Hearing Locke's words, Jim Rhodes's heart violently skipped a beat!
How could that be possible?
Yesterday, the very moment he learned that someone was tracking Anila Katz's location via a signal beacon, he had specifically dispatched his men to strip her corpse entirely naked, transport her body away, and leave her clothes behind in the lake.
Even if the tracker was embedded within the garments, it should logically still be resting at the bottom of Lake Lery.
How could it possibly have moved beyond the perimeter of the lake?
Could it be that the tracker wasn't inside the clothing at all, but rather implanted directly within Anila Katz's flesh?
How could that be!
Jim Rhodes's mind was locked in a furious brainstorm.
Over on the other side, Cop had already leaned in closer, staring intently at the tiny green dot pulsing on the radar-like tracking screen. "Where exactly is this point?"
Locke gestured with his finger toward a position slightly south of Lake Lery. "Over there."
Right at that moment.
A detachment of officers from the New Orleans Police Department arrived on the scene.
Originally, these men had brought along full diving gear, prepared for a submerged search, but as things stood, it appeared they would be spared the ordeal of diving into freezing waters in the dead of winter.
Cop cast a piercing glance at Jim Rhodes, then traced the direction of Locke's pointing finger. "Let's move, head over there!"
"Understood."
Kaynor nodded beside him, signaling to the detachment of officers gathering right behind them.
Locke caught the superficial, strained smile emerging on Jim Rhodes's face, before smoothly following the advance alongside Carrie.
"Boss..."
"Shut your mouth!"
Snapping out of his thoughts, Jim Rhodes sharply rebuffed a subordinate who had leaned in close, clearly preparing to relay something sensitive. The vanguard ahead had not yet traveled out of earshot; if they let something slip at this stage, any strategy they had would be utterly ruined.
Although they proudly brandished the title of witch hunters, their actual operations amounted to little more than deception, ambush, and petty thievery.
At the end of the day, they were ordinary humans; if they were to engage in a direct, unshielded confrontation against a witch, a hundred lives wouldn't suffice to keep them breathing.
Naturally, to successfully neutralize a single witch, it almost always required their entire faction to deploy as a coordinated unit. If they were to directly clash with a heavily armed police detachment right now, they would undoubtedly be blown straight to kingdom come on the spot.
Five seconds later.
Only then did Jim Rhodes turn his gaze toward the breathlessly panting subordinate, his brow furrowing deeply. "What happened?"
"Jack and Martin are dead."
"...What?"
Jack and Martin were the exact two individuals who had been piloting the black Volkswagen to tail Locke and Carrie.
Panting heavily, the subordinate recounted how he had rushed toward the edge of the city, only to be met with a grotesque, charred scene that the fire department had only just finished extinguishing. He described the horrific aftermath down to the finest detail.
Furthermore...
The subordinate carefully retrieved a completely blackened medallion from his pocket, presenting it to Jim Rhodes. "There were heavy traces of magical residue left behind at the crash site. It was the work of a damned witch."
Accepting the medallion, Jim Rhodes gripped it tightly. Raising his chin, his eyes narrowed into slits as he tracked Locke's retreating figure, who was steadily closing in on the genuine burial site of Anila Katz's corpse.
"Run a comprehensive background check on this Locke Broughton. Contact our connections in New York, do it immediately."
The subordinate nodded firmly and sprinted off.
Jim Rhodes was, after all, an ordinary human. If he possessed even a shred of extraordinary power, he would have realized that across such a short distance, though his voice was hushed, it was no different from plotting at the top of his lungs.
Carrie cast a brief glance at Locke's profile. "Locke, he wants to..."
"Let him check all he wants!"
"..."
Locke's interpersonal records, personal history, and even his exact financial sources were completely transparent, meticulous, and verifiable. They could withstand the most rigorous scrutiny from any conceivable angle.
If there were truly any actionable discrepancy within his background, the FBI or the Department of Homeland Security—both of whom had been severely outmaneuvered by him in court—would have swarmed him like a pack of wolves long ago.
Very quickly.
Even without Locke explicitly pointing it out, Cop and his team could easily discern that something was amiss with the terrain.
It had snowed the previous day.
While the snow covering the surrounding areas remained perfectly uniform and undisturbed by foot traffic, the patch of ground before them bore clear signs of human movement. Furthermore, the tracks left behind appeared highly erratic and disorganized.
The chaotic trail stretched approximately three hundred meters into the dense treeline, terminating abruptly right beside a massive tree.
The soil packed beneath the base of the tree was exceptionally loose, bearing obvious signs of having been freshly overturned.
Cop turned his head, casting a cold gaze toward Jim Rhodes, who had followed them inside.
The latter's expression was a perfect picture of astonishment, completely saturated with confusion.
"Dig!"
"Yes, sir!"
Several officers exchanged brief glances before stepping forward, immediately commencing the excavation work upon the designated plot.
Perhaps because the window of time available to execute the relocation had been far too rushed, they hadn't been digging for long before a definitive discovery was made.
The pale, waterlogged edge of a severely bloated corpse was uncovered.
Carrie's countenance shifted instantaneously. "Anila!"
Staring down at the exposed corpse, Cop let out a heavy sigh in his heart. Promptly retrieving his mobile phone, he established contact with the New Orleans main precinct, requesting the immediate dispatch of the medical examiner's office and a team of forensics experts to the scene.
An hour and a half later.
Bright yellow police tape had been thoroughly strung across the perimeter of the woods.
A short while later.
Having been severely bloated by underwater submersion, subsequently subjected to fire, and further battered through hasty transportation, the corpse—now entirely disfigured and barely holding together cohesively—was carefully deposited onto a clean white sheet spread across the ground.
The visual display was profoundly graphic.
Although Locke had not been escorted out of the active crime scene, he remained stationed along the outer perimeter of the police tape. Observing the gruesome spectacle, even he couldn't help but furrow his brow slightly.
Carrie had already clamped a hand tightly over her mouth, hurriedly dashing off to a secluded patch of brush to dry-heave.
Simultaneously...
A tempest of pure rage began to violently accumulate within Carrie's heart.
Locke turned around, casting his gaze toward Jim Rhodes, who stood entirely outside the cordoned-line.
Sensing Locke's incoming glare, the local leader displayed not a single shred of panic. Instead, he even offered a polite, friendly nod accompanied by a smooth smile.
Locke returned the smile in equal measure.
Fascinating.
He was smiling because he held complete, unyielding control over the tempo of the entire field. But what exactly was this Jim Rhodes smiling about?
Not long after.
Accompanied by the sharp sound of a heavy zipper closing, the corpse was securely sealed inside a black body bag. This remains would be transported directly to the New Orleans Medical Examiner's Office, where a formal autopsy would be performed.
Suddenly, a realization flashed through Locke's mind regarding the exact type of games Jim Rhodes intended to play.
The underlying reasoning was incredibly simple.
This corpse had been scorched by fire, waterlogged within a lake, and subsequently buried beneath the earth. It had long since passed the point of being visually recognizable, its facial features completely obliterated, and it had been discovered entirely stripped of clothing.
Whether this body truly belonged to Anila Katz was not a matter to be settled by Locke's or Carrie's words; it was a verdict that only forensic science could deliver.
But what if...
This body were to suddenly vanish into thin air?
No corpse.
No case!
But...
That happened to be his personal trademark line.
"I've already coordinated with George on the New York end," Cop stated, walking over to join Locke. "They will expedite the transit of Anila Katz's personal belongings over here as quickly as possible. We can then..."
Hearing these words, a subtle, unnoticeivable smirk crept onto the corners of Jim Rhodes's mouth.
Anila Katz's personal belongings had already been systematically destroyed.
After all...
She was a witch, an entity of the devil!
But...
Carrie lowered her head, retrieving a hairpin neatly sealed inside a transparent evidence bag from her pocket, presenting it directly to Cop. "This is a hairpin Anila gifted to me when she and her mother initially arrived in New Orleans. The only fingerprints present on it belong to me and Anila."
The corners of Jim Rhodes's mouth twitched slightly.
Still, he didn't panic.
Possessing fingerprints was one matter, but even with fingerprints, one still required a cohesive corpse available to execute a viable forensic match.
Their New Orleans witch hunting faction had occupied this territory for generations; their reputation was hardly built on empty words. If a minor hurdle like this could successfully derail them, they would have been locked away behind bars by the precinct countless times over by now.
Furthermore, even if a successful forensic match were achieved, what could it truly accomplish?
With a body, a formal homicide case could be established.
But without definitive physical evidence linking back to them, the police could not legally execute an arrest.
Cop accepted the hairpin Carrie extended toward him, transferring it directly to Kaynor's custody before locking his eyes onto Jim Rhodes. "Mr. Rhodes, do you still intend to maintain your previous statement?"
Jim Rhodes remained entirely unfazed. "Mrs. Katz explicitly stated that her daughter went out on a camping trip. I choose to place my faith in Mrs. Katz's words."
This was the true art of semantics.
Cop nodded grimly, shaking hands with Jim Rhodes. "Keep in contact, Mr. Rhodes."
Jim Rhodes smiled. "I certainly shall. It is my civic duty to cooperate with the precinct's endeavors, after all."
The moment Cop released his grip, he waved his hand toward his unit. "Back to the precinct."
Jim Rhodes tracked Locke, who was also preparing to depart. "Mr. Broughton."
Locke paused in his tracks.
Jim Rhodes offered a smooth smile. "Safe travels, Mr. Broughton."
Locke was slightly startled for a fraction of a second, before a brilliant, radiant smile bloomed across his face. "I certainly shall, Mr. Rhodes. However, I believe we shall be seeing each other again very shortly."
Jim Rhodes smiled faintly, shifting his gaze toward Carrie standing beside Locke, extending his hand. "The same applies to you, Ms. Chester."
Carrie cast a cold glance at the right hand Jim Rhodes extended toward her, her face completely devoid of expression.
A handshake?
She harbored a burning desire to sever this man's limbs and reduce him to a mere human torso!
Locke gently pulled back Carrie, who was rapidly approaching the absolute precipice of losing her self-control, offering Jim Rhodes a cryptic smile before leading her along to catch up with the main police convoy ahead.
Half an hour later.
Locke steered his Audi R8, following closely behind Cop and Kaynor's vehicle as they officially departed the sector.
The same subordinate slipped back into Jim Rhodes's immediate perimeter, tracking the police convoy as it sped away into the distance. "Boss, should I signal our men to move out?"
Jim Rhodes's mind raced with calculations before he slowly shook his head. "No."
"Huh!"
That wasn't the plan they had discussed mere moments ago.
Jim Rhodes withdrew his gaze from the retreating profile of Locke's Audi R8. "Intercepting the vehicles carries far too high a structural risk."
According to the standard operating procedures of the New Orleans Police Department, a corpse should typically be transported separately by the medical examiner in an isolated vehicle.
Had they followed that protocol, his men could easily have ambushed the transport vehicle en route, seizing the body to ensure that the scenario reverted back to 'no corpse, no case.'
However, just now, the medical examiner's vehicle had departed in tight formation alongside the heavy police cruiser escort.
If they failed to adapt to the changing circumstances and recklessly pushed forward with an assault under these conditions, it would undeniably constitute a blatant, unmitigated provocation against the entire precinct.
Jim Rhodes spoke with a hint of curiosity, "Why wasn't Medical Examiner Edward the one who deployed today?"
"He took a leave of absence. A cold."
"Then his cold should be fully recovered by now."
"...Understood."
Since launching an assault during active transit was no longer a viable option, they could only deploy their influence at the terminal destination.
The precinct's forensic department housed three active medical examiners, and Edward was the most senior among them, essentially operating as the director of the medical examiner's office.
Jim Rhodes was a born-and-raised New Orleans native who had cultivated deep-seated roots within the local landscape for decades. In this territory, even an almighty dragon from across the ocean had to coil up and kneel before him!
Furthermore...
Jim Rhodes lowered his head, retrieving the medallion from his breast pocket that had turned completely pitch black upon making contact with magical energy. Squeezing it tightly, he commanded, "Where is Hank Fox?"
The homicide case was one matter.
The matter of the witch was entirely another.
They couldn't possibly abandon their sacred duties merely because a few complications had arisen.
To do so would be akin to giving up eating entirely just to avoid the risk of choking.
"Where is Hank Fox?"
***
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