If all Alex said was true, then the murder of her father would definitely not be as simple as it seems. Of course, it is not ruled out that the testimony of Alex, a family member of the deceased, could not be ruled out, but in any case, Gwen felt that it was necessary to help her confirm.

She changed into her homemade black and white uniform, flew over the city with spider silk to the headquarters of the New York Police Department. She landed lightly on the outer edge of the building and climbed out the window along the wall.

To her surprise, she thought that the detectives should have already come home to rest at get off work, but a window still showed lights out. She climbed to the window, poked her head and looked inside. She saw a detective from the murder team sitting at the table, illuminating the desk with the light of a desk lamp.

The detective sat at the table and focused on looking through a case file in a certain area.

Gwen rolled over her body, leaning her back against the wall by the window, and sucking the wall with her hands and feet. She was about to wait for the detective to turn off the lights and sneak in to see if she could find Alex's father's case file.

The sound of footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the room, followed by the sound of the door opening. Gwen couldn't help but look inside again, and found that a half-bald detective had walked in.

"Huh?" said the bald detective strangely, "March, you haven't left yet?"

"Frank, aren't you going home?" The detective called March waved at him.

"Forgot the key. I am old and my memory is beginning to be worse than the past." Detective Frank sighed and walked to his colleague's desk, "Is there a case that I can't let go?"

"Yes, yesterday's case. A middle-aged man named Locke Russell, who had overdoses."

Gwen pricked her ears. She remembered that was Alex's father.

Detective Frank frowned: "I heard that the case has been investigated. The guy was discovered with the injection syringe. The toxins in his body can poison the elephant, and his fingerprints were also extracted from the syringe. The evidence is conclusive, and it is certain that what else is good to look at?"

"Too many." Detective March shook his head. "There are loopholes in this theory from beginning to end. Not to mention anything else... I have conducted an investigation. Mr. Frank Russell has no similarity with an addict. When he died, he wore a brand watch on his wrist, and there was a valuable painting in his room. We have been detectives for so long, and we have seen real addicts, Frank. You know that in a real addict's home, these things will eventually turn into drugs."

"So maybe he didn't take drugs before? Maybe Mr. Russell finally decided to have some fun and make life different?"

"It's not that simple." Detective March denied, "and I went to the company where Mr. Russell worked and asked some questions. Some people said that Mr. Russell seemed to have asked questions before his death. He felt that there was a large gap in the financial statements of his department. He took the order to find his boss, and the final result after verification was only said to be an accounting mistake."

Frank took the case file from him, picked it up and frowned for several pages.

"Things are very wrong, Frank, I can smell it." Detective March said confidently, "Don't tell me it's just a coincidence. If it's a coincidence, then my detective for so many years will be in vain."

Frank gently patted the case file and put it back on the desk. He looked around, as if he wanted to confirm that there were only two of them here. Then he lowered his voice and said, "Just treat it for your own good, March, let the case pass."

Detective March was stunned for a moment: "Why?"

Frank was silent for a while and slowly said a word: "Jin Bing."

The office suddenly became quiet. The two detectives stopped talking strangely, and needles fell from the air could be heard.

"You...hell, you mean, the company where Mr. Russell works," Detective Marchi lowered his voice intentionally or unintentionally, "Actually working for Kim?"

They spoke the word "Jinbing" so lightly, as if they were afraid that the name would be snatched into the hand of the big man with all his eyes.

Detective Marchi took out a cigarette, took out a lighter and lit it, and took a sip.

"Damn it." He spitted a smoke ring and cursed in a low voice, "Mr. Russell... Have you been to his house? He has a wife and a seventeen-year-old daughter... Oh my God, that little girl is as old as my niece."

"I know." Frank said.

Then they didn't speak for a while until the smoke from Detective March's hand burned to the filter.

"What a fucking city." He cursed again.

"Welcome to New York." Frank picked up March's coat from the back of the chair and threw it into the colleague's arms. "Let's go, we can go all the way back."

"Okay." Detective Marchi shrugged and put on his coat, as if he had accepted the facts and decided to give up the case.

"Or we can have two more drinks before we go back." Frank suggested again, "I'll treat you."

"You said myself, I'm going to drink up your salary for next month."

"Ha, if you can."

The conversation and footsteps of the two detectives went away along the corridor. Gwen waited for a while before opening the window and crawling in, walked gently to Detective Machi's desk just now, and picked up the case file he threw on the table.

At the same time, she kept asking the same question repeatedly.

Who is Jin Bing?

***

A big man with two meters tall and wide shoulders stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the bustling night view of New York City from a height of more than 200 meters. He wore a specially customized oversized suit and his figure was nearly as wide as two adult men. He shaved his hair and the white light shone his bare head as bright as the marble floor he had just brushed.

Kim Bing, the steward of the New York underground world, is the truly unique king of the crime world, and perhaps even the largest underworld leader in the United States. He not only controls all the criminals in New York, but also has his pawns inserted into all key departments and institutions in the city. In terms of actual influence alone, the mayor of New York City does not even have great power.

A man in a suit and ties walked into the room. He put his glasses on his face, looked gentle and decent. He stood at the door in a standard posture and said in a very light voice: "Sir, the time is up. Mr. Michael Paso's fundraising party is to rebuild New York."

"I know." Jin did not turn around and replied in a vibrant, hoarse voice, "You go down first, go to the car and wait, and I will follow you later."
Chapter completed!