Of course, in this country, not to mention a federal congressman, even a city council member cannot be easily moved. The FBI only "politely" asked him to go back to assist in the investigation.
Of course, this did not prevent the major news media from getting involved. Frank might be invited by a beautiful reporter to spend the night with him tonight.
Jack had no interest in investigating the corruption of city council members, and Dana Moger would not really waste her capable people on such a protracted investigation that would not produce any results in two or three years.
There were other FBI agents waiting to pick people up downstairs in the NYPD police station building. Jack waved goodbye to his female boss and turned to look for Danny.
Initially, he just wanted to help CSI, but now things have become more and more complicated. He just wants to get rid of Dick Reed as soon as possible, and then go to Virginia Beach to have a beer with Jason Hayes.
Walking into the detective's office, Danny was cursing and rummaging through a pile of cardboard boxes, searching for clues. These were letters collected from prison. His partner, Jackie, was beside him, typing in names on a computer, searching for the recipients.
"Whoever wrote these things is a jerk. They can't even spell the words right. As expected, idiots and perverts attract each other."
"Anything?" Jack regretted his decision the moment he entered. This guy wasn't the type to be patient. It looked like he was going to be drafted.
Sure enough, Danny's face lit up with a smile the moment he saw him, as if he had been pardoned. "It's great you came. I'm short on help here."
Jack sighed, stepped forward, and pushed him aside. "Go get us some good coffee and food. We don't need you here anymore."
Seeing him scurry off, Jackie smiled and offered Jack a handshake in gratitude.
After working hard until the afternoon, they finally made a discovery. Jack pulled Danny in front of the computer, pointed to a photo in the electronic file and asked, "Remember this fat guy? His name is Hugh Staton."
Danny nodded, "We've met him before at the Loser Bus Stop. He was one of the stupid fans who came to pick up Dick Reed from prison. I remember there was another idiot with him."
Jack patted Jackie on the shoulder, and the latter immediately pulled up another person's information, "There's another idiot named James Richard. They mentioned in two fan letters that they created a private website for Dick Reed called 'Lucky Bayonet'."
Jackie had already pulled up the website while speaking, "A chat room with a serial killer theme."
There were also various crime scene photos, some real or fake, some idiotic messages and several latest group photos on the website, which were photos of the two of them with Dick Reed at the station.
"Okay, I'll leave it to you guys," Jackie stretched. "I have other cases to deal with. Remember to tell me who the real copycat is when you get back."
Danny summoned two patrolmen, and the four of them rushed to an old Brooklyn apartment building and knocked on one of the doors.
It took a while before someone answered the door. A chubby, furry head appeared at the entrance. "What's up?"
"Officer, let us in," Danny flashed his badge.
The portly man, Hugh Staton, hesitated, glanced at the patrolmen behind him, and then resignedly stepped aside. Danny and Jack, holding their noses, entered the dimly lit room. Two patrolmen stood guard at the door.
It was a cramped, messy studio apartment. Aside from a bed, a computer desk, and a few display cases, there was almost no furniture. The rest of the space was cluttered with lifelike adult dolls, heads replaced with Iron Man helmets and Predator heads.
The walls were covered in homemade posters of various serial killers, including Dick Reed. A rope hung from the ceiling, clipped to it were various gory crime scene photos. It was unclear where the guy had gotten them.
"You have a unique aesthetic," Danny quipped.
"Thanks for the compliment," the fat man replied, flopping down on the grimy bed. His eyes darted everywhere, darting to look him in the face.
"A woman was attacked in Columbia Park last evening. Did you have anything to do with that?" Danny grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to look him in the face.
The fat man's roar startled everyone, and the two patrolmen standing at the door dropped their hands to their pistols.
"Please, I don't like physical contact. I'm a collector. I didn't do that," the fat man yelled, closing his eyes. Then, peeking a little, he pleaded, "Can you please let me go?" Danny
Let go of his hand, a little grimly. "You'll get used to it once you're in prison. Someone as delicate as you is really popular."
Fatty Hugh Staton's face paled with fear. "I swear, it wasn't me."
"What's with that website called 'Lucky Bayonet'?" Jack couldn't help but notice a strange smell lingering in his nostrils. It wasn't until he saw a pile of film developing reagents in the bathroom, which he had converted into a darkroom.
"That's my website, but it's not about worshipping crime. It's about satire on society." The guy, apparently understanding why the police had come to him, quickly argued.
"The topic might also be about idiocy. Where were you from 3:00 to 5:00 yesterday afternoon?" Danny continued to inquire.
"Home. If you don't believe me, you can check my computer. I was in the suicide chat room all day yesterday, until late at night." The fat man became excited again.
"Suicide chat room? There's such a thing?" Danny was amazed. Jack turned on his computer and began to check the website's backend. While he didn't have any amazing hacking skills, he was no problem with some basic software. Anyone who can play games has some tricks up their sleeves.
"I don't expect you ordinary people to understand us," the fat man said with a look of extraordinary grace.
"Who knows if it was you or a dog sitting in front of the computer last night? That's not much of an alibi."
Although Danny argued with him, he didn't get any more information. Instead, Jack made a discovery: he found a pile of pre-uploaded photos in a paid post on the website that had administrator privileges but hadn't yet been officially published.
"Danny, this is the victim from yesterday."
They were a series of close-up photos of a girl with two bloody scratches on her cheek, unconscious in the bathroom. There were over twenty of them in total.
"Looks like you really did it! Stand up, you fat pig!" Danny yanked him off the bed.
"No, it wasn't me! Let me explain!" Fat Hugh Staton shook his head frantically, not daring to struggle. He watched helplessly as a patrol officer approached and handcuffed him, trembling with fear.
"It was James Richard! I was just helping him upload the photos. It really wasn't me!"
"Show me the evidence! I don't want to hear any more of your nonsense." Danny's eyes gleamed with murderous intent.
Fat Hugh Staton instinctively clamped his legs together, his speech accelerating. "He's the real Reed fanatic. He told Reed he'd do anything for him, including making a noise to distract him when you cops were watching him."
"Wait, you've seen Reed? When? Where?" Jack sensed something was wrong.
Dick Reed was under 24-hour NYPD surveillance. Danny had even visited him last night to check on him. According to the detectives stationed outside his mother's house, he hadn't been out for at least three days.
"Late last night, in a dive bar in Flushing, I swear I heard them both say that myself," fat Hugh Stayton assured.
A dive bar has nothing to do with diving; it's a small, cheap bar with no food, just some drinks. It's usually located in a secluded, secluded area.
The two men exchanged a glance, turned, and walked away. Danny instructed the two officers, "Take him back to give a statement. Issue a wanted notice for James Richard."