Tijuana's climate is similar to Los Angeles, both coastal cities bordering the Pacific Ocean.
It was early summer in June, and even wearing a T-shirt during the day was too hot. The streets were filled with tourists wearing large sombreros and local vendors soliciting business.
Jack and Hannah wore short-sleeved T-shirts and sunglasses, with their police badges and sidearms tucked into their waistbands, openly displaying their identities.
In other countries, they would try to dress casually, or at least conceal their weapons to avoid offending the local population.
After all, while the United States is known as the world's police, not everyone wants to see foreign law enforcement officers on their soil, especially in countries with painful memories of colonial rule.
Mexico, however, is a different story. Drug traffickers roam freely in the streets, while police, on the other hand, are expected to remain discreet, even wearing black masks during crime scene investigations.
As early as the 1970s, the United States repeatedly deployed law enforcement forces and even the military to help combat drug traffickers in several South American countries, including Mexico.
"I thought only police and military personnel like you, who specialize in dealing with drug cartels, would worry about being discovered." Hannah pushed open the car door and looked at the Mexican federal police, still dressed head to toe in black under the scorching sun.
After leaving the medical examiner's office, they headed straight for Plaza Delgado, where the crime had occurred. Jubal and Clay were already waiting for them.
"Any case here has a potential connection to the drug cartels," Jack reminded him. "Did you forget we just found cocaine residue under that child's fingernails?"
"But do drug traffickers in Mexico use sickles as a murder weapon?" Hannah feigned confusion.
"The only person I know of who uses a sickle as a weapon is the Grim Reaper, but if he did it, he wouldn't leave a wound; he'd just take the soul,"
Jack joked, noticing the familiar figure dressed as a Mexican SWAT officer, who was talking to Clay not far away.
"Is that you?" Recognizing him immediately, Jack didn't shout out his name. Instead, he took two quick steps closer and lowered his voice. "Lieutenant Lopez?" (Chapter 600)
"Jack!" The short, stocky man hugged Jack warmly, a firm one. "It's so nice to see you again."
Jack was delighted to see an old acquaintance just after arriving in Mexico, but more than anything, he was puzzled. "I thought you'd left the country."
While battling a drug cartel, Lopez's face had been recognized, leading to a bounty on his family's head.
After the case was concluded, the CIA provided him and his family with full identification documents and, through a process similar to witness protection, secured green cards for them.
Therefore, in Jack's mind, he should have long since started a new life in the United States.
"Now I work for CBP. They need someone with deep knowledge of the drug cartels. Now my family and I live in San Diego. We no longer have to live in fear."
Tears welled in Lopez's eyes. Besides excitement, they were filled with gratitude to Jack.
If it weren't for the kindhearted FBI agent's help, the best outcome would have been for him to perish alongside that drug lord, Doza.
"Lopez is the CBP agent assigned to assist us, and he's also our liaison with the Mexican police," Clay, who had just chatted with Lopez, explained.
"I'm glad to see you're still contributing to your country in this way." Jack's words resonated deeply with Lopez, and even through his mask, his happiness was palpable.
"Please follow me." After Jack finished briefly introducing Hannah, Lopez, a former Mexican Marine lieutenant and current CBP agent, gestured for them to come under a large tree near the square.
The area was already tightly packed with locals and tourists eager to see the action. Mexican special police wearing bulletproof vests and black masks were diligently maintaining a cordon.
"The owner of the shop next door found the body this morning when he opened it," Lopez said, pointing to the hemp rope still hanging from the branch.
Seeing everyone's attention drawn to the crowd outside the cordon, he explained knowingly, "This is considered a tourist area, and the security is usually pretty good. At least there haven't been cases of
bodies being hung for public display like this." Hannah removed her sunglasses and squinted at the canopy of the tree, which was over ten meters tall. "Since it's so bustling here, didn't anyone see how the body was hung?"
"Even the bustling market square is deserted between dawn and dawn. That's not the time when good people hang out."
Lopez gestured to the souvenir shops behind the tree. "Before you came, I checked with the nearby businesses, and the gangs here are relatively well-behaved.
As long as you pay enough protection money, they're happy to maintain order. After all, their illegal businesses need enough tourists to survive."
While Tijuana also has beautiful sunshine and beaches, California has more than enough of that.
American tourists flock to this city, not only for the low prices and the alcohol that attracts teenagers, but also for the red-light district and drug scene.
Therefore, local gangs and drug cartels have a tacit understanding of staying away from tourist areas. Even when fighting for territory, they try to choose other places. Of course, this is only under normal circumstances.
Jubal and Jack, who had just lagged behind, whispered about the autopsy results and now walked over together.
"Since the killer took advantage of this, it means he's familiar with the surrounding area and may even live nearby."
Jack looked down at the ground. "But it's obvious that this isn't the primary crime scene. The victim's carotid artery was severed, and blood would have splattered everywhere.
But there were only a few drops under the tree, indicating that the body was almost completely drained before being hung from the tree."
Clay was concerned about another aspect. "Aren't you curious how the killer managed all this? It's difficult for one person to lift a body this high."
As he spoke, Hannah easily climbed up the trunk to the canopy. Hearing this, she looked down at the crowd. "What did you say?"
"..."
"Pretend I didn't say anything," Clay shrugged speechlessly.
"She's a Texas girl," Jack whispered, smiling and giving Hannah a thumbs-up.
(End of this chapter)