The Downing Street murder case had been a very straightforward one.
The facts were clear, the evidence obvious—a crime of passion, with no special planning or prearranged means of evading punishment. There was nothing remarkable about the whole affair. It was nothing like those ever-changing, baffling cases from detective novels. It was not entertaining, not thrilling, with no mystery and no twists.
But that was reality.
In reality, the overwhelming majority of murder cases were this simple and brutal.
The suspect was caught even faster than Cheng Long had expected. Before the two of them could even continue investigating Epton, the suspect had already been apprehended.
When they returned to the police station, Kennedy came over to explain the situation.
"Sheriff Lincoln was leading a team checking for speeding on Westwood Street when he suddenly saw a naked man running toward him, shouting as he ran. That man was Epton. Not long after Epton ran over, the suspect appeared with a knife."
Cheng Long asked, "Were any of our people injured?"
"No." Kennedy shook his head. "The suspect had no intention of resisting at all. He threw down the knife and dropped to his knees on the spot."
"So that man killed his wife, killed his daughter, yet let the adulterer get away? What a fucking coward!" Cheng Long wore his disdain openly. "That Epton really escaped disaster. That bastard had one hell of a lucky life."
"Not exactly." Kennedy looked awkward. "Epton's behavior when he showed up was way too exaggerated. He was stark naked, running and screaming. Sheriff Lincoln mistook him for a drugged-up lunatic trying to assault a police officer, drew his gun, and fired. Epton went down on the spot. He's still being resuscitated at the hospital. No one knows whether he has insurance or whether