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Chapter 66: The Way Back
Paul Anderson confessed with remarkable speed.
His boss was named Johnson.
Full name? Unknown.
Age? Unclear.
He possessed a thin build and suffered from skin ulcers.
He maintained a long-term rental of Room 208 at the Blue Parrot Motel.
Paul Anderson described their 'business' operational model in detail.
Johnson would station people outside banks to target those who failed to secure loans, treating them as potential clients.
Besides evaluating collateral, banks also assessed borrowers' repayment capacity. If either criterion failed to meet standards, loan approval was denied.
Johnson's operation required no such complications; he provided interest-free loans.
It didn't matter if clients couldn't repay; he could employ violent debt collection, force clients to work for him, or demand 'physical compensation.'
In reality, rather than having clients repay their debts, Johnson preferred it when they couldn't.
Cynthia exemplified this perfectly.
David Moore had been paralysed for over a decade. They had sold everything they could from their home; the only remaining asset was their property.
That neighbourhood represented a mid-to-high-end community in the West District, with property values exceeding $8,000, which equalled Bernie's salary for two full years.
Recently, as Bernie's reputation had grown, the Moore family's property had continued to appreciate in value.
Originally, following normal circumstances, the Moore family would eventually have been forced to sell their property as collateral due to their inability to repay the loan.
But then David Moore had suddenly died.
To prevent the valuable property from slipping away, Johnson had instructed his two subordinates to kidnap Donald Moore, thereby forcing Cynthia to transfer the property directly.
They had executed this scheme many times before and were thoroughly familiar with the process.
Unexpectedly, Little Sullivan had appeared halfway through...
Paul Anderson's testimony helped police confirm Johnson's existence while validating Theodore's psychological profile.
His interrogation had been successful.
But it was also a failure.
The police still didn't know Johnson's true identity.
Boxes upon boxes of documents continued to be moved into the main office, and detectives' hands flipped through files so rapidly that they became mere blurs.
Records concerning Johnson remained elusive.
Johnson seemed to have become a phantom; the only proof of his existence was Room 208.
Inside the interrogation room, Theodore's entire attention focused on that single room.
He kept asking questions centred around Room 208, rushing frantically between the three interrogation rooms like a man possessed.
The superiors observing the interrogation exchanged uncertain glances, debating whether to intervene.
The Senior Police Supervisor had already summoned Violent Crimes Unit detectives to receive standby instructions.
While they discussed options, Theodore burst from the interrogation room again.
This time, he entered no other room but directly called to Bernie and sprinted toward the exit.
"Blue Parrot Motel! Now!"
Bernie trusted him implicitly and didn't hesitate, grabbing the car keys and rushing out behind him.
Time was critical, and Theodore spoke rapidly: "Please have all police units around the Blue Parrot Motel withdraw immediately."
"Why, "
"He's going back!" Theodore glanced at his watch and answered urgently. "Johnson doesn't have his medication with him; his drugs were left in Room 208 at the Blue Parrot Motel."
"He will definitely return for his medication!"
"Johnson has developed a severe dependence on amphetamines."
Even calculating from the moment he'd taken Little Sullivan, it had already been five hours since his last dose.
This was precisely when long-term users began experiencing withdrawal symptoms.
The Senior Police Supervisor raised a logical objection: "He could have his subordinates purchase it for him, or buy it directly from a pharmacy."
Although amphetamines were prescription drugs, enforcement wasn't particularly strict.
"No, he won't," Theodore denied firmly. "After recognising Carl Sullivan, he immediately decided to abandon his two subordinates and use them to delay our investigation."
"He doesn't trust his subordinates. He only trusts himself."
"He can't be certain his subordinates won't betray him."
"He's worried about being recognised, so he definitely won't risk buying it himself."
Chief Weideke waved his hand, and Cahill immediately departed to order a cordon around the Blue Parrot Motel.
Theodore attempted to accompany Bernie to the scene but was intercepted by the Senior Police Supervisor.
Councillor Santos hesitated momentarily, then actually ran out with them.
Chief Weideke delegated command to Deputy Inspector Burton, who had remained virtually invisible all evening, and turned to Theodore with a fresh question.
"Why would he return to the Blue Parrot Motel specifically?"
Theodore answered without hesitation: "Johnson maintained Room 208 as a long-term rental."
"They exchanged hostages in Room 208, intimidated clients, practised usury... That room serves as this criminal organisation's stronghold."
"Room 208 represents a safe haven in Johnson's mind; he feels completely secure conducting any business there."
"Under the combined effects of withdrawal symptoms and desperate thinking, returning to Room 208 feels like going home to him."
After a pause, Theodore added: "Moreover, we typically exercise less stringent control over scenes that have already been processed."
The assembled group exchanged glances, finding Theodore's analysis somewhat far-fetched, resembling forced interpretation.
But considering his previous case-solving record and the remarkable performance they'd just witnessed, no one challenged him immediately.
After a brief silence, commotion erupted in the main office. Soon, critical information was delivered.
Opening the document revealed a criminal record.
Johnson Lawson, white male, 43 years old, owner of the Blue Parrot Motel, previously convicted of extortion, violent assault, endangering public safety, illegal possession of prohibited substances... an extensive list of convictions.
The judge, who had remained idle, immediately opened his document case and began signing search warrants in rapid succession.
Teams of detectives rushed toward Johnson's possible hiding locations.
Theodore observed the constant stream of departing police cars through the window and said nothing.
Johnson had forced half a bottle of whiskey down Little Sullivan's throat, and the child had finally quieted.
After driving briefly, he yawned. Withdrawal symptoms were beginning to manifest gradually.
Johnson recognised this feeling intimately; he fumbled around extensively before remembering his medication remained in Room 208.
He glanced at Little Sullivan slumped in the passenger seat, then restarted the car with trembling hands.
After driving a short distance, he nearly stopped before a pharmacy, but a night jogger emerging from the opposite direction startled him into fleeing.
Continuing further, the surrounding houses began to thin. Just as they approached the city limits, his withdrawal symptoms intensified dramatically.
His hands shook violently, making it nearly impossible to grip the steering wheel.
He experienced heart palpitations, as if his heart might burst from his chest.
Unbearable fatigue constantly eroded his willpower.
He considered contacting his subordinates to purchase and deliver medication, but then remembered the two men he'd abandoned and feared they would betray him.
He endured the discomfort and pressed forward.
Shortly after passing the sign reading "Now Leaving Felton, Safe Travels!" he encountered another marker:
"Welcome to Felton, The Heart of Texas Oil Country!"