Chapter 12
‘Perfect! This one’s worth stealing!’
The moment I chose to accept the mission, the door to the captain’s office burst open. A man strode out and froze when our eyes met.
Ever since my “confession,” Hunt had found it awkward to run into me. Thanks to that, I had fewer chances of arousing suspicion even when I destroyed evidence like before.
‘Then I’ll just make things more uncomfortable for him.’
Time to flaunt acting skills worthy of Elizabeth Taylor.
I lowered my gaze in embarrassment, fumbling through the papers on the desk. Then I deliberately knocked over my coffee mug.
“Oh no, what should I do?”
I laughed inwardly as I watched the liquid spill across the evidence, yet Hunt walked right past me without a word.
‘Once Hunt steps outside the investigation unit headquarters, my act will be over…’
…or so I thought, until the door suddenly swung open again and a group of strangers in black suits stormed in.
‘Who are they?’
The tall, black-haired man at the front stopped in front of Hunt.
“You…”
From the way Hunt frowned at those words, it seemed he knew the man.
The stranger, who had been wearing a sly smile, quickly erased it and pulled a business card from his pocket, presenting it with a professional air.
“Clive Chase. From the Central Bureau of Investigation.”
Central Bureau of Investigation?
Clatter.
Somewhere, the sound of a mug shattering on the floor rang out.
That must have been Inspector Smith being clumsy again.
* * *
Central Bureau of Investigation.
An investigative body under the central government, in charge of cases that extended beyond one province and rippled across the entire nation.
Naturally, it was destined to be rivals with the police bureaus under the local governments.
When they called it a “joint investigation,” in truth, it was nothing more than stealing credit from the local police.
The Central Bureau of Investigation has solved a case that the provincial police couldn’t crack for years, and in just one swoop!
By stepping in midway and taking over, they left the local police treated like incompetent monkeys.
And perhaps it wasn’t entirely wrong to say the police were incompetent.
But the public’s perception that Central Bureau agents were absolutely capable was a mistake.
In the end, didn’t the CBI only resolve cases by relying on the investigation records painstakingly compiled by the local police?
And now, of all people, the one sent here as the official representative to snatch away Raven’s case was…
“Inspector Hunt. Long time no see.”
The fact that he was also someone who had once tried to steal from him personally only poured fuel on Raven’s competitive fire.
“Seeing you in uniform this time is… refreshing.”
Chase deliberately flaunted their personal connection, wearing a sly grin that suited a criminal more than an investigator.
Raven, however, showed no reaction—no expression, no reply.
“Ahem, well then, let’s set greetings aside and move on to the reason we’ve come here.”
When his provocations failed, Chase finally switched back into the role of a CBI agent, explaining why the central office had deployed them to Eden City.
“The Central Bureau of Investigation has so far respected the Eden City Police Bureau’s independent authority in handling the case of the Crow Thief… however…”
To summarize his long-winded nonsense:
Since you can’t catch her, we will.
“Since the Scarlet Queen’s Heart incident escalated into a diplomatic issue, pressure has been mounting from the central government. Our director has therefore decided it’s no longer possible to leave everything entirely in the hands of the Eden City Police Bureau.”
That was no different from saying: What on earth have you been doing all this time without catching him?
“Accordingly, from now on, the Central Bureau of Investigation and the Eden City Police Bureau will be jointly investigating the Crow Thief case.”
The word jointly made it sound as if the two sides were equals, but the police—well-acquainted with the CBI—knew better.
We’re about to become nothing more than the CBI’s useless props.
Across the long conference table, CBI agents sat facing the police bureau investigators. Their eyes gleamed with hostility.
Everyone kept their mouths firmly shut, so in the corner, the only sound was Claire Kent’s pencil scratching away as she took minutes of the meeting.
Scratch, scratch.
In the atmosphere of explosive tension, it sounded like the ticking hand of a time bomb.
“Well then, first of all…”
Chase rose to his feet. Straightening his suit jacket, he walked to the front with an air that reeked of arrogance.
He stopped before the corkboard where the Special Investigation Unit had pinned up their accumulated evidence and hypotheses, all connected by webs of red thread.
“Hmm…”
Chase rubbed his chin as if assessing the display, then muttered,
“Interesting.”
The investigators bristled at the remark.
Interesting. A word people used when they had nothing to actually praise.
And besides, the CBI weren’t their superiors—why should the police even be seeking compliments?
Yet Chase behaved as if they were his subordinates, looking down on them with smug disdain.
“Very… old-fashioned, as well.”
The word old-fashioned sounded an awful lot like stale and outdated.
“Anyway, fine. Still…”
Chase suddenly turned around to face everyone, spreading his arms wide as he leaned on the edge of the table.
“Since this case has entered a new phase, don’t you think it’s time to try some new methods? Allow me to introduce you to the CBI’s latest cutting-edge technique.”
And this grand, boastful innovation turned out to be…
“Criminal profiling.”
Something Raven already knew well. The police bureau was simply too conservative to have adopted it yet.
He, however, had a strong interest in this new method. He often consulted with well-known psychologists and criminologists from top universities, and read their works extensively.
Which is why he knew—Chase’s profiling was absolute nonsense.
“Now, why does the thief only steal jewels? Because they’re worth money? Surely you’re not so simple-minded as to think that.”
Nobody in the room was thinking that, yet Chase openly treated the investigators like idiots.
“If you really think about it, the Crow Thief has never once sold what she’s stolen.”
From Eden City to pawnshops, jewelers, and fences across the entire nation, the police had turned everything upside down—yet not a single jewel stolen by the Crow Thief was ever found.
It was the police who had discovered this, but Chase acted as though he had uncovered the truth.
“So, it’s clear money isn’t the issue. Then why steal jewels?”
“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”
One of the CBI agents cracked what he thought was a joke, earning a venomous glare from the woman sitting in the corner—Claire Kent.
“That’s not entirely wrong,” Chase said, nodding as if the remark were a brilliant insight.
It was absurd.
“The common thread among all the stolen jewels is that they’re things money alone can’t buy. I want that! But what if it’s not for sale? Then you steal it. The culprit is consumed by jealousy and desire.”
“Quite right, Agent Chase. But then why bother sending advance notices of the crimes? Doesn’t that only make the thefts harder?”
“Excellent question, Agent Miller. I believe it’s because she wants to flaunt her abilities.”
“Ah, of course. Yes, I see. Sharp analysis as always, Agent Chase.”
The CBI agents went back and forth, trading nonsense and empty praise. It was nothing short of a farce.
“To sum up, then…”
She doesn’t sell the jewels. She has the space to store them all.
Therefore, the Crow Thief must be wealthy.
A jewel-obsessed collector, an upper-class elite who frequently has access to precious stones, living in a grand house.
He must display them all in his home, admiring his trophies and feeding his vanity.
“In short, the Crow Thief is a wealthy socialite with excessive vanity, jealousy, and a desperate need for validation.”
Chase finally closed his mouth, sweeping his gaze over the room as if waiting for a standing ovation.
And the CBI agents were just about to rise from their seats, perhaps actually intending to applaud, when—
Snrk.
A mocking laugh came from the corner.
“Shut that damn barking up.”
It was Claire Kent.
