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Chapter 42: You Might as Well Scold Me
Wenner couldn't understand the reasoning, but he chose to trust Theodore's judgment.
Cahill cooperated enthusiastically, providing all the manpower they needed.
Sam's personnel file was quickly retrieved, showing he'd previously served as a patrol officer on Petroleum Street.
Petroleum Street was a suburban route with an expansive patrol area, where Felton's first oil well had been drilled.
Three-quarters of the patrol zone was abandoned wasteland, with less than a quarter still inhabited.
The arrival of police cars brought noise back to this forgotten stretch of road.
Wenner and Cahill personally supervised the operation while detectives spread out in an organized sweep.
This time, the two departments worked in harmony, Cahill willingly took a supporting role, helping Wenner allocate police resources efficiently.
Just after 2 AM, with less than half the area searched, they found Carlos.
He bolted like a startled rabbit when he spotted the line of officers sweeping through the area, leaping toward what appeared to be a getaway car. Several burly detectives from the Homicide Team tackled him before he could reach it.
One of the officers shined his flashlight on the suspect, illuminating police badge number FD-H3-0217.
A large police badge hung from a metal chain around his neck like a medallion.
FD-H3-0217 was Sam's badge number.
Wearing a police badge as a necklace was also unique to the entire Homicide Team, their signature trademark.
The detective yanked off the badge, delivered a solid punch to Carlos's gut, then unleashed a stream of curses before hauling him over to Wenner.
Wenner glanced meaningfully at Theodore.
He couldn't help wondering if the Star News reports might actually be true.
But this wasn't the time to investigate that angle. They still had to find Sam.
With time running short, Wenner ordered an immediate field interrogation of Carlos to determine Sam's location, while the other detectives continued their search.
The two detectives who'd captured Carlos, partners named Stephens and Frank, both typical red-haired Texans built like linebackers, took the first crack at questioning him.
Their interrogation hit a wall immediately. Carlos showed obvious resistance to their aggressive approach.
After watching for several minutes, Wenner frowned and prepared to change tactics.
He instinctively looked toward Theodore, who was already eager to step in and immediately approached when he felt Wenner's gaze.
Theodore seemed almost excited as he suggested that Wenner conduct the interrogation personally, with Wenner taking the lead.
This request puzzled Wenner completely.
The last time he'd personally led an interrogation was seven or eight years ago, and he didn't consider himself superior to his excellent detectives.
Full of doubts, Wenner entered the makeshift interrogation room.
Due to space constraints, they'd set up shop in an abandoned house about the same size as the tool shed they'd seen at the oil field, four walls and no windows. Stephens and Frank stood guard over Carlos inside.
To Wenner's astonishment, after he entered and conducted a standard interrogation routine with just a few basic questions, Carlos began confessing voluntarily.
Carlos behaved like a rookie cadet suddenly encountering his commanding officer, nervous, excited, and displaying obvious admiration and respect.
This development shocked Wenner, and he found himself glancing frequently at Theodore.
He began to wonder if he was dreaming, if all the bizarre events of tonight were somehow unreal.
This was simply defying his decades of professional experience!
Theodore watched Carlos, who was growing increasingly agitated and respectful toward Wenner, and felt his own excitement building.
This case was unfolding like a textbook example, every detail perfectly matching the profile of a serial killer.
He was already eager to document this case for future use when promoting profiling techniques.
It was simply too perfect!
Carlos quickly revealed Sam's location: in the police car half a mile away.
Patrol officers were supposed to avoid single-person assignments while on duty, that was standard Patrol Department policy.
New officers handled the actual patrolling while veteran officers caught some rest in the car. This arrangement was common practice during real shifts.
Detectives immediately converged on the coordinates Carlos had provided and quickly located a police car with someone inside.
Listening to the radio chatter, Theodore and the others breathed a collective sigh of relief.
But a few seconds later, the radio crackled with an update:
Sam was dead.
The celebratory mood died instantly, and silence fell like a curtain.
Everyone stared at each other, disbelief written across their faces.
Stephens reacted first, grabbing Carlos by the hair and hauling him upright before driving a fist into his stomach.
He was winding up for another blow when he caught sight of Wenner and reluctantly held back.
"I didn't kill him," Carlos gasped, clutching his abdomen and curling up on the ground like a wounded animal.
"I didn't kill him."
Theodore believed Carlos. Acting now wouldn't fit his 'identity' as Sam.
According to Carlos's confession, he'd only used alcohol combined with datura to control Sam, a traditional Mexican pain relief method.
Datura contained scopolamine, which could cause delirium, leaving victims disoriented but with relaxed muscles. This substance was the primary ingredient in so-called 'zombie drugs.'
Wenner remained unmoved by the confession. He left the makeshift interrogation room without a backward glance, instructing Frank and the other detective to "watch him carefully."
Theodore and Bernie left the building, deciding to examine the scene firsthand.
Sam was wearing an obviously counterfeit police uniform and had been laid out on the ground. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, but his facial expression was somewhat contorted.
Vomit stained his shirt and pants, and judging by the dried residue on his clothing, this likely wasn't his first episode.
Theodore carefully examined the interior of the car and quickly reached a conclusion.
Carlos had handcuffed Sam inside the vehicle and administered the traditional Mexican pain relief mixture. After Carlos left, Sam, who had a severe reaction to the scopolamine, began vomiting.
But the scopolamine had relaxed Sam's muscles to the point where he couldn't exert any force. He was unable to adjust his position at all and eventually suffocated on his own vomit, literally choked to death.
Of course, this was just Theodore's deduction based on his limited forensic knowledge and scene analysis. The specific cause of death would have to be confirmed by the coroner's autopsy report.
The next day, the forensic office delivered the autopsy report.
Many members of the Homicide Team had stayed awake all night waiting for the results.
The report's conclusion matched Theodore's deduction: Sam had asphyxiated on his own vomit.
This finding plunged the entire office into heavy silence.
Even more suffocating was that after Wenner quietly wrote the case number on the whiteboard, Sam's brother Jacob returned from his trip.
He was a man who looked exactly like Sam, yet you could immediately tell they were different people.
He projected confidence, cheerfulness, and sociability in a way that Sam never had.
Wenner called him into the office and closed the door.
Through the blinds, everyone could see that Jacob didn't seem to display any particular emotional reaction to the news.
After leaving the office, Jacob shook hands with everyone and thanked them personally. He also visited the Patrol Department to express his gratitude to everyone who had participated in the search for his brother.
That afternoon, Jacob approached Theodore to inquire about the specific details of the case.
He'd heard from others that Theodore and Bernie had initially been investigating, which led to the discovery that Sam had been kidnapped.
Jacob thanked both of them with genuine sincerity.
After listening to Theodore's detailed account, Jacob expressed his gratitude once again.
Jacob's unfailing politeness made Bernie uncomfortable, and he muttered under his breath, "I'd rather he just cursed me out instead."
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