Click.
The tape wound to its end, and the play button on the recorder struggled for a moment before popping up with a snap.
Bob flicked his cigarette ash into a paper cup, his expression shifting uncertainly before he nodded. "It's enough."
"Is it?" Jay furrowed his brows in thought. "I feel like… there's nothing substantive in there."
"If you wanted to send Joshua to prison, this recording would be useless, of course. But these trivial matters are conversations he had in extreme privacy. Honestly, I can't even imagine how your friend Otis managed to get this."
Two streams of smoke shot from his nostrils, rising straight toward the ceiling. "For Joshua, if we know even these details, he has to wonder: do we already have evidence for his other activities?"
"Besides, we aren't asking him to plead guilty to anything, just to assist in overturning a verdict. Plus, we're only asking him to admit to a mistake caused by Flack misleading him with lies… Joshua won't dare to gamble. He'll most likely cooperate with us.
However… Jay, Jay…"
He stared intently at Jay's face, asking in a low voice, "You wouldn't happen to have… any recordings of me, would you?"
"Of course not. Recording you has no benefit. I'm still counting on you to shield me from the wind and rain." Jay then leaned back into his chair, putting on an expression of utter heartbreak. "How could you think of me like that? It really hurts my feelings."
"Right… right, you wouldn't do anything without a benefit." Bob took a fierce drag on his cigarette, stared at Jay for a moment longer, then smiled. "I'll take the tape to the prosecutor. The two of them will work it out."
"That easy? Flack hasn't confessed yet!"
"That depends on your skills. Just don't kill him." Bob waved him off. "Go on, you have my blessing."
"Thanks, Boss!"
After leaving the Chief's office, Jay went to find Allen to get the materials he had asked him to organize earlier.
Recently, this guy seemed to have caught Bob's eye and was transferred to be a "temporary administrative secretary" to help Bob organize old files.
Jay couldn't remember how many times he had seen Allen in the precinct looking half-dead, or even wishing he were dead.
It got to the point where Jay had to go to a pharmacy to mix some restorative herbal tea for him, lest his intern actually drop dead from sudden cardiac arrest in the station.
After that, Jay went to Otis and had him write a statement explaining the situation at the time.
Even if Flack was obedient, there was little hope he would actually remember what happened back then. So, Jay planned to have him memorize a "script."
"Thank you, thank you, J… Jay!" Hearing that the process to overturn his case was starting, Otis excitedly clenched his fists. "Do you need my help?"
"No, you don't have experience in this area. I'll handle it." Jay waved his hand. "You aren't professional at beating people up."
——————————
The incandescent bulb in the interrogation room buzzed, casting a pale light on Flack Robinson's greasy forehead.
He squirmed on the hard wooden chair as if he were sitting on tacks, until a tall figure opened the door.
The door opened halfway. The figure stood in the doorway, glanced imperceptibly up at the second floor, and then turned to lock the door.
"Uh… heh heh, Jay, oh, I…" Flack recognized the visitor. He stood up, trying to squeeze out a smile. "We're all colleagues here, no need… no need for this…"
"Sit!" Jay smiled and pointed to the chair.
He had used a record of a recent violation to pull Flack into the interrogation room. Now, he tossed a file folder onto the table.
"Take a good look at what you've done."
These were records of Flack's violations and illegal operations over the past few years. When no one was looking, these were just dust in the archives. But placed on the table in the light of day, they were boulders heavy enough to crush him.
After reading just two pages, Flack's face turned deathly pale. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he asked in a trembling voice:
"What… how much do you want?"
"Money?" Jay scoffed. He pulled another piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it slowly, and pushed it under Flack's nose.
"Look at this."
It was a case summary of Otis's old case. But judging by the blank expression on Flack's face after reading it, he didn't remember the incident at all.
As expected, Jay thought.
"What… what does this mean?"
"This is my friend's case. I don't want money. I want you to publicly admit that you used illegal means to fabricate a case, forcing Otis Flannegan to take the blame for murder."
"No… that's impossible. Please, I'll give you whatever amount you want." Flack began to tremble uncontrollably.
He subconsciously moved two steps forward, trying to grab Jay's hand. "If I admit that, I'm finished. We're colleagues, aren't we? He… what does your friend want? I can compensate him. Twenty… how about twenty thousand?"
"Wow, that's quite a sum. Unfortunately, he only wants one thing."
"Whatever he wants, I'll find a way…"
"Flack," Jay looked at him expressionlessly. "He wants his innocence."
Flack froze, cold sweat breaking out down his back.
"I don't want to waste words. Either you admit to this case—and maybe you'll get fired for it—or I publish all your masterpieces.
Think about the people you've screwed over; many of them are now working for Falcone or Maroni. Do you think they still remember you?"
"No… no no no… you can't do this." Flack burst into tears, his face full of despair.
He slowly bent his waist, his left hand reaching out as if to grab Jay's lapel.
"Please, you…"
Suddenly, he let out a roar, a vicious light flashing in his eyes, and swung a wild haymaker at Jay's temple.
"Go to hell!"
Jay dodged slightly to the left and drove a heavy uppercut deep into Flack's abdomen like a pile driver.
"Urgh~~"
Flack screamed and fell to his knees, curling up like a cooked shrimp, vomiting violently. Undigested food mixed with stomach acid, snot, and tears pooled on the floor.
"Tsk tsk, disgusting. Trying that move on me? How dare you." Jay shook his wrist, then grabbed Flack by the hair. "You can refuse. In that case, I'll send the folder to the newspapers and Internal Affairs in a moment. Make your choice, and make it fast!"
"Bas… bastard… you're be… betraying… huff huff… other… other cops won't…"
"Heh! You know who brought in Bruce Wayne's one-million-dollar donation for the East Precinct, right? Do you have any idea how much more money will be poured in later?
Please, open your eyes and look at that endless pile of money. do you think those officers will sympathize with you, or support me?"
"The Chief… I want to see the Chief!"
Jay's cold sneer echoed in the small space. "Who do you think let me sit here and have a 'heart-to-heart' with you? The lights in Chief Bob's office are still on."
He straightened up, his shadow looming over thedefeated dog on the ground.
"Guess… what the Chief is thinking?"
——————
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