John finished speaking and once again fell into silence.
Brian was also silent.
Jason didn’t imdiately break the silence. Both n, strong on the outside, harbored a tenderness within that was beyond ordinary people’s imagination. When that tenderness was hurt, giving them so ti was the least of the respect they deserved.
About several seconds later, Brian was the first to snap back to reality.
"What do we do?"
Brian asked again.
"Weapons, ammo."
"No matter how McCaul’s investigation goes, these are essential for us."
"And about McCaul’s investigation!"
Jason said, turning his gaze to Brian.
"Brian, I hope you can investigate this matter from other angles."
"From perspectives McCaul might not consider," Jason instructed.
"Understood," Brian nodded.
"Leave the weapons to ,"
"I have my channels," John promptly promised.
"Compared to those, I think you should rather get another room," Jason indicated the room nearby.
As the landlord, John instantly understood.
"No problem," John said, standing up and walking toward the phone.
After finishing a conversation with his daughter, Brian left Room 313 at that mont.
Soon, the room was arranged.
It was also on the third floor, and just next door on the other side: Room 312.
After watching Kemi and Telly enter the room, Jason did not return to his own room. Instead, after signaling John, he headed straight downstairs.
He hadn’t forgotten the critical point in the whole affair.
...
Outside the interrogation room, Davide watched as Assistant Hunter interrogated Emod’s old butler and couldn’t help but sigh.
His assistant was indeed an excellent young man, that was indisputable.
A standout among his peers.
But still too young.
So matters inevitably led to impulsiveness.
Watching his assistant slam the table once again, Davide knocked on the door.
The middle-aged police chief knew he couldn’t let his assistant continue the interrogation. If it went on, problems might arise.
He certainly didn’t want his assistant’s record tarnished with any stain.
Knock, knock, knock!
After the knocking, the middle-aged police chief entered.
"Hunter," Davide called out, looking at the young assistant who had angrily stood up, and couldn’t help but raise his voice sharply.
"Chief, I..."
"Go wash your face,"
"Leave this to ," Davide patted his assistant’s shoulder.
The young assistant nodded and walked out.
At this mont, rationality had returned to him; he knew that if not for Davide’s tily arrival, he would have made a mistake.
Striking a prisoner!
That was no trivial matter.
Especially facing that person.
Just the thought of the man he was interrogating made the young Hunter’s teeth ache.
He had never encountered such a difficult adversary.
Silence!
The suspect had been silent since entering the interrogation room!
A full two hours had passed without a single word spoken, without any demand made!
Seemingly a mute!
The thought reignited the anger bubbling inside Hunter, furrowing his brow.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Catching handfuls of cold water from the tap, Hunter splashed it over his face repeatedly.
The shock of the cold water cald him down once again.
Then, without bothering to use a towel, he wiped his face with his sleeve and quickly returned to the room next to the interrogation room, eager to see how Davide would handle this tricky criminal. ṙἈŊồ₿Ê𝘚
In the interrogation room.
Davide smiled at the middle-aged to elderly man sitting in front of him, dressed in a tailcoat and wearing white gloves.
Even though he was in the interrogation room, he maintained a remarkable poise.
And for two hours, his back was straight. He had not leaned against the chair back or slumped his body even once from beginning to end.
Such bearing was exceptional, not sothing one would normally see, not just in a middle-aged man with white hair, but even young people rarely exhibited it.
"You truly are a capable butler,"
"For soone of your age to maintain such standards, I must say I am impressed," the middle-aged police chief began with customary praise.
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Hostility only brings caution,
While praise can sotis yield unexpected gains.
The middle-aged police chief was a firm believer in this principle.
"According to the information, you are a mber of the ’Butler Alliance’, aren’t you?"
"Could you tell about this organization?"
"You know, my fortunes have never qualified to face this organization, so I’m very curious," the middle-aged police chief said with a smile, standing up to go to the water cooler, and poured a glass of warm water for Emod’s old butler, placing it in front of him.
"Thank you,"
Emod’s old butler promptly thanked him as the glass was set down,
His body slightly bowed, his right hand on his chest.
In his every precise move, there was no trace of rigidity, only an air of graceful poise.
Then he took a sip of water from the glass.
When putting the glass down, it was in precisely the sa spot, not a bit off, as if asured out with a ruler.
"You’re welco," the middle-aged police chief responded with a smile.
Silence is only relative.
Once the right gap is found, seemingly impregnable barriers can be broken.
In reality, such barriers are not much stronger than a thin film,
All it takes is a poke to burst through.
Once that film is punctured, everything becos easier.
But it takes skill.
Davide knew this well, so after responding, he didn’t imdiately press the old butler, instead, he began to peruse the docunts on the table.
Findelter, male, 56 years old, born in 1943 in Cherry City.
The records of his elentary, middle and high school, as well as his further education at the ’Butler Academy’, were crystal clear.
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