Carlos stopped in the shadows of the back alley, his eyes locked on the backyard of the old bookstore—a dilapidated factory building that had been converted into a "Warehouse."
The factory's outer walls were mottled, and the only entrance was a heavy metal rolling shutter door, with a small door beside it just wide enough for one person. Just as the system had prompted, surveillance cameras were installed at the corners of the outer walls and above the entrance, with lenses covering all possible angles of approach.
Carlos couldn't get close; he only took a few rough glances during the half-minute he spent pretending to pass by.
After passing by, he saw two burly men out of the corner of his eye coming out of a small door on the side of the factory. They leaned against the wall to smoke, and one of them scanned the street from time to time, very alert, with a bulge at his waist that likely concealed a weapon.
Security was tight; the risk of forcing an entry was extremely high.
Carlos didn't stop. After returning to his car, he calmly recalled the scene, feeling that there were still a few buildings and certain corners of the "Warehouse" he hadn't seen clearly.
At noon on a weekday, after Carlos and his partner Frank had eaten pizza, Carlos used the excuse of looking for a new phone to go to the mall and buy a small digital camera with night vision capabilities.
That evening, Carlos drove to the side of the park. From both sides of the alley, he recorded several videos of the factory's perimeter, the camera positions, and the guards' activity areas from a distance. He didn't stay long, leaving immediately after collecting some basic video footage.
On the second workday, Carlos participated in his first night shift patrol. Afterward, Carlos changed into plain clothes and returned to the vicinity of the Art District.
This time, he didn't try to approach the back alley. Instead, he circled around to a five-story apartment building adjacent to the old bookstore's factory. The building looked a bit old, with rusty fire escapes on the outer walls. Avoiding any potential eyes, he nimbly climbed the fire escape until he reached a height roughly level with the factory roof.
This was a spot he had discovered after studying yesterday's videos and map data; it was inconspicuous yet offered a great view, clearly showing the Warehouse entrance and most of the inner courtyard.
Hiding in the shadows of the fire escape, he set up the small camera and turned on recording mode. Then he slipped back to his car and, from a position invisible to the Warehouse, watched the apartment building through binoculars.
Two hours later, his phone alarm went off. A somewhat drowsy Carlos yawned, checked the time, got out of the car, and walked over, avoiding the cameras to retrieve his camera.
Back at his apartment, Carlos was exhausted. He didn't even check the footage before falling straight asleep.
The next day, after finishing his patrol and returning home, Carlos finally took out the camera, connected it to a long-unused second-hand laptop, and watched the footage while eating.
In the two-plus hours of footage, most of the time was quiet, with only one guard shift change and two brief transactions with suspected "customers." Around the one-hour and forty-minute mark, a black van drove into the back alley and stopped in front of the factory's rolling door. The door slowly rose, the van entered the backyard, and the door immediately dropped.
Two guards and the driver, who got out of the cab, moved several cardboard boxes from the van and quickly transported them into the factory. The entire process took less than five minutes. The camera's night vision recorded this scene as clearly as possible. Although he couldn't see the contents of the boxes or the faces of the personnel, he was only scouting, not investigating a case, so this was enough.
After seeing the van, Carlos was no longer sleepy and watched the recorded video repeatedly.
There were at least four guards, split into two shifts. The approximate times of the shift changes and the specific directions of the surveillance cameras were now quite clear.
Finally, Carlos focused his attention on that black van.
The following day shift was relatively quiet. Until about three in the afternoon, a call came from the dispatch center over the radio: "7-Adam-5, 7-Adam-5, acknowledge."
Frank grabbed the radio: "7-Adam-5 receiving."
"7-Adam-5, Code 10-55, address is 12 Bayview Terrace. Repeat, Code 10-55, 12 Bayview Terrace. Caller reports a deceased resident. Proceed immediately to secure the scene."
"...Deceased resident, secure the scene, copy that." Frank repeated, his expression turning more serious as he reached out to turn on the siren. "Looks like your orientation period is over, rookie."
Carlos shrugged.
Bayview Terrace was a middle-class townhouse residential area with clean, quiet streets and lush trees. Number 12 was a well-maintained two-story building. A Patrol Officer car had already arrived and was parked in front, with an officer putting up police tape at the entrance.
Carlos and Frank parked the car and ducked under the police tape. The officer who arrived first came to meet them; it was the young black officer, Davis.
"Frank, Carlos," Davis greeted them, lowering his voice. "The one who reported it was a part-time cleaner who comes regularly. The deceased is the homeowner, male, living alone, in the second-floor bedroom. It looks... pretty bad."
They followed Davis into the house. The interior was elegantly decorated, but the air was now thick with a faint smell of blood. Halfway up the stairs, they saw the master bedroom on the second floor. The sight made Carlos's pupils shrink.
A middle-aged white male in a bathrobe was collapsed on the carpet by the bed, lying in a large pool of dried, blackened blood. There were multiple sharp force injuries on his chest, and signs of a struggle and dragging nearby. The room showed signs of being ransacked, with drawers pulled open and items scattered, but it wasn't particularly chaotic.
"The medical examiner and the Forensics Department are on their way," Davis said.
Frank scanned the area, experienced enough not to touch anything, and simply said to Carlos, "Alright, rookie, if you've seen enough, get out. Our job is to guard the outside and keep unauthorized people from disturbing the scene until the guys with the magnifying glasses arrive."
The two retreated outside, taking over Davis's position to stand guard, maintain order, and log the arrival of subsequent support personnel. Davis turned away the onlookers, but he couldn't stop the surrounding residents from watching from their doorways or yards at a distance, whispering among themselves.
Davis's team bought Frank and Carlos a cup of coffee before they left.
The time spent on guard was long and boring. Carlos suddenly understood how the two guards in the "Warehouse" video felt when they came out to get some air every now and then.
Frank leaned against the patrol car and lit a cigarette. "How's your consideration for a new place going? This area is nice, much better than that dump of yours."
Carlos looked around at the quiet streets, clean houses, and relatively safe community environment. It was indeed a world of difference from his apartment, which smelled of mold and was filled with noise. A safer, more private residence would also be beneficial for his nighttime activities.
The illicit income from the last system mission gave him the ability to improve his living conditions. He just had to be careful not to exceed his spending level too much, and since the NYPD pays bi-weekly, he'd have to wait a few days to spend the money.
After all, the spirit young men of the U.S. rarely had the habit of saving money.
Carlos nodded. "I'm considering moving. In a community like this... there wouldn't be people leaking water upstairs, and no one would be throwing rave parties."
Frank blew out a puff of smoke and chuckled. "For a young guy like you who wants to climb the ladder, living here is more like it. At least you won't get complaints for throwing a small party."
He paused and asked again, "The rent around here isn't cheap. Do you have some family savings, kid?"
"What family savings? You should know my situation. I just feel like I need a change of environment, and I can find something cheaper." Carlos didn't answer directly, his gaze scanning the small building where the murder had occurred once more. "But it seems even the best communities have risks."
Frank threw his cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with his foot. "Wherever there are people, there are risks."
Carlos was dazed for a moment, and two phrases flashed through his mind:
Where there are people, there are struggles.
Where there is power, there is blood.