The Kidnapped Loli

"I… I really don’t remember!"

"Heh."

"Seriously, when he came to buy it, he was wearing a hood and a mask."

"Heh."

"Officer, I swear to God, I really didn’t get a good look at his face, but…"

"Speak."

"He should be from Manhattan."

"…"

Lake looked up at the black market dealer who, despite not seeing the man’s face, could pinpoint his origin.

The black market dealer said, "Officer, his demeanor was the same as those rich young masters from Manhattan."

Lake’s expression turned strange. "You understand demeanor now?"

The black market dealer smiled shyly. "Just a little bit."

Lake let out a cold laugh. "You didn’t see his face clearly, but you must have seen his eyes. The sketch artist is coming soon. Behave yourself and draw this guy. If you don’t, I’ll issue a public notice, and the moment you step out of here, you’ll be doing business in hell."

Damn it.

Just a little bit?

Why didn’t you say a whole lot?

And what’s with that shy expression?

Is he trying to act innocent?

Lake felt a wave of nausea.

He walked out of the interrogation room.

George, who was emerging from the observation room, summarized the intelligence. "That drug addict said pretty much the same thing as the black market dealer. His ID was also bought by a man wearing a hood and a mask."

Lake asked, "Did your drug addict mention if he judged, based on demeanor, that the person who bought his ID was a young master from Manhattan?"

George replied, "A worthless drug addict, even if he had discerning taste, would he be able to tell?"

That’s true.

If the drug addict had that kind of insight, would he have ended up as a drug addict?

Lake shook his head.

The officer in charge of reviewing the surveillance footage also brought good news.

On the big screen, at a public phone booth on the side of the road, three blocks away from Joe’s apartment, a figure dressed entirely in black, wrapped up tightly, hung up the phone. With his hands in his pockets and his head down, he walked along the road into a nearby underpass.

As he left, the guy seemed to notice the surveillance camera. Instead of speeding up, he stopped. Without looking up, he simply raised his middle finger towards the camera.

This was blatant provocation.

"Have the guys work overtime. Pull up all the surveillance footage from the surrounding area. Even if we have to analyze it frame by frame, I want this son of a bitch found."

"Don’t worry, George."

"Thanks."

On the police station’s rooftop.

Lake and George lit cigarettes, looking out at the New York nightscape as they took a break.

"Oh, right."

Lake frowned and asked, "Someone’s keeping watch at the hospital, right?"

George replied, "Don’t worry, Ryan and Esposito are watching over there."

Lake nodded.

Even if all the leads ran dry, as long as Joe woke up, he should be able to provide reliable clues.

The next day.

Joe woke up on the evening of the second day, but she couldn’t describe the attacker’s face. When Joe was about to go upstairs, the assailant was already there.

Before Joe could even react, he had already opened fire.

Afterward, Joe looked at Lake and said, "He walked up to me to finish me off. Fortunately, you hadn’t left. Hearing the commotion, the assailant opened the apartment’s back door and left."

Opened the back door?

Lake raised an eyebrow and looked at Joe. "Was he wearing gloves?"

Joe thought for a moment and then shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, I don’t remember."

Lake waved his hand, took out his phone, and dialed George.

Uncertainty about whether he had brought it.

Soon.

George called back, stating that he had lifted several fingerprints from the apartment’s back door and sent them to the forensics lab.

Just as Lake was about to hang up.

George said, "That son of a bitch killed another patrol officer."

Lake: "…"

He’s completely gone off the rails.

This time, the victim was a patrol officer on routine patrol in Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Like in the previous cases, the perpetrator seemed to shoot people in broad daylight, but was very cautious, ensuring that no onlookers saw anything at the time of the incident.

Moreover.

The crime scene was only five hundred meters away from Starlight Tower.

The doorman at Starlight Tower also called the police station, reporting that a man wearing black, with a hooded sweatshirt and a mask, had attempted to enter Starlight Tower earlier.

However…

The doorman at Starlight Tower, with his generous annual salary of fifty thousand US dollars, didn’t wait for the man to enter before placing his right hand on his waist and demanding the guy pull down his mask.

The man immediately turned and left.

George frowned and said, "You’re the only law enforcement officer in that building, right?"

Lake hummed in response.

"He was looking for you."

"Then he’s just looking for death."

"…"

Lake said this, thinking that if the guy came looking for him, he’d be more than happy. At that time, Lake would show this rampaging perpetrator what true cruelty was.

Another day passed.

It had been about a week since the first case. Although the perpetrator had only shot law enforcement officers, the crime scenes were all in public places, and the public was starting to panic.

Even the New York FBI was inquiring with the NYPD whether they needed to intervene in the case.

The NYPD chose to decline.

They already had someone.

"Burrwell Allen, male, twenty-five years old, resident of Manhattan’s Upper East Side."

"…"

Lake, who had been working at the NYPD for the past few days, frowned as he looked at Burrwell Allen’s photo on the whiteboard: "Does this name sound familiar?"

Beckett looked at Lake: "The previous mayor’s surname was Allen. This Burrwell Allen is his son."

Lake raised an eyebrow, seemingly recalling something. He looked back at the photo on the whiteboard and stroked his chin: "I remember now. Isn’t this guy one of the three I beat up in the bar?"

George said, "You didn’t just beat them up; you shoved a billiard ball into his mouth."

Lake burst into laughter.

The next second.

Lake’s laughter subsided: "Are you sure it’s him?"

So…

This was an act of revenge?

Lake stood up and walked towards the exit: "The suspect is now with our Department of Homeland Security. I’ll interrogate him."

When this guy entered the NYPD, with his family’s influence, even if he couldn’t be acquitted, he definitely wouldn’t get the death penalty. Moreover, someone who shot law enforcement officers would be targeted by prison guards, but welcomed by violent criminals.

So…

It was better for him to be handled by the Department of Homeland Security.

"Wait a minute."

George said, watching Lake’s retreating back: "Our people have already been there. Their house was sold half a year ago."

Lake turned around: "Bankrupt?"

George shrugged: "You could say that. Mayor Allen was in a car accident not long after he left office. Then, his inheritance was all inherited by his younger brother. This Burrwell Allen and his mother didn’t get a single cent, especially since they had a prenuptial agreement. Three months later, Burrwell Allen dropped out of his private academy on the Upper East Side. His mother died in the hospital due to a sudden illness. We’ve already issued a notice and are looking for this guy."

Lake didn’t know what to say.

It sounded rather tragic.

But…

That didn’t change the fact that this son of a bitch had gone on a killing spree.

"So…"

Lake frowned slightly, "This guy thinks this is all our precinct’s fault?"

George nodded, "Probably. Maybe in his view, if it weren’t for the Textile Factory incident, Mayor Allen wouldn’t have lost the election, nor would he have gotten into a car accident while drunk."

Beckett chimed in, "Wait, the prenuptial agreement was signed by Mayor Allen and his wife. Why wouldn’t it include Burrwell’s? Could it be…"

He’s not his biological son?

George said, "Mayor Allen’s mother favored his younger brother’s daughter. However, she did give them a million US dollars when she kicked them out."

Then, in just one month, Burrwell Allen spent it all.

It’s hard to go from luxury to frugality.

Besides.

Burrwell Allen attended an elite private school in the Upper East Side. The cost of that place, let’s just say, a single day’s expenses for one student there could equal the combined expenses of the lowest-class white people for half a year, or even a full year.

With that kind of spending, a million dollars there was no different from ten thousand dollars for an ordinary person.

So…

Lake said thoughtfully, "This guy doesn’t want to live anymore, he wants to take revenge on society?"

George, who had just hung up the phone, looked at Lake, "His last target is you."

Lake: "…"

Starlight Tower.

Wooooo wooooo wooooo.

When Lake, Beckett, and others arrived downstairs at Starlight Tower, police officers were already on the scene.

"What’s going on?"

"The suspect has taken a hostage and entered Starlight Tower."

A patrol officer, who had been notified, explained the situation. He was responsible for patrolling near Starlight Tower. Just moments ago, he saw a man with his hands in his pockets and a hood up walking towards Starlight Tower across the street. He immediately turned on his police lights to signal the man to stop.

Who would have thought that the moment the police lights came on, the guy turned, took a look, and then started shooting. After that, he ran towards Starlight Tower across the street.

Following that.

Burrwell Allen took a hostage, shot and killed a guard who was inside preparing to change shifts, stole the guard’s elevator card, and then entered the elevator.

"Which floor?"

"…"

Lake looked at George, who seemed hesitant to speak, and raised an eyebrow, "My floor?"

George nodded.

If it weren’t for that, George wouldn’t have said after hanging up the phone that this guy’s last target for revenge was Lake.

Good grief.

Entering Starlight Tower.

Ding.

Open door.

"Drop your weapon, calm down."

"Drop your weapon."

The NYPD SWAT team had formed a human shield, aiming at Burrwell Allen, who was using a young Asian girl as a human shield, hiding behind her, shouting loudly.

Behind him was Lake’s apartment door.

Footprints were clearly visible.

It seemed…

This guy didn’t have the strength to kick the door open after he got up here.

This