The Crime Leveling System

The Truth on the Autopsy Table

The sunlight in the car park was blindingly white, as if the entire city of Las Vegas had been placed under a magnifying glass.

Victor stood by the car door, dismantling the unmarked M1911 with such fluid movements that they seemed almost mechanical; it was as if his hands had been born to perform this task.

Claire stood nearby, watching him remove the magazine, cycle the slide, inspect the rifling and reinsert the magazine. Her expression betrayed palpable shock and unease.

'Victor, what are you doing?' she finally whispered, her voice hushed as if she were afraid of disturbing something.

Victor holstered the g*n and patted her on the shoulder, his calmness undisturbed. 'Just some necessary precautions. I don't like walking into unfamiliar places empty-handed.”

Glancing at the square, imposing building housing the Forensics Department, he added, “Come on. Let's go and see your brother first.'

Claire bit her lip, choosing not to press further. She sensed that there was something different about Victor — not just an air of coolness, but an instinct honed by living constantly on the edge of danger. She had an instinctive worry that he might act impulsively, but the thought of his earlier words, and the fact that he was the only one willing to help her navigate this situation, silenced her doubts. She followed silently.

The exterior of the Forensics Building was stark and hard, like an expressionless metal box. While it primarily handled forensic examinations and evidence analysis, it wasn't a formal evidence storage facility. Consequently, security at the entrance wasn't as tight as one might expect. Claire presented her ID and registered at the front desk. The guard on duty picked up the landline and dialled an internal number.

The corridor had an indistinct scent of disinfectant mingled with the chilled air from the air conditioning, which sent a chill down one's spine.

Soon, a man in a white lab coat and mask emerged from inside. He was of medium height, with weary yet gentle eyes. As he approached, he removed his mask to reveal a slightly pale face.

"I'm Henry Wallace," he said, nodding to the two people in front of him. 'You must be Miles's family and friends. Please follow me. We were just about to contact you. The examination procedures are now complete and we can process the body release.”

Claire's face drained of colour, but she steadied herself. She followed Henry a few steps before gathering her courage to speak. “Dr Henry Wallace... Has there been any progress on my brother's case?'

Her eyes reddened as she spoke, as if she was asking for an answer she both craved and feared.

Henry hesitated noticeably. According to protocol, he should not reveal too many details of the case to the family before it was officially closed. But Claire looked so young that her swollen eyes and pale face began to shake his resolve.

Victor, who had been observing him, noticed this hesitation and naturally stepped in. 'Claire hasn't slept much these past two days, constantly wondering what really happened. Knowing that the police have caught the person responsible would at least ease her mind a little.'

Henry sighed and finally stopped in his tracks. He turned to face them. 'All right. The police have identified the shooter. Preliminary findings suggest that your brother was carrying a large sum of cash when he was targeted by a d**g addict who had just lost everything through gambling. The man followed him into an alley. He was extremely unstable and emptied his entire magazine during the robbery.'

When she heard the words 'caught the killer', Claire seemed to lose some of her support. She raised her hand to cover her mouth as tears welled up. It wasn't a complete breakdown, but rather a delayed sorrow finally finding release.

Victor instinctively pulled her into his arms and murmured words of comfort. His tone wasn't exactly gentle, but it was steady enough. At times like this, grand principles were useless; people simply needed a foothold to stop them from collapsing completely.

Henry leaned against the nearby wall, offering no encouragement, just a weary shake of the head.

'This sort of thing isn't unusual in Las Vegas: Gamblers who've lost, d**g users, drunks — they're everywhere.' His expression darkened as if he was recalling something else. 'Worse still, one of my colleagues got caught up in it too. Guns are everywhere in this city — it can never get too rotten.'

Victor felt a flicker of interest, but didn't show it immediately. He waited until Claire had calmed down a bit before following up on Henry's words. 'Besides Miles, were there other victims?'

Henry nodded, his tone tinged with palpable regret. 'Yes, the shooting happened in an alley. After Miles went in, that junkie followed him. My senior happened to live nearby. He must have heard the commotion and gone out to investigate, only to be hit in the forehead by a stray bullet. He was killed instantly. Honestly, that kind of bad luck feels almost unreal.” He gave a self-deprecating, bitter smile.

'That is some bad luck,' Victor murmured, his face bearing a measured solemnity. He lifted his eyes to meet Henry's, speaking with genuine sincerity. 'If it's all right with you, Claire and I would like to pay our respects to that gentleman later. After all, if Miles hadn't got caught up in all this, that senior officer wouldn't have suffered such an undeserved tragedy.'

Henry didn't hesitate, shrugging his shoulders.

“Of course. You're already here anyway.' He resumed walking forward and swiped his card to open the internal lift doors. Before the doors closed, Victor gently patted Claire on the back and whispered, 'Pull yourself together, Claire. If Miles knew you were crying like this, he'd probably yell at me for not looking after you properly. You need to hold it together. There's the funeral and everything that follows. Don't break down here.'

Claire sniffed and nodded firmly. She knew Victor was trying to help, and she knew that she couldn't stay like this forever. The lift descended, the indicator light stopping at Level B2. As the doors opened, they were hit by a blast of cold air, which contrasted starkly with the dry heat above. The corridors here were quieter and the lighting was whiter; even footsteps sounded elongated.

Near the entrance to the underground morgue stood a security booth. After exchanging a brief greeting with the attendant inside, Henry swiped his card to open the storage room door. He led them to a metal gurney covered in a white sheet with a tag bearing the name 'Miles' tied to the deceased's ankle. Seeing this, Claire's breathing quickened and her fingers clenched until they turned white.

Victor glanced at her, stopping her from approaching immediately. He whispered, 'Wait here for now.'

He walked over alone and lifted the white sheet.

Beneath the sheet lay Miles's bloodless face. His features were unchanged, but the radiant smile she remembered was gone forever. Death had frozen his expression, leaving it unflatteringly stiff, as if he had been mid-sentence when the bullets and agony had silenced him abruptly. Victor stared at the face for several seconds before shifting his gaze to the rest of the body.

His chest, arms and legs were covered in stitched wounds. The dense clusters of scars revealed the distribution of the bullet holes, along with obvious signs of dissection. The entry points were numerous and scattered, numbering at least a dozen, but the truly fatal wound was located on the left side of his chest.

Victor crouched down, his gaze growing icy. He knew these marks all too well. Even without the autopsy report, the pattern of the wounds told him all he needed to know.

This wasn't the work of a professional hitman.

A skilled killer wouldn't waste a magazine like this at this distance and angle.

They showed panic, agitation and clumsiness — like someone whose nerves had been pushed to breaking point, firing off every bullet in a frenzy. In short, it resembled the uncontrolled firing of a street junkie rather than an organised, targeted assassination.

The constant tension in Victor's mind finally eased slightly.

His worst fear was that, by digging deeper into his father's old case, Miles had been detected by a hidden organisation that would deal with him professionally. If that happened, it wouldn't just affect Miles — it would instantly spread to Claire and even to the hard-won family he now had. That kind of power wasn't something a lone wolf could fight. Once targeted by them, even escape might prove futile.

However, the wounds before him told a different story — reality wasn't quite so 'cinematic'. Miles had simply been unlucky, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time by a deranged fool.

This brought Victor some relief, yet another, less comfortable feeling began to surface. After all, Miles had ended up in that alley with a large sum of cash because he was investigating his father's case. Ultimately, this 'bad luck' wasn't entirely unrelated to him.

Victor stood up and carefully replaced the white sheet. Silently, he murmured, 'Good brother. At least I'll take care of your sister for you.' Turning to Claire, he beckoned her over, his voice softening. 'Wait until the funeral home has prepared the body and applied makeup before you come to say your formal goodbyes. Don't look now. Remembering him like this isn't fair.”

Claire clearly understood, nodding silently and not insisting on approaching. Seeing her relinquish her request, Victor shifted his gaze to Henry beside him. ‘Henry, I’d like to see the gentleman who was caught up in all this through no fault of his own.’

Henry gestured towards the nearby trolley, his tone laden with a complex heaviness.

'He was my senior at school, exceptionally talented. He even worked as a medical examiner for the LAPD before resigning eight years ago. I never imagined that I would one day perform his autopsy myself.” At this point, he muttered a curse under his breath. 'What's even more absurd is that I didn't know he'd settled in Las Vegas. If I had known, I could have at least reached out to him beforehand.’

Victor barely registered the latter part of the sentence. He had already reached the gurney, his gaze immediately locking onto the tag at the ankle:

Rafael.

The name struck him like a nail, instantly putting all the scattered pieces together. Victor’s breath nearly stopped. This was the man Miles had mentioned in his letter — the coroner who had performed his father’s autopsy before resigning abruptly and vanishing. Now he lay before Victor, having been killed in the same shooting as Miles.

Everything finally made sense.

Miles had tracked down Rafael, probably using some method to lure him out, or even forcing a meeting. Then disaster struck: a junkie was tailing them, bullets were flying and both men had died unluckily in the alley. It wasn't some grand conspiracy or purge, but a chain of absurd, infuriating accidents.

Victor bowed slightly before the body, his expression solemn as if paying genuine respects. He then bent down and lifted the white sheet to reveal Rafael's face. The man's features were frozen and there was a clean bullet hole in the centre of his forehead. The bullet had passed straight through his forehead, making it appear remarkably direct compared to the chaotic wounds on Miles's body.

'Hey, don't—' Henry started to protest, but Victor murmured, 'May the Lord rest your soul in peace. Amen.”

His tone was earnest, bordering on reverence. Henry swallowed his remaining words — in a place like this, offering a prayer for the deceased was far more acceptable than examining the body.

Victor lowered his eyes as if in silent mourning, but his mind had already reached a swift conclusion. Miles's death was probably an accident, but seeking out Rafael was still extremely dangerous. This confirmed that his father's old case wasn't a misunderstanding — something genuine was dragging people into deep water.

During the body release procedures, Victor remained silent. The facility partnered with several large funeral homes, and Henry enthusiastically recommended one of them. Claire had plenty of money and didn't want to cut corners at this time, so she chose the most reputable and well-established company with the most reliable process. All that remained was to contact Miles' friends and arrange a date for the funeral with those willing to attend.

Stepping out of the coroner's office building, the afternoon sun was still blinding, but the gloom on Claire's face had lifted slightly compared to when she arrived. She knew the killer was in custody — at least that was one certainty she could grasp.

Before leaving, she suddenly turned to look at Victor, her eyes holding both curiosity and earnestness. 'Are you a believer?'

Victor smiled faintly, his expression carrying his usual hint of mischief. 'Of course. I'm a shepherd of the Lord, specialising in guiding lost souls to find His guidance.”

Claire paused, genuinely amused by the remark, and her lips curved into a slight smile. But the next moment, tears welled slowly in her eyes and her voice softened. 'Then, when it's time to bury Miles, could you conduct the service?' She looked down at her shoes. 'My father won't come. He has a new family now, and he said he wouldn't handle my brother's funeral arrangements. I'm his only remaining relative over here in America.”

Hearing this, Victor felt a gentle pang in his heart. Without hesitating for long, he pulled Claire into his arms and embraced her firmly. ‘Of course I can. Miles was my friend, and so are you. You're not handling this alone.'

Claire couldn't hold back any longer. Her shoulders trembled slightly as she clung to him, her tears welling up again. “Victor, you’re so kind. I'm so grateful my brother had a friend like you.'

They quickly set a date for Miles's funeral. Claire would handle contacting the relevant people, and Victor promised to attend and take care of any tasks that required a man's presence. Only once everything was mostly arranged did Victor let her go.

After getting into his car, he didn't start the engine right away. Instead, he sat quietly in the driver's seat for a moment. The air conditioning blew cold air and the g*n was still hidden under the seat, but Rafael's name swirled in his mind like red-hot letters. While it was now almost certain that Miles' death was an accident, that didn't solve the problem.

The fact that Miles had gone to see Rafael might not be unknown to others.

If he revealed his intentions when he approached Rafael, whatever lurked behind his father's old case would inevitably resurface through this connection. When that happened, it wouldn't just be Miles — already dead — who was targeted, but also Victor, Claire, and even the family he'd only just begun to reconnect with.

Victor stared at the sun-bleached street ahead, his gaze deepening.

He had to go to Rafael's place.

He wouldn't feel at ease until he understood the situation there.