科尔这些天忙得像台机器，眼睛熬得通红，手边堆满了地图、监控记录和卡尔的交易清单。他从卡尔名下的资产里筛出一家最常去的酒店——热带酒店。这地方在山区边缘，装修奢华，低调得像个藏宝窟。科尔盯着酒店的监控截图，低声对莱门斯说："卡尔每次来这儿带着明星开放，住顶层总统套房，这里肯定有猫腻。"莱门斯点点头，笑着说道："那就去瞧瞧。"
Cole had been as busy as a machine these days, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, his desk piled with maps, surveillance records, and Carl's transaction lists. He filtered out the hotel Carl visited most frequently from his assets—the Tropical Hotel. The place was at the edge of the mountain area, luxuriously decorated, yet as low-key as a treasure trove. Cole stared at the surveillance screenshots of the hotel and said quietly to Lemons: "Every time Carl came here, he brought celebrities, staying in the presidential suite on the top floor. There must be something fishy here." Lemons nodded, smiling: "Then let's go take a look."
当晚，警局和特勤队联手出动，科尔带队，欧文带了几个手下，一行人直奔热带酒店。酒店大堂灯火通明，前台的小姐吓得花容失色，可还没来得及反应，警员就冲上顶层。踹开套房门时，一股恶臭扑鼻而来，熏得人胃里翻江倒海。卡尔的尸体歪在沙发上，脸色发青，呈现巨人观，嘴角挂着干涸的血迹，只死了几个小时，有人打开了暖气、拉住窗帘、倒了促腐剂和臭素加速腐烂，现在这里苍蝇嗡嗡地绕着转。桌上摆着一封遗书，字迹歪歪扭扭："我对这社会绝望了，我炸了港口，并安排了帮派起义，我失败了，现在我活不下去了，自杀谢罪。"
That night, the police station and Special Task Force launched a joint operation. Cole led the team, with Owen bringing a few of his subordinates, and the group headed straight for the Tropical Hotel. The hotel lobby was brightly lit, and the receptionist was frightened pale, but before she could react, the officers had rushed to the top floor. When they kicked open the door to the suite, a foul stench hit them, turning their stomachs. Carl's body was slumped on the sofa, his face blue, showing signs of rigor mortis, with dried blood at the corner of his mouth. He had only been dead for a few hours, but someone had turned on the heating, drawn the curtains, and poured decomposition agents and foul substances to accelerate decay. Now flies were buzzing around the place. On the table was a suicide note, with crooked handwriting: "I have lost hope in this society. I bombed the port and arranged the gang uprising. I failed, and now I can't go on living. I'm killing myself to atone for my crimes."
"狗屁！"科尔皱着眉，低声骂了句。卡尔富得流油，纸醉金迷，生意忙得脚不沾地，怎么可能"对社会绝望"？这遗书看着像个笑话。欧文蹲下检查尸体，皱眉说："这家伙不像自杀。中毒的迹象太明显，嘴角有呕吐物，手腕的血流得不正常。"他指着卡尔的手腕，伤口深得露骨，可血量少得可怜，"活着的时候流血量应该更多，这像是死后补的刀。"
"Bullshit!" Cole frowned, cursing under his breath. Carl was filthy rich, living a life of luxury and debauchery, with business keeping him too busy to touch the ground. How could he possibly be "desperate about society"? This suicide note looked like a joke. Owen crouched down to examine the body, frowning: "This guy doesn't look like he committed suicide. The signs of poisoning are too obvious, with vomit at the corners of his mouth, and the blood flow from his wrists is abnormal." He pointed to Carl's wrist, where the wound was deep enough to expose bone, yet the amount of blood was pitifully small. "There should be more blood if he'd been alive when cut. This looks like a knife wound inflicted after death."
二级警督法医维克托被叫来，戴上手套翻了翻尸体，低声说："欧文说得对，毒杀可能性大。胃里残留物得化验，但看这状态，八成是氰化物之类的东西。"他顿了顿，瞥了眼遗书，"这字迹也不像他平时的笔锋，可能是伪造。"科尔站在旁边，眯着眼扫了遍房间：没打斗痕迹，窗户锁着，门没撬痕，像是个精心布置的现场。
Second-class superintendent and forensic expert Victor was called in. He put on gloves, turned over the body, and said quietly: "Owen is right, poisoning is highly likely. The stomach contents need to be analyzed, but looking at this condition, it's probably cyanide or something similar." He paused, glancing at the suicide note, "This handwriting doesn't match his usual style either, it may be forged." Cole stood beside him, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the room: no signs of a struggle, the windows were locked, the door showed no signs of forced entry—it looked like a carefully arranged scene.
莱门斯站在门口，抽着雪茄，吐了口烟圈，对科尔说："干得漂亮，小子。这案子你挖得够深，升一级警督，离警长就差一步了。"他语气里带着赞赏，可眼神却扫向欧文，多了点戒备。科尔点点头，没笑，低声说："还得查，这不是终点。"莱门斯拍拍他肩膀，转身走了。
Lemons stood at the doorway, smoking a cigar, blowing out a smoke ring, and said to Cole: "Well done, young man. You've dug deep enough into this case—promotion to first-class superintendent, just one step away from chief." His tone carried appreciation, but his gaze swept toward Owen with some wariness. Cole nodded, not smiling, and said quietly: "We still need to investigate; this isn't the end." Lemons patted his shoulder and turned to leave.
欧文没理会这出晋升戏码，招呼手下把卡尔装走，把他的遗书和酒瓶装进证物袋，又翻了翻桌上的文件，直接打包带走。莱门斯刚走到门口，回头一看，眉头一皱："华盛顿警督，这可是我们警局的案子，你拿走干嘛？"欧文冷笑一声，头也没回："这案子早就归特勤局了，卡尔的资料我得带回去分析。你有意见，去跟上面说。"说完他带着人扬长而去。
Owen ignored this promotion drama, instructing his subordinates to pack up Carl's body, placing his suicide note and wine bottle into evidence bags, then rifling through the documents on the table and taking them all. Lemons had just reached the doorway when he looked back, frowned, and said: "Superintendent Washington, this is our police station's case. Why are you taking these away?" Owen gave a cold laugh without turning his head: "This case has long belonged to the Special Task Force. I need to take Carl's information back for analysis. If you have objections, take it up with the higher-ups." With that, he left with his people.
莱门斯站在原地，雪茄咬在嘴里，眼神冷得像刀。他低声嘀咕了句："这家伙，真是越来越不识趣。"科尔站在尸体旁，低头看着卡尔那张僵硬的脸，心里却没半点轻松。卡尔死了，可这案子像个越挖越深的坑，底在哪儿，谁也不知道。
Lemons stood there, cigar clenched between his teeth, his eyes cold as a knife. He muttered under his breath: "This guy is getting more and more tactless." Cole stood by the body, looking down at Carl's rigid face, feeling no relief at all. Carl was dead, but this case was like a pit that kept getting deeper as they dug—where the bottom was, nobody knew.
我回到家里，搂着艾琳看电视。她靠在我怀里，手指在我胸口画圈，低声说："卡尔死了，我爸死了……"她语气平静得吓人，像在说别人的事儿。我低声问："你没事吧？"她摇摇头，笑了笑："他死了，我反而轻松了。"我没再问，吻了下她的额头，心里却乱糟糟的。
I returned home and sat watching TV with Erin in my arms. She leaned against my chest, her finger tracing circles on my chest as she softly said: "Carl is dead, my father is dead..." Her tone was frighteningly calm, as if she were talking about someone else. I asked quietly: "Are you okay?" She shook her head, smiled a little: "Now that he's dead, I actually feel relieved." I didn't ask further, kissed her forehead, but my mind was in turmoil.