In this country, even a city council member isn't someone you can easily move against, let alone a federal representative. The FBI's involvement here was nothing more than a "polite" request for Councilwoman Collins to assist in the investigation.
Still, that didn't stop the media from catching wind of the story. By tonight, Frank would likely be enjoying an intimate dinner with a certain journalist who had a knack for making headlines.
Jack, however, had no interest in investigating political corruption. Dana Moser also wasn't about to waste one of her top agents on a lengthy investigation that could take two or three years to yield results.
As other FBI agents waited outside NYPD headquarters to take custody of Collins, Jack waved goodbye to his boss and turned his attention back to Danny.
What had started as a simple favor for the CSI team had spiraled into a much larger ordeal. Now, all Jack wanted was to deal with Dick Reed once and for all and then escape to Virginia Beach for a beer with Jason Hayes.
When Jack arrived at the detective's office, he found Danny grumbling as he sifted through boxes of letters. These were the fan letters retrieved from the prison. His partner, Jackie, was seated at a computer, methodically entering names to cross-reference with databases.
"These people are idiots," Danny grumbled, pulling another letter out of a box. "They can't even spell basic words correctly. Guess morons and psychos are naturally drawn to each other."
"Anything useful so far?" Jack asked as he stepped inside. Almost immediately, he regretted it. Danny didn't have much patience for tedious work, which meant Jack was about to get roped into it.
Sure enough, Danny's face lit up when he saw Jack. "Man, you couldn't have picked a better time to show up. I need a hand."
Jack sighed and nudged Danny aside. "Go get us some decent coffee and snacks. We'll take it from here."
Danny didn't hesitate, practically running off to fetch refreshments. Jackie laughed and extended her hand to Jack. "Thanks for the rescue," she said with a grin.
The two of them worked through the mountain of letters until the afternoon, when they finally hit a lead. Jack called Danny over and pointed to a photo on the computer screen. "Remember this guy? Hugh Stanton."
Danny nodded. "Yeah, we saw him at the 'misery bus' drop-off. One of Reed's idiot fanboys. I remember he wasn't alone—there was another moron with him."
Jack gestured to Jackie, who pulled up another profile. "The other guy's name is James Richard. According to the letters, they created a private fan website for Dick Reed called 'Lucky Bayonet.'"
Jackie quickly navigated to the site, revealing a chatroom dedicated to serial killers. It featured crime scene photos—some real, some fake—along with idiotic comments and recent selfies of the two men posing with Reed at the bus station.
"Alright, this one's all yours, boys," Jackie said, stretching her arms. "I've got other cases to handle. Let me know which one's the copycat when you figure it out."
Danny and Jack, accompanied by two patrol officers, headed to an old apartment building in Brooklyn. They knocked on the door of one unit, and after a moment, a round, fuzzy head appeared in the doorway.
"What do you want?" the man asked gruffly.
"Police. Let us in," Danny said, flashing his badge.
Hugh Stanton hesitated, glancing nervously at the officers behind Danny. Realizing he had no choice, he stepped aside and let them in. Danny and Jack covered their noses as they entered the dimly lit room, while the patrol officers stayed by the door.
The apartment was a cramped, cluttered studio. Aside from a bed, a desk with a computer, and some display cases, there was little furniture. The rest of the space was filled with bizarre paraphernalia—life-sized mannequins dressed in Iron Man and Predator helmets, posters of various serial killers (including Dick Reed), and a clothesline strung with gruesome crime scene photos clipped to it.
"You've got quite the unique aesthetic," Danny remarked sarcastically.
"Thanks for noticing," Hugh replied, plopping down on his filthy bed. He avoided eye contact, his gaze darting around the room.
"A woman was attacked last night in Columbia Park. Care to explain where you were during that time?" Danny grabbed Hugh by the collar, forcing him to look him in the eye.
Hugh let out a high-pitched yelp that startled everyone, prompting the patrol officers to instinctively reach for their guns.
"Please! I don't like physical contact! I'm just a collector! It wasn't me!" Hugh shouted, squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment, he cracked them open, looking pitifully at Danny. "Can you let go of me now?"
Danny reluctantly released him, muttering, "Don't worry. You'll get plenty of physical contact in prison. Guys with soft skin like yours are popular."
Hugh turned pale. "I swear, it wasn't me!"
"What about the 'Lucky Bayonet' website?" Jack asked, still distracted by the strange odor in the air. Following the smell, he found a makeshift darkroom in the bathroom, complete with developing chemicals and photographic equipment.
"I created the site! But it's not about glorifying crime—it's meant to critique society!" Hugh stammered, clearly grasping at straws.
"Sure, and the theme could just as easily be stupidity. Where were you between 3 and 5 p.m. yesterday?" Danny pressed on.
"I was at home! Check my computer! I spent the whole day in a suicide chatroom, talking until late at night," Hugh blurted out, his voice rising in desperation.
"Suicide chatroom? That's a thing?" Danny said, raising an eyebrow. Meanwhile, Jack began examining the computer. Though he wasn't a hacking expert, his gaming skills had given him a knack for basic software navigation.
"You wouldn't understand people like me," Hugh said smugly, as if he were some misunderstood genius.
"Who knows if it was you at the computer or a dog. That's hardly an alibi," Danny shot back.
The argument didn't yield any new information, but Jack found something suspicious on the website's backend—a draft of a paid post that hadn't been published yet. Inside were over twenty close-up photos of the Columbia Park victim, taken shortly after she was attacked.
"Danny, take a look. This is yesterday's victim," Jack said, showing him the photos.
The images were taken from close range and showed the woman unconscious in the restroom, her face bearing the two cuts from the attack.
"Looks like you're our guy, you filthy pig," Danny growled, yanking Hugh off the bed.
"No! It wasn't me! Let me explain!" Hugh wailed, trembling as a patrol officer cuffed him.
"It was James Richard! He's the one obsessed with Reed! He told me to upload the photos! I swear it wasn't me!"
"Prove it. I'm tired of your lies," Danny said, glaring at him.
Hugh clamped his legs together and stammered, "He's the real fanatic! He told Reed he'd do anything for him, even create a distraction while you cops were watching Reed!"
Jack's ears perked up. "Wait, you've met Reed? When? Where?"
"Last night! At a dive bar in Flushing! I swear, I heard them talking about it myself!" Hugh insisted, his voice shaking.
Dive bars had nothing to do with diving; they were small, cheap establishments offering little more than drinks. They were often tucked away in remote, discreet locations.
Danny and Jack exchanged a look, then turned and left. As they exited, Danny instructed the patrol officers, "Take him back to the station for questioning. Issue a warrant for James Richard's arrest."
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American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1452)
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Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 703)
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