“Don’t be so sure of yourself. Caleb Bennett is an old fox—sometimes his nose is even keener than a dog’s,” Charles Thompson reminded him. Shawn Benson saying his subordinates are incompetent is basically saying he himself is incompetent, isn’t it?

“This plan is flawless. Even if Caleb Bennett really were a dog, he wouldn’t be able to sniff anything out,” Shawn Benson said smugly, grinning. This plan was personally devised by him and Littlefield; even Leonard Hale didn’t know about it, let alone an incompetent cop like Caleb Bennett. As for Matthew Brooks, he didn’t even bother to consider him. If it weren’t for his studies at the Japanese language school, he’d never have gotten into the police force.

“Since they completed the task smoothly, does that mean they’re exempt from punishment?” Charles Thompson said. It was clearly a trap set by the Special Services, but the Security Department had to take the fall. As the head of the Security Department, of course he was unhappy. And to top it off, he had to endure Shawn Benson’s sarcasm, which made him even more displeased.

“That depends on Leonard Hale’s report. In this matter, we have to handle things by the book,” Shawn Benson said. If you’re going to put on a show, you have to go all the way, or else all your efforts will be wasted. If Leonard Hale produces solid evidence showing that the main responsibility for Howard Clark’s escape lies with the Security Department, he would definitely hold them accountable.

Chapter 4: Suspicion

Caleb Bennett and Matthew Brooks went out on patrol. Watching the rain pour down harder and harder, with hardly any pedestrians on the street, they exchanged a knowing smile. At the intersection of Taigu Street and Changtang Street, there was a teahouse called “Good Reunion,” their usual spot to rest during patrols.

Sitting in a private room in the southeast corner of the second floor of “Good Reunion,” with both windows open, they had a full view of Changtang Street and Taigu Street. This area was their jurisdiction. Sitting here drinking tea, they could know immediately if anything happened on either street.

They ordered a pot of Biluochun tea and a plate of sunflower seeds, and the two of them could sit there until the end of their shift. In these times, business at teahouses was bleak; few people had the leisure to come for tea. Plus, today was the Dragon Boat Festival, so the entire second floor had only their table of guests.

“Do you believe that today might just be one of Shawn Benson’s tricks?” Caleb Bennett said, taking the Sanpao Tai pipe that Matthew Brooks handed over, greedily taking a puff before suddenly dropping this bombshell. He was quite annoyed—being caught red-handed by Shawn Benson that afternoon was sure to bring him trouble.

“Even if it is a trick, it’s one I can’t figure out,” Matthew Brooks felt a storm surge in his heart. There was something very strange about today’s events; he seemed to have an inkling, but couldn’t quite grasp it. It was like there was just a thin layer of paper left—once pierced, everything would become clear.

Matthew Brooks was good at math and loved reasoning, with a meticulous logical mind. After joining the police force, under Caleb Bennett’s influence, he gained practical experience. Whenever something felt off, he liked to get to the bottom of it. Today’s events flashed through his mind like a movie, and he replayed them frame by frame, hoping to find a breakthrough.

“Every trick will eventually be revealed. Do you believe that today’s answer will come soon?” Caleb Bennett said. He had already guessed Shawn Benson’s intentions, but had no way to prove it. Besides, saying it out loud would do neither himself nor Matthew Brooks any good.

“Let’s just wait and see,” Matthew Brooks didn’t press for answers. Although he was curious, he rarely asked questions directly.

It sounds easy, but it’s actually very hard to do. Curiosity killed the cat—most people, once curious, can’t help but dig to the bottom. For ordinary people, maybe it’s not a big deal. But as a police officer, it’s easy to get yourself into trouble, sometimes without even knowing how you ended up dead.

No matter what happened, Matthew Brooks liked to mull things over in his own mind. He’d already gone over today’s events several times, but still hadn’t sorted them out. But one thing was clear: Howard Clark was safe, and that was a good thing. Yet a voice suddenly popped up in his mind: Is it really a good thing?

After work, Matthew Brooks went to the Delicious Restaurant and bought two portions of pig’s head meat, plus half a jin of liquor. Even though he ended up getting a demerit for neglecting his duties that afternoon, he felt it was worth it. Without that demerit, Leonard Hale would have been upset, and who knows when he might have made trouble for him in the future. To him, a demerit was nothing, as long as it didn’t affect his pay.

“I’ll call Watson Harris back,” Third Young Master said when he saw Matthew Brooks carrying a string of zongzi and the mouthwatering aroma of meat wafting straight into his nose, making him swallow hard.

These days, even getting enough to eat was a problem, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen any meat. When he saw the bottle of liquor in Matthew Brooks’s hand, his eyes lit up like light bulbs. Ever since the Japanese air raid on Guxing, he hadn’t tasted a drop of alcohol.

Watson Harris wasn’t very old—sixteen or seventeen, but looked only about ten. He was the only one left in his family, and had nearly starved to death on the street. Matthew Brooks gave him a steamed bun, and he’d followed Matthew Brooks loyally ever since.

Third Young Master dashed out, and within a few minutes, came running back with a little beggar in tow. Watson Harris was short and skinny, and being pulled along by Third Young Master, he looked like a monkey on a leash. Even though it had rained all day, Watson Harris wasn’t wet at all. This kid might be a beggar, but he was as clever as a monkey.