Chapter 88

The lighter just wouldn't work. Ronald, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, glanced around and saw I wasn't a smoker. So, he just moved the pot off the gas stove.

He lit the gas stove, held the cigarette between his fingers, squinted, bent down, and leaned into the flame. The flame flickered, and his oily skin shone like polished wood, with the wrinkles on his face glistening.

As he got close to the flame, the tip of the cigarette turned red, and thick white smoke slowly drifted from his mouth.

Ronald was a chain smoker. In no time, he was already on his third cigarette.

Most detectives smoked, not just to look cool like in movies and TV shows, but because their schedules were all over the place.

They'd go days without much sleep, sometimes sitting in a car watching a suspect all day. This kind of mentally exhausting work made them tired, and smoking was the best way to stay alert and reduce fatigue.

If you don't believe it, just visit a police station. Most of the ashtrays are Red Bull cans. They either smoked or drank Red Bull; coffee was too expensive. Plus, coffee's a diuretic, and for this kind of job, frequent bathroom breaks weren't ideal. You could miss a crucial clue during a bathroom break.

No one ordered them to do this; they did it willingly. The pay for detectives wasn't that great. In Silverlight City, it was just above average, but it didn't match the danger they faced.

Of course, no one thought about it that way because they were cops. Their badge gave them a sense of purpose.

When he leaned over to light his cigarette, I noticed a long scar on his neck, about 0.03 feet wide. Such a neat wound wasn't likely from a sharp weapon; it looked more like a bullet had grazed his neck.

Suddenly, I remembered Howard once said Ronald had been assassinated several times, and it was Howard who saved him. The scar might have been from those times.

"Got it." Ronald nodded and said no more, squinting at the True Love Entertainment Club building.

His eyes flickered like a seasoned hunter who had been staking out in the forest for several sleepless nights, waiting for the prey to appear and for the chance to strike a fatal blow.

He had been waiting for over twenty years.

"Who told you about my identity?" Ronald pondered for a moment and asked suspiciously, "Zoey, or... Howard?"

"Neither." I noticed Ronald paused when he mentioned Howard, as if he was a bit annoyed, and I smiled, "You two don't seem to get along."

Ronald was taken aback, then laughed heartily and candidly, "In the early years, Erica and I were busy with our own things. Thanks to Howard for taking care of Zoey all the time. Whether it's the friendship between him and me or his dedication to Zoey, it's not something that can be summed up with a simple thank you."

A hint of sadness flashed across his face, and he sighed, "Maybe it's guilt and jealousy. Guilt for not doing enough for Zoey as a father, and jealousy... Howard, in some ways, is more like Zoey's father. When Zoey and I talk on the phone, it's mostly about Howard. You know, I haven't seen Zoey in three years. We usually just talk on the phone."

I frowned. They were both in Silverlight City. No matter how busy they were, they should have met. Why hadn't they seen each other for three years?

Then it hit me. I could see why.

Howard said Ronald had pissed off a lot of big shots while working on this case, getting demoted from head of the state criminal investigation team to just a regular cop.

He'd faced assassination attempts and was now flipping burgers near the True Love Entertainment Club. Such a fall from grace and constant danger might be something he didn't want Zoey to witness.

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. Maybe I could tell him that Zoey only cared about him as her dad, not his status. Or that Zoey always thought about him.

But a parent's protection and choices for their child are always selfless, especially in life-and-death situations. Ronald wouldn't tell Zoey the truth behind this, even if it meant letting her continue to misunderstand.

As a father, his greatest hope was for his daughter to live a healthy and happy life, and that was enough.

"However, Howard seemed a bit anxious when he called." Ronald thought for a moment, then smiled, "I know Zoey is helping you investigate the True Love Entertainment Club murder case. Howard mentioned it, and Zoey hinted at it too. But I didn't tell her about Joseph being a suspect. No matter how impartial and determined I am to catch the culprit, I am still Zoey's father, and I must be selfish."

"You mean, Zoey..." I was surprised. If it were true, Zoey's talent in this area was definitely inherited from Ronald.

"Yeah, she must have figured it out on her own." Ronald couldn't help but smile, proud that his daughter was like him.

He continued, "Lately, she's been calling more often, asking about information on police, prosecutors, and court personnel. Howard said she was with you a while ago and now suddenly has free time. My first thought was that you and Howard must have restricted her from investigating the case."

I nodded. Ronald, with his years of experience as a detective, could deduce from Howard and Zoey's few words that we had restricted Zoey from investigating the case.

"Thank you," Ronald said solemnly. "Zoey really can't continue investigating. You know..."

"I understand. Go on," I said.

"Actually, I wish she were more like Erica, with a strong career drive, acting decisively, and having a stronger desire and ambition for money, status, and power than men."

"But she turned out to be like me. All the suspects in the True Love Entertainment Club murder case were transferred, except for Joseph. This is a blind spot in thinking."

"Without investigative experience, it's hard to think from the perspective of the suspects. It requires a spirit of questioning everything and strong investigative imagination. If she were a cop, she would be excellent at solving cases, and her achievements would surpass mine!"

The more Ronald spoke, the more excited he became, his expression passionate.

Then he slumped, looking dejected, and said sadly, "But she is my daughter. I must consider her safety. There are too many excellent cops and outstanding detectives in the world. One more or one less doesn't make a difference."