The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 336 It’s okay

It's very relaxing to have acquaintances around.

Eric glanced at Holland, who was examining the body, and Levin, who was communicating with the dispatch center from the police car. His freedom was not restricted.

Seeing this, Eric returned to the Raptor, started looking for his phone, and then walked over to Holland and snapped a few photos.

Holland glanced at Eric, who was taking pictures of the corpse, said nothing, but stood up and sighed.

“This is terrible, Eric.”

“You know, Holland, I didn’t want this either,” Eric said, putting away his phone and looking ahead.

Holland said, "Yes, yes, I believe you." His gaze followed Eric's, and several police cars appeared amidst flashing red and blue lights.

“My colleague is here. Levin and I will testify for you later.”

Eric understood and smiled, "Thanks, Holland."

Holland shook his head: "Isn't that just the truth?"

“Yes.” Eric’s smile remained unchanged.

-

Police cars arrived with sirens blaring, completely surrounding the scene.

The red and blue police lights illuminated the entire intersection as if it were daytime.

When the patrol officers who came to provide backup saw the horrific scene, they couldn't help but gasp in horror.

While they were sealing off and maintaining order at the scene, their eyes kept drifting to Eric, who stood out from the crowd.

Nolan, the oldest rookie in the Wilshire Police Department, in particular, exchanged a glance with his mentor, Bishop.

"I saw him again." Nolan's tone was filled with admiration.

He still vividly remembers the high-speed chase and the Pit crash in Koreatown, and he brings it up from time to time in his small group.

Now, their second meeting has resulted in another car accident.

Bishop also looked at Eric, a young man who was already a big name among the patrol officers. She said calmly:

"He and you are not from the same world."

Nolan said helplessly, "I know."

-

Patrol officers arrived, followed by forensic experts from the Wilshire Police Department, including a command vehicle and vehicles from the Internal Affairs Department (IAB).
Holland whispered to Eric, "It's our duty commander, Gerry Wade, and Interior Minister Frain Campbell."

Eric nodded, indicating that he understood.

With these people arriving, the scene immediately became procedural.

As the directly involved parties, Eric, Holland, and Levin were first asked to step back behind the cordon, stand separately, and isolate as witnesses.

This is standard procedure to prevent collusion among the parties involved.

Eric couldn't do anything about it; unless he wanted to shed this legal facade, he still had to follow the procedures.

After going through the whole process, Eric was eventually taken back to the detective agency building by Interior Minister Frain Campbell.

This is because he is now employed by the Detective Department, rather than a specific regional precinct.

So when Eric saw Costa appear with Freyne Campbell from the Ministry of the Interior, a sense of guilt crossed his mind.

He couldn't help feeling guilty, especially since it was almost midnight and he had someone rush over from home.

"I'll hand the person over to you for now, Superintendent."

Upon hearing Frain Campbell's words, Costa glanced at Eric sitting inside and nodded.

"Okay, hard work."

Fraun Campbell nodded and left. The nature of the case was actually quite clear; it wasn't a big deal.

The burglars broke into a house and even fired shots at patrol officers, attacking police officers; the nature of the crime is serious.

Besides that, they also fled.

With Holland and Levin testifying, the young trainee detective's actions objectively helped them and prevented the fugitive from continuing to roam and cause greater harm to society.

"team leader."

Eric glanced at Costa standing in the doorway and gave a dry laugh.

"So you left in such a hurry because there was a thief in your house?" Costa asked helplessly.

God knows how stunned he was when he heard at home that Eric had run over and killed three thugs.

Eric chuckled dryly, "Yes."

“Okay, I forgive you on behalf of White and the others. You suddenly left without saying goodbye, and they even said a few words to you.” Costa turned his head to indicate, showing no sign of blame.

"Let's go, I'll take you back first."

Eric immediately got up and followed, and as he expected, nothing happened.

Walking down the quiet corridor, Costa handed over the transparent bag containing Eric's pistol.

"Although there's nothing seriously wrong, you still need to take three days of administrative leave and wait for the final report."

Eric took the bag casually, somewhat surprised. "You can take a vacation like this?"

"What?" Costa glanced at Eric.

"Think the holiday is too short?"

"No." Eric casually stuffed the bag containing his sidearm into his back pocket.
"I'm just wondering what to do with my car?"

"Your car?" Costa asked.

"Your car is now under the jurisdiction of the forensic department and the insurance company there. The bureau's legal department will also follow up and go through the procedures for handling vehicles involved in cases. There is a high probability that you will be compensated as a total loss."

Eric breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this; it was just the right time for him to start learning from Stallone and modifying an even more powerful car.

The two walked out of the police station together and headed side by side toward the parking lot.

Costa pressed the car key, unlocked a sedan parked in the parking space, opened the car door and sat in the driver's seat. He held the steering wheel with one hand and rubbed his temples with the other, looking somewhat tired.

Eric consciously went around to the passenger seat and sat down.

"where is your house?"

1721 North Kingsley Road.

Costa glanced at Eric sitting in the passenger seat with surprise. Was this guy rich?

But why would a rich person want to be a poor, struggling policeman?
Costa recalled the psychological assessment in the other party's file, which described him as having an extraordinary sense of justice and a strong hatred of evil.
“North Kingsley Road? Nice road.” Costa started the car, drove out of the parking lot, and disappeared into the Los Angeles night.

"Are you rich? Or is being a policeman just a hobby for you to experience life?"

Eric calmly replied, "It was left to me by my parents. Becoming a policeman was just a personal choice, or rather, it was always my dream."

"Dream." Costa repeated the word to himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel without delving deeper. Everyone has their own reasons.

"What leads do you have about those three people? They said the car was clean, with no identification documents except for weapons and some cash, as if it had been deliberately handled."

This doesn't look like an ordinary petty thief; it looks like they're specifically after you.

Eric paused for a moment, then chose the most acceptable reason.

"My house is very conspicuous, maybe they think they can make a big score?"

He didn't want to reveal Tifa's situation, as it would complicate matters further, and the Fourth Squadron seemed genuinely inadequate, lest it bring unpredictable dangers to the team members.

As an experienced detective, Costa naturally sensed the reservation in Eric's words.

"Okay, take these three days off and rest well. I'll handle the report."

If you make any discoveries or feel the need for assistance, remember you are no longer a lone patrol officer; you have the entire Fourth Squadron behind you.

Eric hummed in agreement and smiled, "Thank you, Captain."

Costa nodded and said nothing more, simply steer the car onto the tree-lined avenue leading to North Kingsley Road, where the surrounding residences appeared even more tranquil and expensive.

Soon, the house, resembling a small fortress in the night, came into view. Costa parked the car on the side of the road, looked at the house, and couldn't help but glance at Eric again.

He finally understood why Eric had said his house was conspicuous.

It is indeed quite eye-catching.

“Thanks for bringing me back, Captain,” Eric said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Costa shook his head and gave one last piece of advice: "Keep your phone accessible."

“Okay.” Eric got out of the car, nodded to Costa, and closed the door.

Costa glanced at the wall again before driving away.

Eric watched the taillights disappear before turning and walking into the house.

----------

San Diego, California.

A suburban house.

In the study room.

Samuel Kingston sat behind his desk, staring intently at the computer screen, then shook his head and rubbed his temples with his right hand.

His intuition told him there was a huge mystery behind James Reese's affair.

If Agent Allison's assessment is accurate, James Reese did not exhibit typical symptoms of PTSD, such as memory disturbances or dissociation.

Moreover, James Reese himself was quite assertive, and he certainly didn't seem to be lying.

So where does the problem lie?

The answer is already obvious.

The problem lies at the source; there are issues with the action logs and recordings.

Or perhaps the task James Reese was carrying out was problematic in itself.

“The source of the intelligence is questionable.” Samuel Kingston looked at the computer screen again.

The above is a photo of Tabarimussa, an arms dealer from Aleppo.

After he returned, he conducted a special investigation, and all indications suggested that this person might have some connection with the CIA.

This means.
Just as he thought of this, Samuel Kingston seemed to realize something and subconsciously looked up at the doorway.

Suddenly, the study door was flung open, and several dark figures instantly filled his entire field of vision.

"who!"

Samuel Kingston was startled and instinctively reached for the desk drawer.

But it's too late.

The three invading figures moved in perfect unison, their actions as swift as lightning.

One of them used professional fighting skills to close in instantly, grab Samuel Kingston's arm as he drew his gun, and pin him firmly to the table.

“Who are you!” Samuel Kingston shouted.

Before Samuel Kingston could resist, another person had already covered his mouth and nose with a strong sedative wipe.

The potent drug instantly relaxed Samuel Kingston's muscles, his eyes bulged out of shock and lack of oxygen, and after struggling for a few moments, he quickly went limp and his consciousness sank into darkness.

The entire process takes no more than ten seconds.

There was no fierce fighting, no gunshots, only suppressed breathing and the faint sounds of bodies rubbing against furniture.

The third intruder, clearly the team leader, stepped forward and took a specially made syringe from the thermostatic storage compartment of his tactical belt.

The needle tip was thin and long, gleaming coldly under the desk lamp.

He slowly and deliberately injected the medication into a vein in Samuel Kingston's neck.

The drug is colorless and odorless. Its main component is highly purified ricin, which is also mixed with synthetic drug components that can induce coronary artery spasm.

Ricin itself is extremely deadly, slowly destroying cells by inhibiting protein synthesis. Its initial symptoms are highly similar to those of severe myocardial infarction or acute heart failure.
The combination of drugs can accelerate and amplify this process, making it appear in a short period of time as a fatal case of sudden cardiac death caused by overwork.

After the injection was completed, the third intruder carefully retrieved the syringe and placed it back into the specially designed sealed container.

"let's start."

As the third intruder spoke, the remaining intruders who had Samuel Kingston captive began to clean up the scene quickly and systematically, erasing all traces of their presence.

Footprints, fibers, and even chemical molecules that may remain in the air.

They then straightened Samuel Kingston's body, making it appear as if he had accidentally collapsed while working at his desk, creating the initial illusion of sudden death.

While the two intruders set up the site, the third intruder packed up the sealed container and looked at the computer screen.
He frowned when he saw the photos of the arms dealers, then reached for the mouse and clicked it several times.

The investigation materials related to Samuel Kingston were deleted, and an email report that had just been received was found.

It was the final report sent by Tifa.

In her report, she concluded that James Reese did not exhibit typical symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

With a few clicks of the mouse, the final report was completely deleted and cleaned up.

Then, his gaze swept over the time in the lower right corner of the screen, and his brows furrowed even more.

The operation in Los Angeles should have ended long ago. Why hasn't the final report confirming James Reese's post-traumatic stress disorder arrived yet?
"Any news from over there?" he asked.

The two, having finished tidying up, exchanged a glance and shook their heads.

Upon seeing this, the third intruder felt an ominous premonition grip him.

Based on the timeline, the operation in Los Angeles should have ended long ago and there should have been feedback by now.

There has been no word from them since. Could something have gone wrong over there?
The thought flashed through his mind, and after glancing at the computer screen to confirm there were no problems, he didn't delay any longer:
"withdraw!"

A few minutes later, the house returned to its previous tranquility, as if no one had ever visited it.

------------

1721 North Kingsley Road, Los Angeles.

Eric had just pushed open the main door of the house and hadn't even had time to stand properly when a figure rushed out of the shadows in the living room.

It is Tifa.

With a clear goal in mind, she pounced straight at him.

"Honey!"

Eric caught it quickly, but was knocked backward by Tifa's lunge.

He could feel Tifa's arms tightly wrapped around his waist, with considerable force.

“It’s alright.” Eric smiled gently and patted Tifa on the back.

Tifa tightened her arms around him and rubbed her cheeks against his chest, a stark contrast to her usual mature and sophisticated demeanor.

Eric's smile deepened; this was a rare sight for Tifa, she looked as adorable as a kitten being affectionate.

After several seconds, Tifa took a deep breath, looked up, and quickly scanned Eric's face, neck, and shoulders without asking what was wrong.

"Are you injured?"

Eric saying he was fine meant that he had personally dealt with those three people.

“Those three people aren’t capable of hurting me,” Eric reassured her, taking Tifa’s hand, which she was examining, and smiling as he added:

"Come on, let's take a shower and calm down."

As Eric spoke, he picked Tifa up and carried her towards the bathroom.

Same old rules, except there's one more beauty.

Tifa gasped and quickly wrapped her arms around Eric's neck, her cheek instinctively pressed against his firm chest, where she could hear a strong and steady heartbeat.

This feeling of being completely enveloped and protected made her involuntarily relax and become immersed in it.

(End of this chapter)