North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws
Chapter 111 - 100 Suspect_1

Chapter 111: Chapter 100 Suspect_1

The prison housing the former school doctor, Deren, was an old public facility called Harper Prison, located in the suburbs of Los Angeles. The surroundings were desolate.

On the road, Dean and his companion saw quite a few people on horseback pass by. This was truly the countryside.

These kinds of public prisons were no longer popular. Most only cost the government money, as their revenue was often outstripped by operating costs, making them a burden.

By contrast, private prisons were not only less hassle and more efficient but also generated revenue, provided ample job opportunities, and supplied the market with cheap goods. When compared, even a fool would know which to choose.

The prison housing Deren had been preserved until now solely because it was surrounded by farmland. To a certain extent, it was self-sufficient and capable of generating some profit through farming and operating sewing machines. However, the prison environment left much to be desired.

"This is Harper Prison?" Harry asked, surprised as he looked at the decrepit, yellowing concrete building before him. The prison perimeter was enclosed by a barbed-wire fence. Despite signs warning of high voltage, a yellow dog shamelessly rubbed against the wire mesh, then lifted its hind leg to mark its territory before leaving, contented. Harry figured that with just a soup spoon, he could escape in no more than six months.

"The sign says this is it," Dean said, unsurprised. According to information from Daisy, Harper Prison, to save on expenses, employed only four guards who rotated day and night shifts in pairs. The inmate count had also been decreasing annually, currently at just over eighty. Everything, including meals, was handled entirely by the inmates themselves. Truly a model of stringent budgeting.

Harry said, "...So, it’s possible Deren could have escaped from here, committed the crime, and then returned."

Dean nodded, patting the rust-covered iron gate. The ancient, rusty gate let out a harsh CREAK.

A sleepy-eyed white prison guard popped his head out of an upstairs window. "Hey, it’s not visiting hours today! Get outta here!"

"I’m Detective Dean from the Los Angeles Police Department," Dean said, taking out his detective badge. "I’m here to inquire about an inmate."

"What?"

Unsure if the guard hadn’t heard clearly or was feigning ignorance, Dean had no choice but to repeat himself.

A moment later, a portly white prison guard, puffing and panting, emerged from an office, opened the iron gate, and ushered the two inside. He seemed to live quite comfortably there, albeit a bit dim-witted. After confirming Dean’s and Harry’s identities, he silently led them upstairs without introducing himself.

The environment resembled an old apartment building. Though run-down, it was divided into three levels: an entrance reception area, a cellblock combined with a recreational work area, and a kitchen and logistics area. Dean and Harry were currently in the entrance reception area. On the other side of the building was an open recreational yard, about the size of two soccer fields, and beyond that, the ground-level cell block. Dean noticed many surveillance cameras over there. A Black prison guard, shouldering a rifle, sat smoking in a watchtower, looking very relaxed.

Upon entering the office, as the door opened, a strange odor assaulted them. It reeked like a boys’ dormitory occupied by a dozen residents, littered with toilet paper and left uncleaned for a month.

Harry couldn’t help but cover his nose. "Buddy, you really should air this place out more often," he remarked. "By the way, I’m Harry. What’s your name, buddy?"

"Huh?" The white prison guard blinked, then said with a goofy grin, "Heh, I’m Earl. I’m the day shift Keeper. They say I’m slow, so I mostly handle reception and do odd jobs around here."

Harry: "..."

Dean: "..."

Okay, he really doesn’t seem very bright, Dean thought.

Seeing this, Dean took the initiative. "We’re here to ask about Deren Haas. Could you tell us a bit about him?"

"Deren?" Earl nodded. "Sure. What do you want to know?"

"How’s his general behavior?"

"Pretty good. The inmates here get along quite well; there’s never even been a fight."

"Does he get many visitors?"

"Visitors?" Earl pondered for a moment, then said hesitantly, "His son and wife visit him every month. They bring some money and other things, since supplies here are pretty scarce."

Harry asked in surprise, "You have a store here?" It wasn’t that he was surprised prisons could sell things, but that such a dilapidated place would actually have an operating store.

"No store," Earl said, smiling somewhat sheepishly. "But if they want something, we can help them buy it. We charge a little extra as a service fee."

The inmates received wages, and their families would occasionally send support. The guards’ income wasn’t high, so earning a little extra as a service fee was an unspoken rule.

While Harry and Earl spoke, Dean silently assessed Earl. His intelligence really does seem questionable, Dean mused. While they sat, Earl stood like a child being questioned by a parent, head bowed, answering meekly and only when spoken to.

"Earl, have you ever seen Deren’s mother visit?" Dean suddenly asked.

Earl shook his head. "On my shifts, I’ve only ever seen his son and wife come. Never anyone else."

"Alright. Can you ask Deren to come here?"

"No problem. I’ll go tell Carnif," Earl said, pointing to the Black prison guard in the watchtower outside. "He’s my partner; we’re always on the day shift together."

After Earl left, Harry finally couldn’t hold back. "Dean, don’t you think there’s something off about that guy? He makes me feel like I’m back in school, only this time I’m the teacher, and he’s the timid student."

"His IQ is fine. He’s just not confident and lacks experience interacting with outsiders," Dean said, pointing to his own ear. "Haven’t you noticed he tilts his head when he listens to us speak?"

"What do you mean?"

"His right ear probably has some hearing impairment. He’s likely afraid of being discriminated against, so he doesn’t wear a hearing aid. That’s why he subconsciously tilts his head."

Harry looked at Dean with admiration. "Dean, the longer I know you, the more I realize you’re like the ocean—deep and unfathomable. Your knowledge is as vast as the clouds in the sky—immense and expansive..."

Being subjected to such shameless flattery from another man was a bit much, even for Dean.

Dean pointed to a table near the window. "Harry, you’re exaggerating. I just saw the hearing aid on the table."

Harry: "..."

He’d practiced his poetic praises all night, only to have them shot down the moment he tried them out.

To ease the awkwardness, Harry sauntered over to Earl’s desk, feigning interest as he picked up the hearing aid and examined it. "Well, this thing does look pretty ugly. Wearing it would definitely make someone prone to discrimination. If only it looked like an earbud or something... Huh?"

Suddenly, as if he’d discovered a new continent, Harry pulled open Earl’s drawer and pinched out a pair of pink lace tights. They were covered in dried, yellowish stains. Both men instantly knew what they were looking at.

Harry, disgusted, tossed them back into the drawer. "He actually jerks off in the office? What a loser!" he said, his face contorted. "I just hope those aren’t stolen from some old lady!"

"Probably left behind by a female visitor," Dean chuckled, pointing to a corner of the desk. "Some visiting couples need to... satisfy certain urges. This office is the most secluded spot around here."

Harry looked down and saw several used condoms stuffed there, uncleaned...

He was speechless. This damn place doesn’t even have a conjugal visit room!

After about ten minutes, Earl returned alone, a look of shame on his face. "Sorry, Deren doesn’t want to see you. Carnif is covering for him. He said if you want to see Deren, the detective bureau needs to send us an official summons request."

"Fuck!" Harry cursed under his breath, then said helplessly, "Dean, it looks like Deren has been generously lining Carnif’s pockets."

It was rare for prison guards to obstruct them by rigidly adhering to procedures just to be difficult.

Dean also frowned. He asked Earl, "Do you have surveillance cameras installed in the cell areas?"

"Yes, it’s a requirement from higher-ups, and it helps with management. Plus, someone comes every week to randomly check the surveillance footage to prevent inmates from colluding with guards to leave the premises."

"I want to see Deren’s recent footage."

"No problem."

Earl led them to another room on the same floor. It contained twenty monitors, half displaying views of the cellblock areas and the other half showing inmate recreational areas.

Upon review, Deren had been continuously in prison around December. He had been behaving himself and working diligently, the very picture of a reformed man. Dean also noticed that most of the inmates in this prison were middle-aged or elderly, in their forties and fifties. No wonder Earl said it was peaceful here, Dean thought. After all, if these inmates were released, their lives outside might not be any more comfortable than in prison.

For now, they could rule out the possibility that Deren himself had escaped to commit the crime. Dean, however, was growing suspicious of Carnif. Harry was right; the Black prison guard was indeed protecting Deren. He had, in all likelihood, accepted bribes from Deren.

Moreover, Earl had said that he and Carnif were always on the day shift, while Howard had been attacked at ten o’clock at night. Carnif had the opportunity!

With this in mind, Dean probed, "By the way, Earl, do you know Carnif well? What’s his relationship with the inmates like?"

Earl hesitated, seemingly afraid of something. Dean gave Harry a subtle glance. Harry instantly understood. He stepped forward and put an arm around Earl’s shoulders. "Buddy, it’s just us here, and we’ll be leaving soon. You can say whatever’s on your mind. Surely you’re not scared of that Carnif guy, are you?"

"I’m not scared of him!" Earl declared, looking up angrily, his face flushing slightly before he lowered his head again. "But he is really aggressive. He extorts the inmates. Whenever someone receives a package, he keeps some of it for himself. I don’t like him, so we barely talk."

"Alright. Thanks, Earl. If Carnif asks, just tell him we were asking about who visits Deren, okay?" Dean said, patting Earl’s shoulder gratefully.

Earl seemed unaccustomed to such kind treatment. He escorted them all the way out of the prison. As they parted, he even asked if they would visit again, appearing quite reluctant to see them go...

In the car, Harry took out his phone and began making a series of calls. Dean quickly witnessed the extent of his network.

Just three minutes later, Harry received the information he needed. He turned to Dean, energized. "A friend of a friend of mine lives in the same town as Carnif. He says Carnif has an autistic son who requires frequent, professional psychological treatment, so they’ve always been scraping by. But six months ago, Carnif’s wife took their son to New York to consult a very well-known psychologist. That kind of consultation isn’t cheap—it’s once a month, and each session costs over 10,000 US dollars. Add in travel and accommodation, and in just six months, Carnif’s wife has spent at least 70,000 to 80,000 US dollars on their son!"

Although Harry admired Carnif for being a rare family man among Black men, he bluntly stated his suspicion: "Where would a broke-ass prison guard like Carnif get that kind of money? He’s a prime suspect!"