He and his partner, one hand holding a gun and the other clutching a police flashlight, cautiously walked into the bar.
The bar remained a chaotic mess with overturned tables and chairs. When the flashlight beam swept across the corner, the fourth corpse came into view.
Toto, that high school student, was lying on the ground with a knife stabbed in his neck and chest, blood staining his clothes. He had been dead for no more than an hour.
"Damn it, the clue is broken," his partner couldn't help but curse.
Last night's gunfight had already killed three people in the "Scorpion" bar, with seven more injured. And tonight, another two corpses were added.
What's worse, the 2.2 billion US dollar lottery ticket was still missing, and now there's a new murderer.
"This case won't end."
Kongges cursed under his breath. He leaned against the police car, lit a cigarette, attempting to refresh himself with nicotine, but the smoke made him feel even more nauseous.
He looked up at the sky; dawn was breaking in the east, signaling the start of a new day, yet his mood was darker than the night.
He had a feeling that the new murderer was right around him, snatching away the lottery competition just before he did.
But...
No choice but to ask for help.
However, the White Beach Town Police Department only had a dozen officers, helpless when faced with such a complex case.
The town police had no choice but to seek further help from the Miami County Police Department and the FBI in Florida. Especially the FBI, skilled in handling such major cases.
-----------------
The next morning, the "Scorpion" bar was bustling once again.
Seven or eight police cars were disorderly parked by the roadside, their red and blue lights particularly glaring under the gray sky.
The FBI's black SUV was parked quietly by the road, the antenna on its roof gently swaying in the breeze.
Agents were busily coming and going, carrying large boxes filled with evidence collected from the scene.
Broken liquor bottles, blood-stained clothes, scattered shell casings, and even several shattered phones.
Each item was labeled, photographed, and registered, as any detail could be a key clue to solving the case.
The crowd of onlookers was separated by yellow police tape, standing in groups, whispering to each other.
Someone stood on tiptoe, trying to peer inside the bar through the glass window, but could see nothing beyond the blurry shadows and reflected police lights.
Not far away, Miami's local media had set up cameras, and reporters were holding microphones, reporting solemnly to the camera.
White Beach Town Police Chief Matthew arrived by car, his face gloomy enough to drip water. He had received a series of reports early this morning, and his dark circles showed how exhausted he was.
A small town of several thousand had not only experienced a gunfight but also the deaths of four people, including a teacher and student, such news could ruin the chief's career.
The reporters immediately swarmed, their microphones and cameras almost sticking to the chief's face, firing questions like grenades, hoping to overwhelm him.
"Chief, can you reveal any progress on the case?" "Is there any clue about the murderer?" "Is this case related to the school?"
The chief bowed his head, raising his hand as if to push through an invisible barrier, painstakingly making his way through the crowd of reporters.
"The case is under investigation, no comment at the moment." After saying that, he quickly crossed the yellow tape and entered the bar.
A police officer keeping order extended his hand, stopping the reporters from further pursuits, "Please step back, do not cross the tape."
The chaotic bar was brightly lit, but the floor was wet everywhere, as if it had undergone firefighting rescue operations.
The FBI's chief inspector had already arrived, proactively shaking hands with Chief Matthew, "I'm Carl from the Miami Branch, assigned to handle this case."
Chief Matthew forced a smile, "Thank you very much for coming; otherwise, relying solely on the town's police force and capabilities, it would be impossible to solve this case."
White Beach Town was just a small town with four to five thousand permanent residents, and its police force was pitifully small, only a dozen people.
It's more appropriate to call it a precinct rather than a police station.
Among these dozen officers, half were administrative staff, and the remaining half were responsible for patrols, security, criminal investigations, community services, and many other tasks, always busy.
When encountering such a major case, the town police were simply unable to cope and could only seek the FBI's assistance.
After the pleasantries, Chief Matthew looked around, sighing deeply.
After the gang gunfight the day before yesterday, he had been to the bar, knowing that the scene was a mess with tables and chairs toppled, bloodstains everywhere, and broken liquor bottles and glasses scattered around.
Now it was even worse, the place was soaked.
He turned to Chief Inspector Carl, "How's the site investigation going?"
Chief Inspector Carl smiled bitterly, "We are facing a cunning opponent; it's not going to be easy."
He pointed to several blurry bloody footprints on the ground, "This place has had two consecutive murders, overlapping crime scenes.
Just identifying whether these footprints are from yesterday or the day before yesterday is giving us a headache.
The murderer of the second case cleaned up the site. He made full use of the bar environment, bringing in a hose from the kitchen and washing the scene thoroughly."
As Chief Inspector Carl spoke, his teeth ground audibly.
After the wash, the few remaining bloody footprints were very faint, and other criminal traces disappeared as well.
By the time the FBI's forensic team arrived, they were stunned. The soaking wet crime scene had already been transformed beyond recognition.