Captain Harris was silent for a moment, then added: "Actually, Captain Reed brought me along too. I was transferred out of town for a few years, but I never lost touch with him. He mentioned you to me more than once. Said you were bold but meticulous, loyal, persistent—just young, a bit raw, prone to acting on impulse. He even considered grooming you to take his place someday. But he was worried it'd go to your head, so he never told you."
Marcus Shaw gripped his water glass, not knowing what to say.
"He was strict with you. Never gave you an easy smile. He wanted to see how much potential you had—and whether you could stay grounded."
Marcus Shaw took a sip and burned his lip, spilling water on the floor.
"After you were framed, I went to the branch office and asked around. They wanted to fire you outright. It was Captain Reed who rushed over first thing in the morning and talked them down to a temporary suspension instead. And I suspect he had another reason—letting you shed your official capacity so you could pursue the investigation you wanted to pursue. After all, you'd told him someone was trying to kill you, hadn't you?"
Marcus Shaw sat motionless, saying nothing.
"His bureaucratic streak—that was an act. When he was young, he was actually quite kind. But kindness doesn't command respect. So he learned how to put on airs, keep a straight face, make his subordinates fear him. I gave him plenty of pointers."
Captain Harris looked out the window and suddenly chuckled. "If he'd been sharper, he wouldn't have stayed a precinct captain at his age. Doing worse than me, even."
Marcus Shaw took another sip, set the glass down, and remembered what he'd said to Captain Reed in this very office. He wished he could crawl into a crack in the floor.
Captain Harris cleared his throat, pulling Marcus Shaw from his thoughts: "Given that you have a personal stake in this—the victims include your family members—by regulation, I should order you to recuse yourself..."
Marcus Shaw started to speak, but Captain Harris raised a hand and continued: "But I've thought it over. You've been working these linked cases from the start. Pulling you out entirely—that wouldn't sit right with me either. How about this: you come back to the team, but you take on other duties. You won't lead this string of cases, but you can offer input and help us organize our thinking. Rules are rigid, but people are flexible. Outside the letter of the law, there's still compassion. Behind closed doors, it's still our own team's work. I think everyone will understand."
Captain Harris paused, looked Marcus Shaw in the eye, and asked: "You understand what I'm saying?"
Marcus Shaw nodded vigorously. "I understand. I understand."
"Keep a low profile. Don't go making a spectacle of yourself. Just be our support. After all, we all want the same thing—to solve these cases and bring the guilty to justice. Right?"
"Right, right, right. I'll be support. Support."
Captain Harris smiled. "Go on, then."
---
Leaving the captain's office, Marcus Shaw spotted Silas from the mailroom moving a fire extinguisher. He hurried over to help, saying, "This thing's heavy—why didn't you ask someone else to move it?"
Silas gave a short smile—like a peacock beginning to fan its tail, then immediately folding it back up. He said, "You all are busy. Solving cases is the real work. I can't help with that, so I just use what strength I've got to handle the odd jobs. Otherwise, I'd have no business being here."
"Come on, Brother Xu—don't say that."
The two lugged several expired extinguishers downstairs. As Marcus Shaw turned to head back, Silas suddenly said, "If Captain Reed were still here, he'd be retiring next year, right?"
Marcus Shaw stopped in his tracks. He stood frozen for a long while, then turned around and squeezed Silas's shoulder without a word.
---
The first thing Marcus Shaw did after returning to the team was interrogate the kidnapper boss.
Every time he thought of Woody, his teeth ground together—but he kept his patience and greeted the man: "Hope you've been well."
The lean captive gave a crooked smile. "Fallen into your hands—you think there's any 'well' to be had? Skip the niceties." He crossed his legs.
Marcus Shaw nodded. "Fine. Then tell me—do you know Dominic Hale?"
The lean man shot back: "Who exactly is this Dominic Hale? Why do you keep asking about him?"
Marcus Shaw produced Dominic Hale's photo and pushed it across the table without expression. The lean man studied it for a long time, then said, "Have I seen him? Or did he see me? I don't recall."
Marcus Shaw gauged that he wasn't lying, so he pocketed the photo.
"Then tell me—why did you kidnap my father? Motive, methods—give me details."
The lean man reclined in his chair, raised an eyebrow, and said, "I want a cigarette."
"Do you have any idea where you are?"
The lean man smiled. "Let me be straight with you—I never intended to kill anyone. That night, I was forced into it."
Marcus Shaw said nothing, thumbing the cap of his pen.
"Afterward, I figured—since I'd already killed someone, why not finish you off too? Two for one. No matter how you slice it, I'd come out ahead."
Marcus Shaw cracked the pen cap, his voice low: "No smoking in here."
The lean man spat on the table. "Even if I'm a dead man walking, don't I still have dead men's rights? Is smoking a crime now?"
Marcus Shaw was about to explode but decided it wasn't worth it. He forced a smile. "Fine, fine. I'll let you enjoy your last taste of freedom. Once you're inside, there won't be many opportunities to smoke."
He went out, bummed cigarettes from a colleague, not only handed one over but lit it personally.
Back at his seat, Marcus Shaw suddenly missed Woody—without his booming voice beside him, the quiet felt strange.
"All right, your majesty. You've talked tough, you've had your smoke. Ready to get down to business?"
The lean man's face was wreathed in smoke. He blew out a perfect smoke ring, then spoke without rushing: "I got an anonymous text saying your old man was a hidden tycoon. That he'd be out buying fancy fish that morning. It told me exactly where and which route he'd take—where I could set up an ambush. Even described him: octagonal cap, necktie, round glasses."
Marcus Shaw's eyes widened. "Anonymous text?"
He rifled through the man's phone but found nothing.
"Keep spinning your tales."
The lean man crossed his legs. "Don't believe me? Want me to find it?"
Marcus Shaw almost handed the phone over, but reconsidered—if the man deleted the extortion text, that would destroy evidence. So he said, "No need. I'll look again myself."
He scrolled through the inbox several times but found no such message.
"I must be going blind. Better get myself some glasses."
Marcus Shaw brought the phone over, made the man put his hands behind his back, and scrolled through the screen in front of him.
Nothing.
The lean man said, "Fuck. That can't be right. Who deleted it? The number was long—I couldn't call it back, no idea what kind of number it was."
Marcus Shaw was half-convinced. He went back to his seat and stared the man down. The prisoner genuinely seemed baffled. So Marcus Shaw said, "Even if it's true—you didn't even know who sent it. You believed one anonymous text?"
"At first I thought it was a trap. I texted back asking who they were and how they knew what I did. Almost a full day later, they replied with just one line: 'Don't believe me? If I wanted to set you up, I'd have reported you to the police by now.'"
Marcus Shaw didn't respond, suddenly remembering the anonymous threats in the vocational school case.
"I thought about it and—fair point. If this person knew who I was and had my number, they had to know my history. They didn't turn me in, so they must be on my side. And I was hurting for cash. So I bit the bullet and sent my guys. As for why they chose your father—probably someone with a grudge against your family, looking to kill two birds with one stone through me. Money's money. Who I kidnap makes no difference, right?"
Marcus Shaw typed furiously, thinking: His father, after retiring, had only two hobbies—drinking and raising fish. Who would've thought that's what did him in?
When he finished writing, Marcus Shaw asked, "Anything else?"
The lean man spread his hands. "Only my own glorious exploits. Want to hear them?"
As Marcus Shaw was about to have him escorted back, the man suddenly erupted into profanity: "Son of a bitch—whoever texted me, they dared to lie! If I find out who they are, I'll tear them apart!"
"Worry about yourself first. The law won't go easy on you either."