The miniature model was a perfect, to-scale replica of the kitchen. In the actual spot where the model was placed in reality, there was a small gift box inside the model itself. The note Holz now held had been taken from that gift box. Dean took it and examined it. The note was rolled into the shape of a scroll. Its exterior was bound with a leather strap buckle, and its edges were adorned with a series of patterns imbued with a mysterious aura, resembling writing or perhaps some kind of religious ritual. Overall, it looked somewhat like a Demon’s contract from movies and TV shows. The content of the note was even more baffling. It contained only a simple sentence: "The pact is concluded, cooperation was a pleasure!" "’The pact is concluded, cooperation was a pleasure?’" Dean muttered. "What is the killer trying to convey? Could they have made some sort of trade with the victim?" The style of the note, resembling a tattered scroll, strongly suggested a connection to some kind of religious ritual. As Dean pondered this, Holz approached and lowered his voice. "Dean, I think I remember a colleague mentioning a similar case." Googlᴇ search novel•fire.net "’You mean this could be a serial killing?’" Dean’s eyes narrowed. If that was the case, the killer’s unique modus operandi would make sense. Holz nodded. "I was upset earlier, so I didn’t notice the miniature model of the kitchen. When I saw this miniature model, I remembered hearing about a similar case. It happened in New York. Back then, seven people died, causing quite an uproar and attracting a lot of attention. The New York police had no leads, so, under pressure, they eventually handed the case over to the FBI. "After the FBI got involved, there were no follow-up reports, and no news ever surfaced about the model killer being caught. Because of the case’s unusual nature, our department was also involved in discussing it, so I have some recollection." "’Three years ago... New York... seven victims...’" Dean muttered, realizing the gravity of the situation. This guy is clearly a repeat offender, Dean thought, and now he’s chosen Los Angeles to restart his ’legendary’ crime spree! He suddenly remembered a warning from Ann Blythe: the Lucifer Game Organization had found a high-IQ criminal in Los Angeles and sent someone to recruit them! No doubt about it! This miniature model serial killer must be their target! Dean immediately took out his phone and called Harry. Daisy had come along to see her idol one last time, so Harry was currently the only one in the office. After a short wait, Harry’s groggy voice came over the phone, "Boss Dean, do you need Harry’s assistance?" "’My apologies for disturbing your rest, Detective Harry!’" Dean said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. The tone instantly sobered Harry up. Harry chuckled nervously. "You’ve got a great sense of humor, Boss. Is the case going well?" "I need you to find information on a miniature model serial murder case from New York, three years ago. If possible, call their detective bureau directly and tell them Dean needs it." "’No problem!’" Harry agreed readily, then hesitated. "’I can get some information through our police system, but if you want detailed intelligence, they might not give you face, Boss.’" He was being diplomatic. The New York and Los Angeles detective bureaus were entirely separate systems, both funded by their respective city governments, and had no obligation to coordinate investigations. If they decided to be cooperative, they’d acknowledge you as a detective. If not, you were nobody to them, even if you went there in person. Forget Dean, a mere detective; even a captain like Old Hunter requesting detailed case files from another bureau would likely be laughed off. So, Harry figured his boss, Dean, had been in Los Angeles too long and was getting a big head. Dean rolled his eyes. "Cut the crap and just do as I say. Give them my ID number; they’ll cooperate!" What a joke, Dean thought. He was, after all, a special consultant detective for the New York Detective Bureau. Cross-jurisdictional enforcement might require a heads-up and some coordination, but just asking for a three-year-old case file? That should be a piece of cake. After hanging up, Dean handed the note back to Holz. "How’s the crime scene investigation going?" Now that it seemed they were dealing with a serial killer, the suspicion surrounding those close to the victim, Johnny Dennison, lessened considerably. For a serial killer capable of eluding both the detective bureau and the FBI, the last thing they’d want is to prey too close to home. It was simple logic: the more you expose yourself, the higher the probability of capture. The fact that this person had been at large for three years meant that neither the New York detectives nor the FBI had managed to identify the killer or even find a solid lead after seven murders. Such a person wouldn’t be foolish enough to risk exposure by targeting acquaintances. Holz carefully stowed the note. "Using chemical reagents, we found traces of washed-away blood at the cleaning station, as well as bleach. Following these traces led us to the weapon used to kill Johnny Dennison." "’A rolling pin?’" Dean asked. "’Yes, a small rolling pin for making soda crackers, usually kept in a drawer. It had been cleaned with bleach but was still damp, so we found it quickly.’" Holz continued, a look of awe on his face, "The killer genuinely seems to have OCD. We found a corresponding miniature rolling pin in the model, and it also had bleach residue on it—still damp, just like the real one. Honestly, I’m incredibly curious about what kind of person this killer is. Dean, you have to catch him!"