room quickly and head toward the patrol car where Terry was pretending to sleep.
"Open the door," Larry ordered the officer from afar. As soon as he arrived, he stepped inside, grabbed Terry by the neck.
"What the hell?"
Larry dragged Terry back into the room and signaled to the two officers behind him. They followed and shut the door.
Once inside, Larry stared directly into Terry's eyes for a long moment without saying a word. Terry was already sweating. The man's gaze was terrifying—eyes so cold they seemed to pierce the bones, enough to make anyone tremble.
"What's going on?" Jane rushed in and, seeing how they were handling Terry, tried to intervene, but the officers held her back.
"Where is your roommate's wife?"
Terry swallowed hard. "She ran away!"
"When did she run away? With whom?"
"I don't know who she ran off with. I was a kid back then. It's been almost fifteen years since I came to this city."
"Why did you come to the city? Don't tell me it was easy to make money here, because you were just a teenager at the time. I want the truth."
Sweat dripped down Terry's face as his nerves grew worse.
"I hurt someone and was afraid of being caught, so I came to seek refuge with my father's friend, Alan. After all, it was far from where I caused trouble."
"Refuge? That means Alan has lived here for more than fifteen years, correct?"
"Yes, that's right!"
"Besides this house, has Alan rented any other houses? Don't try to fool me. Do you know what I do? I'm a forensic doctor. We only show up at an investigation scene when there's a homicide."
After saying this, Larry lowered his gaze and murmured: "The way you grabbed your pants told me you can't lie, so your shallow excuses don't matter to me."
"Right now, only Alan's DNA has been found in the victim's house, but that doesn't free you from being tied to the case. So if you want to clear suspicion, you need to cooperate actively with us to find the real killer. Otherwise, no one will be able to help you."
"I didn't do anything!" Terry broke down, crying uncontrollably.
Jane stood aside, watching this breakthrough in silence.
"Well, think about it now and answer my question. Do you know if he has other rental houses or warehouses?"
At that moment, Terry's mind went blank.
His hands trembled uncontrollably. Larry's words had hit a nerve: forensic doctor, homicide, corpse, and the evidence left at the scene.
Terry was bewildered. How had things gone straight from prostitution to homicide? He raised his hands and shook them frantically.
"Don't drag me into this! I'll tell you! It seems Alan has a garage in the basement, but I'm not sure. They say it's in a dead-end alley, separated and sold off by the property management, but it supposedly doesn't have a title."
"When Alan bought a house, I heard someone ask if he had taken advantage of that place, saying it was now worth three or four times more."
"But when I asked him about it later, he said he had sold it a long time ago. I don't know if that's true."
Jane and Max's eyes widened in shock. They hadn't expected Terry to reveal so many secrets with just a few words from Larry.
Larry stared at him without blinking.
"Do you know where it is?"
"It seems to be not far from here. I can find out!"
"Do it." Larry knew this would save them a lot of time.
Terry had already started dialing, asking the property manager if he knew anything about it. Larry suddenly let go of him, and the abrupt release nearly made Terry collapse.
He slumped onto the sofa, aggrieved. He raised his arm to wipe the sweat from his face, staring at Larry with eyes full of post-mortem fear.
"Confirm it. We'll see if he's telling the truth." Larry turned to Jane, who simply nodded in response.