Chapter 3: A Visit

Jordan sat in an office the police station had set aside for him, reviewing the bank robbery case.

The witnesses included bank employees, security guards, ordinary citizens, and the surviving robber. More than twenty statements all agreed, with no apparent gaps.

The crime scene had been cleaned up and the bank had reopened, but photographs recorded every bullet impact and where the two bodies had fallen. The three guns lay in evidence bags in front of Jordan.

None of this proved anything, though. Jordan had pinned all his hopes on the surveillance footage, the most direct evidence in the case. If there was a crack in the story, it would have to be in that recording.

Jordan watched the video over and over, especially those crucial forty-nine seconds…

…

March 14, ten in the morning.

Tom was sitting at home watching the dull television news. His policy of staying indoors and keeping his mouth shut had met with some success. Reports about him were disappearing from the media. People seemed to have quickly found new things to talk about, and the reporters had given up in the face of his resistance. There were noticeably fewer phone messages and unwelcome knocks at the door.

Suddenly, Tom turned his head. He stared at the living room wall in the direction of his front door, his gaze fixed as though he could see right through it. Leaning forward, he rose quickly without a sound, then slowly approached a cabinet. A loaded handgun lay in one of its drawers.

This was his five-meter rule. Wherever Tom was in the house, there had to be a weapon within five meters. If necessary, even while sitting on the toilet reading the paper, he could have a weapon in hand and be ready to kill within three seconds.

Knock, knock. Two short, firm knocks sounded at the door.

Tom hadn't expected the person outside to knock. He knew it wasn't a reporter—an almost instinctive judgment.

In the end, though, Tom left the weapon alone. He simply went to the door and called out in his usual voice, “Sorry, I'm not giving interviews.”

“I'm not a reporter. I'd like to ask you some questions about the case on behalf of the police. I hope you'll assist with the investigation,” Jordan said.

Tom opened the door. “May I see your identification?”

“Of course.” Jordan showed his credentials, but instead of a Maple Leaf Commandery police badge, he produced HL's diamond-shaped star-orbit badge. “Hello, I'm Gary Jordan. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stall.”

“Hello, um… sir.” Tom gave the response expected of an ordinary civilian, a little surprise and confusion showing on his face.

“May I come in?”

“Uh, of course. Please come in, sir.”

“No need to be so formal. You can call me Gary.” Jordan entered the house.

Tom closed the door and replied, “I'd prefer to call you Mr. Jordan. Please, have a seat in the living room.” He led his visitor inside. “Please sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

Jordan's eyes swept over Tom's home as he replied absently, “Just some tea will do.”

As Tom prepared the tea, he said very politely, “Please forgive my initial rudeness. There have been so many reporters these past few days. A few even tried to get in by pretending to be police officers. I imagine they all had hidden cameras on them.”

“I don't mind,” Jordan replied.

Tom brought the tea over and sat in the chair opposite Jordan. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Jordan stopped surveying the room and rested his gaze on Tom's face.

“Um… what would you like to ask, sir? Is the case serious enough to involve HL?” Tom asked.

Jordan left the tea untouched on the table. He stared into Tom's eyes, searching for something, but however closely he looked, he saw only an unremarkable office worker.

“My rank of second lieutenant in HL is purely nominal. It gives me the credentials I need to get things done. My actual position, to be precise, is senior adviser to a certain nobleman. And I've come here at his lordship's request.”

At the words “a certain nobleman,” Tom looked a little startled. After a two-second pause, he asked, “But didn't you just say you were asking me on behalf of the police…”

Jordan had no desire to waste time on such questions. He cut him off brusquely. “Mr. Stall, how much do you know about the Gilson family?”

Tom put on a completely bewildered look and seemed to give the question some serious thought. “Um… I'm sorry, this is the first time I've heard that name.”

Jordan continued, “Oh. Well, Mr. Stall, I understand you moved to this city seven years ago. Where did you live before that? I'd very much like to know. Please be as specific as you can.”

Tom hesitated for a while before answering. “I was born on a fishing boat. I grew up fishing with my father and uncles, until a storm took everything except my life. After that, I went into a youth shelter and received an education. I worked a few different jobs after graduating from high school, then made my way here from Northern Europe seven years ago and settled in Maple Leaf Commandery.” Tom paused. “It's all on record. You should be able to find it in my file.”

All this time, Jordan had kept his eyes fixed on Tom's, but he still saw nothing. There were no unusual shifts in emotion, no signs of lying.

Of course Jordan had checked Tom's background. He practically knew it by heart. He simply wanted to hear it again from the man himself and see whether anything differed.

“About the bank robbery on March 10…” Jordan abruptly changed the subject and took a pvp670 from his jacket pocket. “This is the surveillance footage. There are a few things I'd like to ask you about.”

“Whew… Mr. Jordan, I have to say, I'd rather not watch that. Even now, remembering what happened still frightens me.” Tom leaned back, looking tense.

“I'm afraid you'll have to overcome that fear, Mr. Stall.” Jordan started the video.

The clip he had selected began when the robbers rushed into the bank and ended with two dead and one wounded, all three unable to offer further resistance. It lasted four minutes.

Tom's expression changed several times as he watched, even showing a little fear. When it finished, he let out another long breath. “That really was terrifying, wasn't it?”

Jordan swiped a finger across the touchscreen, moving the progress bar back a little, and began, “According to the police investigation, the robber with the handgun was the leader of the three. He had a record of violent crime and knew what he was doing. Look, when they first entered the bank, he was the one who fired at the ceiling. Those two bullets were well spent. He knew how to take control of the situation.

“The other two were much less competent. They were shouting because they were extremely nervous, their adrenaline surging. All that excitement naturally needed an outlet, and the crying boy happened to anger one of the robbers just as he was losing control.”

Jordan dragged the progress bar again. “Have you ever served in the military?”

Tom shook his head. “Never.”

Jordan pointed at the screen. “I noticed that when the shots rang out, almost everyone in the banking hall instinctively bent over, ducked, covered their heads, hunched their shoulders, or screamed. But in that instant, you dropped to one knee and found the nearest cover between you and the source of the gunfire—a pillar in the banking hall. You crouched behind it and immediately began surveying your surroundings.”

“What? No, Mr. Jordan, I didn't do that.” Tom pointed at the image on the pvp670. “Look, I ducked and hid just like everyone else.”

In fact, the area behind that pillar was a blind spot for the surveillance camera. The footage did show Tom curling up and taking shelter behind it, but once he disappeared from view, no one could know whether he was trembling with his hands over his head or crouching there watching everything around him.

Jordan believed Tom had done the latter, but with the man flatly denying it, there was nothing he could say.

Jordan dragged the progress bar again. “And here, Mr. Stall. When you were wrestling with that robber on the floor, something puzzled me. Why did the two of you suddenly stand up when the other two robbers came closer?”

Tom said, “Um… all I could think to do was hold on to him from behind, gripping the shotgun barrel with both hands as hard as I could. He tried to hit me with the back of his head and his elbows, so I tried to dodge him, and we started struggling. Somehow we ended up on our feet. Maybe his legs were strong enough to push us both up.”

Jordan said, “And once you were standing, his body happened to be between you and his accomplices, preventing the other two from shooting. Is that right?”

Tom replied, “Yes. Then he tried to turn around by brute force and throw me off, or at least put me in the line of his accomplices' guns. But halfway around, the shotgun went off.”

“And just happened to blow half his accomplice's head off,” Jordan added.

“Yes, that really was horrible,” Tom said with feeling.

His expression unreadable, Jordan pointed at the video again. “After the shot, that robber let go of the barrel. I imagine it was too hot.” He abruptly asked, “But why didn't you let go?”

Tom said, “I didn't notice until afterward, either. Look, my left hand really was injured.” He held out his left hand. There were indeed burn marks on the palm. “Perhaps I was so frightened that I didn't even notice the pain.”

Jordan thought, There's no record of a minor injury like this. If he deliberately burned himself holding a light tube at home sometime these past few days, no one would know. He really has covered everything…

Jordan went on, “Then the robber with the handgun shot his accomplice, and because the man you were struggling with suddenly let go of the barrel, you had nothing to pull against and fell backward.” He pointed at the image. “You were very lucky. A second later and you could easily have been hit. It's almost as though… you dodged the bullet.”

Tom said, “I didn't know that at the time. With all those shots going off one after another, I was terrified… I'd only meant to use the gun I'd taken to subdue the robber with the handgun, but he kept shooting and I panicked. So I fired.”

“And just happened to blow off one of his legs… Is that right?” Jordan said.

Tom said, “Yes, that's what happened. The police chief already asked me all of this when I gave my statement.”

Jordan smiled and stood, apparently ready to leave. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Stall. I think I've asked enough questions. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Not at all, sir. If you need anything, feel free to come and see me anytime.” Tom arranged that frightening, cold-blooded killer's face of his into an obliging smile.

Tom escorted the second lieutenant all the way to the door. Just as he was about to close it, Jordan turned back. “Oh, Mr. Stall, have you ever heard this name? Or rather, this codename.”

“What is it?”

“Gambling Snake.”

“No, I've never heard of it. What's that? A clothing brand? A brand of gambling equipment?”

“Heh…” Jordan chuckled. “Goodbye, Mr. Stall.”

The door closed, and both men's expressions changed.

Jordan was no longer smiling.

Tom, however, smiled coldly.

He murmured to himself, “Trying to be clever and only alerting the snake, are you…”