Brian Howard’s current mood was one of anxiety and uncertainty. But as for whether Commissar Carter would find any clues and use this case to make a comeback, Brian Howard honestly didn’t have much hope. Over the past year, Brian Howard had become very familiar with Commissar Carter’s way of handling things—it was actually quite similar to his own temperament. But Brian Howard also knew that his own temperament wasn’t suited for achieving anything great.

In front of a courtyard where a chimney was belching black smoke, Eric Carter suddenly signaled Brian Howard to stop the car.

The courtyard had high walls and a large gate, with a vertical plaque at the entrance reading “Guangning County Department Store Ice Cream Factory” in black characters on a white background.

Eric Carter let out a sound of surprise and said, “There’s a boiler here too.”

Brian Howard thought to himself, What’s so special about a boiler room? Is it really that rare? He had just accompanied Eric Carter to three different boiler rooms in a row.

Eric Carter waved his hand. “Come on, let’s go in and take a look.”

Scott Dawson laughed and said, “So, this is where the Department Store Ice Cream comes from?” In the summer, in the countryside around Guangning, every village had peddlers selling popsicles door to door, and the fanciest ones were the “Department Store Ice Cream.” Ordinary popsicles cost 2 cents each, while the Department Store Ice Cream sold for 5 cents, and the taste really was quite good. But for Eric Carter, who had tasted all kinds of ice cream and popsicles in later years, it didn’t feel particularly special.

The iron gate of the courtyard was wide open, allowing people to come and go as they pleased. A few workers inside saw the three strangers enter the factory and just glanced at them curiously, assuming they were looking for someone. Social attitudes were still good at this time, and small factories didn’t have much awareness of security.

The boiler room was right up against the courtyard wall, responsible for supplying hot water to the workers and workshops. The boiler room was large, with piles of coal like small hills inside.

The boiler was tended by an old worker with a kindly face, though he had some trouble walking and limped as he sized up the three unexpected visitors. He asked, “Who are you looking for?”

The three of them were in plain clothes, so they took out their work IDs to show the old worker. His expression became serious and a bit suspicious. “What’s the matter? Are you looking for me?”

Eric Carter smiled and said, “Just looking around, wanting to chat a bit.”

Up to now, the police still hadn’t been able to truly determine the crime scene. They could only rely on John Lee’s statement, which claimed he had taken the victim to his residence and killed her there.

However, at present, the only private car in Guangning County was registered under the Bureau of Commerce, and there weren’t many migrants last year. Based on the daily circles of the three victims, it could be ruled out that they were taken to the countryside to be killed. The crime scene was definitely within the designated area. This made Eric Carter think of a problem: how did the killer deal with the large amount of blood produced during the dismemberment?

Most of the family compounds and apartment buildings in the designated area were early constructions, with several households sharing kitchens and bathrooms. So, the killer’s ability to use the sewer to dispose of blood was limited, and it would be very easy for someone to notice. If John Lee really was the killer, this doubt could be explained—he was a butcher at a food company and often brought bloody pig organs home to process. Even if he mixed chopped human flesh in with them, no one would notice.

But what if John Lee wasn’t the killer? Then the boiler room could also be a perfect crime scene. Bloodstains on the coal piles wouldn’t be obvious, and they could be burned away quickly. Of course, if the boiler room was the crime scene, another condition had to be met: the boiler room had to be semi-closed, with very few outsiders coming and going.

Eric Carter asked the old worker with some curiosity, “In winter, we came here before, but didn’t see any smoke coming from your courtyard’s chimney?”

“In winter? In winter, our popsicle factory shuts down. The cold storage is rented out to other units, so the boiler room isn’t running.” As the old worker spoke, he turned to add more coal. The moment he hooked open the furnace lid with iron tongs, a wave of heat rushed out.

With a “bang,” the furnace lid was closed, and somehow, a lot of dust started swirling around the boiler room.

Brian Howard was made quite uncomfortable by the sudden cold and heat, and as he patted the dust off himself, he cursed, “Damn, this really isn’t a place for people.”

That was a bit insulting, but the old worker, with his good temper, didn’t say anything. Still, Eric Carter keenly caught a trace of anger in his eyes.

Eric Carter smiled and said, “Sir, not many people come to the boiler room usually, right?”

A strange emotion flashed in the old worker’s eyes. Then he lowered his head and continued shoveling coal, replying casually, “Not really, there’s always someone coming by.” He was very meticulous, arranging the outer coal pieces neatly, not even allowing tiny bits of coal to fall outside the pile.

Watching his actions, Eric Carter’s eyes narrowed slightly. This was a sign of obsessive-compulsive behavior. People like this often had some psychological issues, though that didn’t mean they were mentally ill.

After leaving the popsicle factory, Scott Dawson was a bit dissatisfied with Brian Howard’s earlier embarrassing remark and said, “The old man is dedicated, working hard in the toughest position. Commissar, isn’t this what you always call dedication to one’s job?”

Eric Carter smiled distractedly, his mind elsewhere.

He was thinking about this old worker surnamed Miller. Before the Spring Festival, when the special task force searched this area house by house, the boiler room was shut down for the season. So, when he started to suspect the boiler worker, he hadn’t paid attention to this boiler room. Now, however, the boiler room and Master Miller had suddenly come into his view, causing many of his previous case analyses to change.