North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 330 - 210: Annihilation of the Clan2

"His ho is nearby!"

The middle-aged manager wiped the sweat from his brow. Leading Dean’s group and several energetic Labrador drug-sniffing dogs, he exited the back door of the amusent park and headed towards the nearest residential area.

Amusent parks, for cost reasons, are often situated in areas with cheap land but decent transportation.

Although this was a community in Los Angeles, the surrounding neighborhoods weren’t very pleasant.

The ring-toss vendor, who was the middle-aged manager’s nephew, had rented a small house with his family in a nearby community for business convenience.

The house was a ground-floor apartnt on the outskirts of the community.

The place was old and rundown. In the dim light, rats could be heard scurrying away in panic, their squeaks echoing through the dark corridors, creating a sowhat eerie atmosphere.

The middle-aged manager pointed to an iron-gated door in the corridor, likely the entrance to the basent, and said, "This is where my nephew’s family rents. They also act as the property managers and caretakers for this apartnt building, usually helping to collect rent."

As they drew closer, Dean’s group hadn’t even had a chance to knock when the drug-sniffing dogs arched their backs and growled at the wooden basent door, as if they had caught the scent of danger.

These dogs had undergone professional training.

This indicated that the situation inside the room was likely quite serious.

Dean’s nostrils twitched slightly. His brow furrowed, and without hesitation, with a flick of his right wrist, a cold pistol appeared in his hand. At the sa ti, he lunged forward and kicked open the wooden door.

THUD.

The wooden door, which had been ajar, swung open.

A thick, tallic sll of blood, previously blocked by the door, instantly flooded their nostrils.

Dean’s gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, swept the dimly lit room. After confirming no one was hiding, he turned on the lights.

The next mont, under the bright lights, those who rushed in after him were confronted with the tragic sight of a family of three.

Inside the small room, a man and a woman—two adults—knelt on the ground, hands tied behind their backs, heads bowed, facing the doorway. The fronts of their clothes were soaked crimson with blood.

In front of them, the body of a five or six-year-old child hung from the living room ceiling fan, a dog leash cinched around its neck. As cold air flowed in from the opened door, the body swayed gently, like a sunshine doll hanging by a window.

"FK!"

The amusent park manager, the last to enter, stared blankly at the scene.

Seeing his reaction, Dean was certain: this was indeed the manager’s nephew and his family.

Lawrence stepped forward and whispered, "Dean, hands tied behind their backs, kneeling execution—that’s a typical gang hit. This man must have crossed so gangsters."

"It must be related to drugs!"

Dean walked over to the three bodies—two adults and one child—and perford a quick examination.

"The child died first, hanged in front of his parents. An act like this is usually ant to intimidate and threaten. But the killer overlooked the fragility of a child’s neck and went too far. The female victim had marks on her cheeks from being slapped. She showed signs of resistance, and her lower clothing was torn, suggesting she was sexually assaulted before death. The male victim, aside from the gash on his throat, has no other visible external injuries. I suspect he told them everything. He was an old fox who knew when to give in, but he underestimated the ruthlessness of the gang he’d crossed. Furthermore, the knots used to hang the boy and bind the couple are a classic ’Scissorhands’ tie, a technique common among so United States special forces."

Lawrence examined the classic ’Scissorhands’ knots, which bound the victims’ feet and then connected to their hands tied behind their backs. He nodded. "This could be a smokescreen, or the killer simply doesn’t care about revealing their thods."

"The scene is clean, the work of a professional," Dean said. "They wouldn’t leave such an obvious clue. It’s likely a smokescreen. After all, retired special forces mbers who join gangs are easy to trace."

As he spoke, Dean approached the manager, who was still in shock. "Friend, if you want to avenge your nephew’s family, answer our questions honestly."

The amusent park manager continued to stare blankly at the grueso scene, petrified.

Dean didn’t waste any ti.

He raised his hand.

SMACK!

The crisp sound echoed. Outside in the corridor, the orange lamp, which had gone out, flickered back on.

The sting of pain finally brought the middle-aged manager to his senses.

Anger flashed in his eyes. He grabbed Dean’s coat, pleading emotionally, "Detective, my nephew’s family... they’re so pitiful! You have to catch the murderer and get justice for them!"

"That’s our duty. But first, we need to know who exactly your nephew’s family offended!"

Dean had been discreetly observing the middle-aged man’s micro-expressions. Confident the man was not being deceptive, he took him outside the house for questioning.

It was clear the man had a good relationship with his nephew’s family and knew a lot about them. He cooperated fully with Dean’s questions, holding nothing back.

From what Dean gathered, the manager’s nephew had dropped out of school early and drifted onto the streets. He wasn’t exactly a gang mber, but he engaged in petty theft and occasionally robbed people.

Before, when he was on his own, he’d lived a relatively carefree life.

It wasn’t until he t his true love and they had a child—the fruit of their love—that he realized he couldn’t continue living like that.

So, he decided to turn over a new leaf and start fresh.

With the help of his uncle—the middle-aged manager standing before them—he found a job managing an apartnt building. He would occasionally take items left behind by tenants, or things he ’acquired’ elsewhere, and set up a ring-toss stall at the amusent park during peak hours to earn extra money.

"Detective," the middle-aged manager said with conviction, "regarding my nephew, his wife, and child, I swear he hated parents who neglected their children because of his own family situation. He definitely wouldn’t do anything illegal now, nor would he intentionally provoke those vicious drug dealers!"

He wasn’t wrong.

Anyone who’s spent ti on the streets knows how brutal drug dealers are.

No one would risk their life over ten ring-toss hoops for a US dollar.

But... what if he didn’t know beforehand?

Dean had the middle-aged manager leave his contact information, then let him go.

While waiting for the forensics team to arrive, he pulled Lawrence aside privately.

"Lawrence, the situation is quite clear now," Dean hypothesized. "The man of this house was involved in sothing illicit. He likely obtained so plaster items laced with drugs and used them for his ring-toss ga at the amusent park to make a profit. The other party found out and silenced him imdiately."

Lawrence leaned against the corridor’s stained wall, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag. After a mont’s thought, he nodded.

"Based on my experience, drug traffickers using plaster for disguise wouldn’t make low-grade stuff that could affect soone on re contact. It was most likely just a trial product of theirs. Considering the victim’s range of activity, we should focus our investigation on nearby potential factories, or isolated residences with private yards and fences!"

Dean nodded. "I agree. A small workshop seems more likely. It would be easier for waste disposal. Also, a crucial point is their speed. It shows they’re experienced and have their surroundings heavily monitored. A place like that shouldn’t be too hard to find!"

With just a few words, the two of them had essentially pinpointed the direction for their investigation.

「Around the wee hours of the morning.」

Harry and Carlo returned to the group after taking Dean’s sister ho.

The forensics team had already removed all the victims’ bodies.

And Harry, with a friend’s help, had managed to get information on so of the local gray areas.

Soon, their attention was drawn to an underground sweatshop called ’Vienna’!