The interrogation room was gray and austere, stiflingly hot. The door had to stay closed—only a small exhaust fan turned lazily, rattling, grating on the nerves.
Marcus Shaw was used to this room, but he'd never imagined himself sitting on this side of it.
Deputy Captain Harris's face was rigid. His cheekbones jutted, and two deep lines carved his cheeks like knife wounds. His whole face was a landscape of ridges and valleys—like a carved wooden statue.
Marcus Shaw asked, "Where are Vik and Lucas Lutz?"
Li didn't move a muscle. Not even a blink. His voice seemed to float out from somewhere deep, entirely devoid of emotion: "I've assigned them tasks."
"My father has been kidnapped. The ransom exchange could happen tonight."
"Two separate matters. Don't worry—our people are handling it."
Marcus Shaw raised his voice. "If it were your father, you'd be just as frantic."
The man's face didn't twitch. He just stared at Marcus Shaw and, after a long pause, said, "Panicking won't help. I suggest you save your energy."
Marcus Shaw realized he was right. "Then get on with it. Why am I under arrest?"
Li, still unhurried, said, "Why were you at the scene?"
"I told you—picking up my wife from work."
"You two don't get along. Why would you pick her up?"
Marcus Shaw's throat tightened. "Who told you our marriage was troubled? Is my whole unit monitoring my personal life? Do I need to clear my sex life with the department?"
Li's eyes narrowed. "I'm making a reasonable inquiry."
Marcus Shaw capitulated, "Fine, fine. Even if we had some rough patch, we're still married. Can't things be better now?"
Li didn't respond, just looked down and wrote something on his notepad.
"We pulled the building's security footage. Although the inside cameras were destroyed by a laser, an exterior camera caught you entering the building earlier."
"I was in my car waiting for my wife. I got thirsty and went to buy coffee. The coffee cans are still in my car, and I have the receipt. You can also question the cashier and check the convenience store footage."
Li rested his chin on his clasped hands. "We checked the store footage, but it's of limited value. There's no camera coverage between the store and the building, so we can't confirm you went nowhere else and did nothing else in between."
Marcus Shaw kicked his chair. "I bought two cans of coffee and went straight back to the car. I didn't go anywhere. I didn't do anything."
"However, the exterior camera shows your time inside the building as four minutes and twenty-eight seconds. The store footage shows you were inside for one minute and twelve seconds. I walked from your parking spot to the store entrance twice—the round trip averaged about thirty-five seconds. That leaves two minutes and forty-one seconds unaccounted for. Explain."
Marcus Shaw's mind raced. "Next to the store is a baby supplies shop. The window display had some interesting signage. I stopped to look for a while."
"Who can corroborate that?"
"I don't know. Maybe a shop assistant saw me through the window, but I wasn't paying attention."
Li noted this. "We'll send someone to ask."
"Take a photo of me. This basketball outfit—anyone who saw it would remember."
Li nodded and snapped two photos with his phone. The moment Marcus Shaw sat back down, Li asked, "You don't have children. Your wife isn't pregnant. Why were you looking at a baby store?"
Marcus Shaw's face flushed deep red. "What? Can't we have kids? It's not like I'm infertile."
Li didn't pursue it. He stared at Marcus Shaw a moment longer, then said, "If no one can vouch for you and you can't prove your innocence, I have reason to suspect you went upstairs quickly and killed Reed. Two minutes and forty-one seconds is more than enough time."
Marcus Shaw's nostrils flared. "That's pure speculation!"
Li raised his eyes. "Is it? Because I have other evidence." He produced an evidence bag containing a nail clipper with a rabbit zodiac design.
Marcus Shaw stared at it.
"Look familiar?" Li said. "As I understand it, you were born in the Year of the Rabbit. And this has only your fingerprints on it."
Marcus Shaw said through gritted teeth, "I lost that weeks ago. I looked everywhere and couldn't find it."
"So you're saying someone stole your nail clipper, committed murder, and framed you?"
Marcus Shaw suddenly understood Li Lao Hei's feelings from back then. He gave a cold laugh. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Silence fell over the room.
After a while, Li said, "There's also the murder weapon. The wrench—while it doesn't have your fingerprints, we've traced it to the auto repair shop you frequent."
"No wonder it looked familiar..." Marcus Shaw's mind drifted to Finn Carter.
Last time the Beetle was sabotaged, it was Finn Carter's negligence. Could these cases be connected to him too?
His thoughts tangled. He didn't dare pursue the thread.
"Your most recent visit to that shop was the fifteenth of this month, with two prior visits. I now have grounds to suspect you used your repair visits as cover to steal the wrench, planting the seed to frame the mechanic. And one of the mechanics happens to be someone you recommended. Possibly a piece you positioned from the start."
Marcus Shaw smirked. "You've got quite the imagination. Last time, my car was sabotaged at that shop—I nearly got killed. Who's to say someone didn't swipe the wrench while tampering with my vehicle and set this trap for me?"
Li frowned. "You keep claiming someone has tried to kill you multiple times, but where's your evidence? Found any leads?"
Marcus Shaw sighed. "The trail went cold."
Li leaned forward, arms crossed, studying Marcus Shaw.
Neither spoke.
Finally, Marcus Shaw broke the silence. "Then tell me—why would I kill him?"
Li uncrossed his arms and sat up straight. "Colleagues report you had a shouting match with Captain Reed last night. You apparently accused him of having an affair with your wife."
Marcus Shaw started to object, but Li held up a hand. "Furthermore, you're emotionally unstable and reliant on medication. I have grounds to believe that, consumed by rage and unable to think clearly, you learned of Captain Reed's weekly dance sessions and took the opportunity to murder him in an act of vengeful passion."
Marcus Shaw trembled from head to toe, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground.
"Please review the case file carefully. Anyone with half a brain can see this is a frame-up. I've told him—recent cases and multiple attempts on my life could all be tied to the food poisoning case from two years ago. Someone is systematically killing witnesses to silence them. Captain Reed was connected to that case too. These are serial murders."
They locked eyes.
"Have you found any substantive leads to support that?"
"I have a sworn statement from a catering company employee. He confessed to perjury—he was also targeted for elimination."
Li flipped through the file, his gaze ping-ponging between Marcus Shaw's face and the documents.
"Anything else?"
"I identified Dominic Hale. He's almost certainly the mastermind. I had him, but he's slippery and gave me the slip. He set me up twice."
Li said nothing.
Marcus Shaw added, "Other leads are still in progress."
Li suddenly asked, "Looking for prostitutes in a cheap motel?"
Marcus Shaw slammed the table. "Are you deaf? I told you—I was framed."
"Then why were you suspended? And your bipolar diagnosis—that's documented fact. Not something someone engineered to discredit you."
Marcus Shaw's face was ashen. He said nothing.
"You and your wife are estranged, and the woman you had feelings for recently rejected you for good. Psychological pressure, sexual pressure—you sought release with a sex worker. Adds up quite neatly."
Marcus Shaw shot to his feet. "Think whatever you want—I'm done talking. If you have decisive evidence, charge me. If not, let me go. I need to save my father!"
At that moment, someone brought in a phone.
Marcus Shaw grabbed it. His mother's voice: "Nora said she was going downstairs to buy me food, but she's been gone forever. Has something happened?"
Marcus Shaw tried to leave. Deputy Captain Harris wouldn't let him.
They were at a standoff when Viktor Dunn relayed a message: surveillance footage from the building had captured a suspicious man—stocky, dressed all in black, wearing a hat and mask. And from his gait, his right foot appeared to have a slight limp.
Marcus Shaw's eyes lit up. "In the stairwell murder case, the suspect also had a limp in his right foot. Stocky build, black clothing, hat—all match Dominic Hale's profile."
Li scanned the file again.
Lucas Lutz also reported: a strange set of shoeprints had been lifted from the restroom floor. The heel portions were blurred, as though the shoes were too large.
Marcus Shaw remembered his own footprint analysis—the suspect had deliberately worn oversized shoes to confuse investigators. He grabbed the phone from Lucas Lutz. "Send me the shoeprint photos. I'll compare them with the stairwell case."
The comparison showed that, while the shoe sizes differed, the key characteristics matched.
Deputy Captain Harris had no choice but to let Marcus Shaw go.
Marcus Shaw took a cab to his parents' house, calling the kidnapper's phone repeatedly en route—still unanswered. Nora's phone was also unreachable. A thousand scenarios crashed through his brain, making the veins in his forehead bulge.
Inside, Helen Shaw was burning incense on the balcony, praying to Buddha. Marcus Shaw stood beside her, watching her murmur prayers and bow several times before she said, "Nora was on her phone for ages—it kept pinging and buzzing—then she left. What do you think she's doing? What are we going to do?"
Prayer hadn't brought his mother peace. She paced in front of him, wringing her hands.
Marcus Shaw called Nora's phone again. Nothing. He said, "Just sit down for a moment. The more you pace, the more anxious I get."
Helen Shaw quickly sat, locking her eyes on her son.
An idea struck him. He called the command center technician and asked him to trace the kidnapper's signal.
"He won't answer my calls. I'm counting on him being on a call with someone else. Monitor the signal—pinpoint his location the moment it appears and tell me immediately."
"Will do."
After hanging up, Marcus Shaw found a black travel bag and packed the cash inside. From somewhere he produced a tactical knife, changed into pants with deeper pockets, and tucked it away.
Helen Shaw watched in silence, her feet fidgeting, her hands uncertain of where to rest.
Marcus Shaw noticed. "What are you so nervous about? Is being nervous helping?" He trailed off, realizing he was terrible at comforting people, and went to the bathroom to wet a towel for her face.
Mother and son sat in awkward silence until the technician called back: he'd caught the kidnapper's signal—at Kuan Chengzi, near the edge of the city, by the ring highway. Marcus Shaw noted the coordinates and grabbed his things.
But the technician called again: "Bad news. The signal may be encrypted—he's running anti-surveillance countermeasures. Within seconds, the location jumped to Dajing Road in the Nanguan district."
Marcus Shaw's stomach dropped. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. Look—in the time it's taken me to tell you this, it's jumped again to Gaoxin district."
The signal was hopping randomly. No point chasing it.
Ice in his veins. This had to be Dominic Hale's doing again.
But something nagged at him: the kidnapper hadn't believed he was a cop.
If it truly was Dominic Hale, his goal should be murder. Why risk a kidnapping and ransom demand?
Unless he was short on cash? Luring Marcus Shaw in while also trying to score a payout—killing two birds with one stone?
Regardless, there was nothing to do now but wait.
He could only hope his colleagues would find another angle.