Volume 1: First Arrival Chapter 001 Late Night Tips
Beep, beep, beep…
It was a chilly spring day, the moon was dark and the wind was strong. The streets were deserted at midnight. The sharp ringing of the telephone cut through the thick night, as if slicing through a throat, and the smell of blood spread in the air.
Jeff Minghella's hands moved quickly on the keyboard, completely ignoring the phone, but the phone continued to roar tirelessly, like "The Ring", and finally Jeff could no longer control himself. He looked around away from the computer.
Empty.
The office at two o'clock in the morning was unbearably cold. The warmth that remained in the air seemed to have been completely swallowed up by the cold night. I could hardly feel my toes. New York in March still felt like a cold winter. If possible, I should hide in the bed instead of eating cookies in the office.
Jeff was a little annoyed. He was the only one left until the end.
But what can we do?
In a newspaper, having writing skills and abilities does not mean anything. Without resources and connections, there will be no exclusives. There is no other choice but to work hard on your own.
The turning point in his career just requires an exclusive.
He picked up the coffee cup and drank all the black liquid in it in one gulp, but found that the coffee was already cold, and he shuddered.
Beep, beep...
The phone continued to ring.
Jeff muttered a curse word under his breath, but finally answered the phone. "'The New York Times', Jeff Minghella."
A voice that sounded like Donald Duck came from the other end of the line, "Did you know there's a homeless serial killer in New York?"
"What?" Jeff hadn't recovered from the impact of the cold coffee.
"You heard me, let me tell you, he has killed seven black homeless people in a row, each with his throat cut and a little finger missing, but no one cares."
Jeff: …
He himself did not realize that he was holding his breath, and his brain, which was almost unable to function due to the cold, suddenly woke up with a start, which was much more effective than coffee in waking up.
Calm down, stay calm.
"...Who are you?" Jeff needed to take control.
However, the person on the other end of the line wasn't buying it at all. "So, you're just like the NYPD. You're not interested?"
Jeff caught a new keyword, NYPD, and his voice trembled uncontrollably, revealing his inner desire and urgency. "No, I'm interested. I'm very, very interested. Black people? You mean, all the victims are black?"
"yes."
"But why hasn't there been any related reports so far?" Jeff still convinced himself not to rush. What if this was a prank call?
However!
The rush of adrenaline still beats reason to react, "Who are you? How did you know all this? Are you the murderer?"
Three questions in a row.
Jeff couldn't help but hold his breath.
But there was no sound from the other end of the phone, as if it had quietly disappeared into the darkness.
The voice came from the abyss slowly and calmly, "Jeff, you are not listening carefully."
Jeff couldn't help but shudder.
The elegant and calm words were not violent at all. Not only that, but they were also as gentle as a spring breeze. However, the gentleness in the tone made people shudder.
Jeff swallowed without realizing it and was unable to make a sound.
“Jeff.”
"Oh…Jeff Jeff Jeff."
The calls, one after another, were like whispers, but they gripped Jeff's nerves firmly and made him completely tense.
"Jeff, I'm just a concerned citizen. My hands are not stained with blood, but the NYPD is."
"The FBI doesn't care at all. They care about overtime pay, they care about the election, and they care about not having a case like this happen this year."
“Perhaps, the only thing they don’t care about is the lives that are lost.”
Jeff, a flash of inspiration came to his mind, and in an instant, all the clues were connected together -
2012 is an election year, and all topics have become sensitive, with multiple parties involved.
If a serial killer who specifically targets black people appeared in New York at this time, it would definitely not be a good thing, and might even trigger a series of uproars.
So, what will the Bureau do?
Even though bodies were discovered one after another, they refused to connect the dots and refused to acknowledge the existence of a serial killer, but instead treated each case as an independent one.
If we dig deeper, we will find that homeless people are already on the margins of society, with no family or friends. Even their death may not attract attention. The investigation bureau may hastily close the case as an accidental or natural death, or shelve it as an unsolved case due to lack of clues. It will not attract attention at all and can be covered up quietly.
Thus, a potential serial killer case turned into the accidental deaths of seven unrelated homeless people.
No wonder!
Nobody cares.
Moreover, the subject used on the other end of the phone was "Investigation Bureau", not the NYPD that is widely known to ordinary people. Obviously, it does not specifically refer to the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), but specifically to the Investigation Bureau branch under the NYPD.
Details determine the key. You can tell as soon as you hear it that this is an expert.
Jeff's sleepiness was swept away , and a row of small light bulbs lit up in his mind, and his thoughts started working quickly.
At this moment, Jeff could no longer feel the darkness and coldness, and a surge of hot blood rushed to his heart.
He needs to keep his sanity.
The more important the event is, the more cautious one needs to be; the more explosive the event is, the more calm one needs to be. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he needs to seize it firmly.
This is his exclusive thing.
The brain starts working again.
"But how do you prove it?"
"You know I can't just trust a stranger and publish news without any source in the pages of The New York Times."
Generally speaking, for such a major and special event, after receiving the secret tip, they need confirmation from at least two news sources before they can report it.
If you want to further confirm the authenticity, then the reliability and trustworthiness of the news source also need to be confirmed, otherwise the editor-in-chief will not give the green light.
This is, after all, The New York Times, not a supermarket tabloid or an Internet rumor mill.
Jeff's statement was actually an attempt to find out the identity of the person on the other end of the line.
However, it failed.
"Oh, that's your problem, not mine. Otherwise, I should be the reporter for the New York Times right now, not you, right?"
Jeff: ...Did he just get criticized?
Damn it!
"But!" Jeff exploded.
But he was interrupted by the voice on the phone, "No buts."
"You need evidence. I can give you evidence. I have the final say. So, take out paper and pen. Are you ready to record?"
Jeff listened to the order coming from the receiver, struggled and hesitated for a second, and finally took out a pen and paper obediently, and then waited.
result--
"Hey Jeff, are you ready?"
In an instant, Jeff seemed to be back in the dictation time in elementary school, and that kind voice was exactly that of his English teacher who was patient and encouraging.
"Yes." Jeff realized that the situation was not good as soon as the affirmative answer came out of his mouth. He wanted to bite off his tongue.
Damn it!
"Good boy."
Donald Duck's voice came from the other end of the receiver. Jeff wasn't sure if it was his illusion, but he actually caught a hint of smile in the voice.
He wanted to swear.
But this time, the other party did not give Jeff time to react, and went straight to the point of speaking -
"Chris Adams."
"Dennis Curtis."
…
one by one.
Soon, Jeff realized that these were all the names of the victims, with both real and fake names, a total of seven.
This is the best evidence.
A name means a life. No further explanation is needed as a series of deaths unfold before our eyes.
As long as he had these names, he could go to the police's public files to investigate and confirm the key words one by one, such as "cut throat", "little finger", etc.; and he could take this list to confirm the authenticity of those public and undisclosed details with insiders in the police station that he was familiar with.
By then, the truth and falsehood can no longer be concealed.
Jeff's heart was beating wildly and he could hardly breathe. In the freezing early morning, his heart and brain were burning hot. He was extremely excited. He barely controlled himself with his remaining sanity and confirmed again.
"Those are the names of the victims, right?"
There was silence in the receiver.
Just one second, but it seemed like a whole century.
"Goodnight, Jeff."
The next second, the call was hung up and a busy tone sounded.
…
On the other end of the phone, Kirk-Hull let out a long breath, put the voice changer in his pocket, and put his hands in his pockets as well.
Before I knew it, three weeks had passed since I traveled from China in 2023 to New York in 2012.
Compared to my previous job as a police officer, being a private detective now has many differences, but there are also more similarities than I imagined, so it is not difficult to adapt.
Exactly ten days ago, Kirk received a commission from a black man, Richard Curtis.
This is a well-known figure in Greenwich Village, New York. He owns six bars of different types and styles, and has produced countless big-name singers. To this day, there are still countless independent musicians eager to step onto the performance stages of these bars, covering jazz, folk, rock, blues and so on.
His only son broke up with his family about three years ago, ran away from home, and then disappeared completely.
It wasn't until three weeks ago that Richard received a call from the police station inviting him to go to the police station to identify the body.
Richard had repeatedly told himself that he should just pretend that he didn't have a son; but when he actually saw his son's body, he aged ten years overnight.
Before the elderly have had time to ease the grief of losing their loved ones, the police have been delaying any action, using the excuse that "the possibility of violence arising from the robbery is high, but due to the huge number of homeless people, there is currently a lack of direct evidence to identify the suspect." The investigation seems to have come to a complete standstill.
Richard found this hard to accept.
Richard doesn't trust the police. His grievances with the NYPD are his entrepreneurial history, and also a history of blood and tears. So, he found Kirk:
One hundred dollars an hour.
Richard wanted to know what happened to Dennis and what he went through during these three years that led him to this ending.
Kirk took the job.
After preliminary investigation, Kirk did find something strange.
The details of the crime, "the little finger disappeared", were not made public but were recorded in the investigation report. It did not seem like a simple robbery that led to excessive violence.
Later, Kirk further discovered that in the past period of time, at least seven cases with similar modus operandi could be found in the NYPD files.
Moreover, they are all homeless people.
There is a very, very high probability that he is a serial killer.
Kirk believes that it would be difficult to investigate on his own.
After all, the biggest difference between serial killers and ordinary cases is that the latter starts from the individual, and the motive of the crime can be traced; the former must start from the case, and the different clues of different cases must be connected together to find the pattern of the crime, which is different in nature.
The workload and nature of the work are completely different.
However, Richard made Kirk an offer he couldn't refuse:
If you find out the truth, your hourly wage will be doubled; if you can bring the criminal to justice, your hourly wage will be doubled again, and there will be an additional bonus.
"In that case, I won't have to hire another professional killer."
Richard said so.