104. Locking onto the Target

At the scheduled time, Dean and Holden accompanied Attorney Lucville to the detention center, entering an interview room divided by a glass partition.

"Hi, Joan. How did you sleep last night?" Lucville picked up the phone, looking at the beautiful woman in a bright orange jumpsuit on the other side of the glass. She lacked the heavy makeup seen in her photos, appearing more delicate and pale.

"Please, lawyer, help me get out of this hellhole!" Joan clutched the receiver with both hands, her face filled with terror. "Those women are terrifying. It’s like they want to eat me alive. They were shaking the bars all night, making noise, threatening me, intimidating me, and cackling at me! God, I’m innocent! Why do I have to suffer like this?" Her voice was hoarse and trembling; it was clear she had been badly frightened.

"Don't be afraid, Joan. They’re just bluffing. They can’t hurt you, I promise you that!" Lucville turned to his two companions. "This is Dean and Holden, my partners. They are looking for clues about the day of the incident and have a few questions for you. I hope you’ll answer them honestly."

The woman scanned the two complete strangers, her eyes reddening as she pleaded, "As long as you can get me out, I’ll tell you anything!"

"Take your time, Joan. I believe you didn't kill anyone." Dean took the phone from the lawyer, tucked it against his shoulder, and smiled. "I also have good news: we have some suspects for the real killer of Jayne Harden, but we’re still missing key evidence."

Dean proceeded to ask her about the events in the room on the day of the incident, comparing her answers against the depositions, transcripts, and Jayne Harden's testimony to confirm they were consistent. He ruled her out as a suspect.

Dean opened his bag and took out the stack of employee files from the Gawain Hotel. "Now, I need you to carefully identify these photos and tell me your impressions."

Dean pressed a profile page of a black man, including his headshot, against the glass. He was one of the five men filtered by Grace. "His name is Kenny Furlow, one of the hotel staff. Do you recognize him?"

Joan’s gaze was instantly drawn to the photo, and she leaned in. Up close, Dean noted that she was indeed a rare beauty, with a sexy and charming look that appealed to many men; even the plain prison garb couldn't hide her stunning figure.

"I recognize him, but I’ve only exchanged greetings with him a few times. We haven't had much contact."

"Are you sure? Did he ever send you flowers or confess his feelings?"

"No," she said confidently. "This is my line of work. I can't confuse my dozens of customers, so I have a great memory for people."

Is this what they call a top-tier talent? Dean thought to himself, switching to another photo of an Asian man. "Jack Lee..."

"Sorry, I’ve only seen him once or twice. No interaction. He’s very shy."

"How about this one? Barrett Quinn." It was a white man with a large, hooked nose, deep-set eyes, and a sinister expression.

Joan leaned in closer, holding her breath. Her pupils contracted, and a flicker of surprise crossed her face. Dean immediately caught it.

"I remember him. This guy likes to secretly take photos of me with his camera. He sent me flowers twice and tried to ask me out. But his stalking made me uncomfortable..." She weighed her words, trying to be as gentle as possible. "Also, he was clearly not good at communicating; we were on completely different wavelengths, so I explicitly turned him down."

Joan pursed her lips, a look of helplessness flashing in her eyes. "But he wouldn't give up and pestered me one more time. I had to use a formal complaint to warn him before he finally got the hint and left."

Wow... Not good at communication, stubbornly pestering a goddess—this matched Holden’s profile almost perfectly. And he had a camera; he knew how to take pictures!

Dean couldn't help but exchange a look with his partner, suppressing his excitement. "You are truly a kind person. Most other guests would have reported him the first time they were harassed."

"That would have cost him his job," Joan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, murmuring to herself. "Jobs haven't been easy to find these past few years. That punishment would have been too harsh."

"No wonder men are so obsessed with you. Let’s continue..." Dean drew a red circle on the file and pulled out another. To avoid missing anything, he intended to have her go through the photos of all thirty men.

For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds in the room were the rustle of paper against glass and the woman’s hoarse descriptions.

Twenty minutes later, Dean looked at the results, feeling both shocked and unable to comprehend. Out of the thirty men working at the Gawain Hotel, fifteen had actively expressed romantic interest in Joan Carty, and most of them were married.

"Are men in Las Vegas always this passionate?" Dean suddenly felt a sense of moral superiority.

"Aren't men all like this... obsessed with thinking with their lower halves?" Holden crossed his arms, speaking with the tone of a psychology expert. "Faced with temptation right in front of them, eighty percent will surrender immediately. The remaining twenty percent see their peers yielding and, driven by guilt and excitement, follow suit. Unless they have an abnormal sexual orientation, are frigid, or are extremely introverted, there are no exceptions."

"Ahem." Lucville coughed inexplicably and checked his watch. "Gentlemen, are you finished? The visiting time is almost up."

Dean nodded and re-examined the twenty-two files he had highlighted. If their primary target, the hook-nosed Barrett Quinn, was proven innocent, they would have to investigate the remaining men one by one. Furthermore, their investigation progress had jumped from sixty percent to seventy percent, suggesting the killer was definitely among them.

"Joan, thank you for your honesty. I have a feeling the investigation will make a breakthrough soon. Next time we meet, you should be out, safe and sound."

"So, you think the real killer is Barrett Quinn?" The woman on the other side of the glass looked puzzled. "He wouldn't go that far, would he?"

"It’s just a suspicion for now," Holden took the receiver. "He liked you but was rejected, and he had to watch you, the woman of his dreams, frequently pairing up with Jayne Harden. It’s inevitable that he would become jealous of Jayne. And sometimes, when men get jealous, they are even more ruthless than women."

"In that coincidental scenario, it’s enough to be a motive."

Joan Carty’s face turned pale.

The police at the entrance of the interview room began calling out to them.

"That’s about it, Ms. Carty. See you next time." Holden hung up the phone.

...

Leaving the detention center, Dean and Holden dropped Lucville back at his firm.

"Hey, you two, I have to remind you that the conclusion that the killer is the hotel employee Barrett Quinn is currently based purely on deduction and speculation. There is no hard evidence," Lucville said, holding the car door as he scanned their faces. "We absolutely cannot convict him or clear Joan based on guesses alone."

"We’re on our way to find the evidence," Dean replied.

"Then remember one thing: use compliant methods," Lucville cautioned, still uneasy. "Evidence obtained through threats, intimidation, entrapment, or theft is inadmissible."

"Can't the evidence be 'flexibly converted'?" Dean asked, testing the waters. He was no longer accustomed to the sluggishness and inefficiency of standard procedures; he preferred taking the unconventional route.

"Sorry, not this time. Jayne Harden’s wife is determined to send Joan Carty—the woman who destroyed her family—to prison at any cost, and she has hired a very expensive legal team. Our every step must be impeccable; we cannot give the opposition any leverage or excuse."

"Fine, I understand," Dean nodded.

The heavy-set man added one last thing: "Recordings and photographs are the best evidence, more effective than other reproductions."

"Okay, we’ll keep that in mind."

...

Around one in the afternoon, the car pulled away from the firm and turned onto the Strip. Dean pulled two chocolate bars from the supplies in the car, tossed one to Holden, and tore his own open to eat.

"Hmm... Holden, if Barrett is the killer, do you think it’s possible he recorded the performance between Jayne and Joan while he was peeping from the louvered closet?"

"Recorded it with what?" Holden stopped chewing, looking surprised. "Video cameras aren't exactly small. It might not fit in a closet, and it would make too much noise."

"No portable video cameras?" Dean mimicked holding a handheld device.

"Are you from the future? If there were a place to buy something like that right now, I would have bought one already."

Dean grimaced. So even in '81, portable video cameras weren't publicly available? "What about a camera, then?"

Holden doused him with another bucket of cold water. "The closet is too dark, and the slats on the louvered door are too narrow; you basically couldn't take a photo. If you really had to, how would you muffle the sound and the flash? Unless Joan and Jayne were blind and deaf, they would have noticed the shutter sound."

Dean sighed. It seemed finding video evidence from the room would be difficult, but the investigation had to continue.

"Listen, buddy, you go to the Gawain Hotel and keep an eye on Barrett Quinn. He’s on duty today and won't get off until tonight. Find a chance to check his locker... look for clues."

"I’ll go to his place and search it... hmm... his home address is on the employee file."

Holden raised an eyebrow after hearing his plan, a strange smile appearing on his face. "Do you have a warrant?"

"What do I need a warrant for? Can’t I just climb through a window?"

"Attorney Lucville gave you a stern warning ten minutes ago not to use illegal methods, and yet here you are. Did you just let his words go in one ear and out the other?"

"Give it a rest, Holden. When did you become such a stick-in-the-mud?" Dean said dismissively. "Besides, we’ve already used a medium, so what’s a little house-searching?"

"Sure enough, compared to being a cop, you’re much better suited to being a private investigator," Holden remarked.

Dean shrugged, then nonchalantly voiced his true thoughts: "Whatever the method, as long as you aren't caught, as long as you catch the real killer and achieve your goal, then it’s a brilliant move."

The car came to a stop outside the hotel. Holden opened the door and stepped out, leaning down to look into the car. A look of admiration flashed across his face, followed by a bitter smirk.

"I can't talk you out of it. Go ahead and try."