The sky is bright and the inaccessible alley welcomes an uninvited guest.
The right hand was hidden in the pocket of the vest, and the Davis agent in the alley, holding the m9 that opened the insurance, looked in the alley with vigilance.
Just a few days ago, the detective Braddock, who was tracking the trail of Abel Torres in Colombia, disappeared in his apartment.
After receiving an order from the cia headquarters, Davis immediately ended the case at hand, rushed to Colombia from the side of Brazil, chasing the clues of the drug lord Abel Torres, and came to Bogota, the sinful capital.
According to informant intelligence and analysis of existing clues, Abel Torres met a Florida dealer at the bar near the airport last night. It is said that because of the recent major events, the drug lord is ready to exchange all the stocks in the stock directly into arms.
Davis didn't know what Torres mentioned about the "big thing" that was about to happen in Colombia, just as he knew nothing about the whereabouts of his colleagues, but that was why he appeared here. The top executives of cia paid considerable attention to this matter, not only giving him the highest level of operational authority, but even promised him that he could mobilize a "sea seal" when necessary.
Now all the clues point to it.
From the mouth of a tramp, he spent $10 on the price, knowing that Abel Torres appeared in this alley early yesterday morning. There is also a blonde girl who appears in the alley, only about twelve or three years old.
Knowing the special hobby of this drug lord, Davis mourned for two seconds for the girl who had been so fierce and sorrowful, and continued along the alley.
The air was filled with a touch of blood, and his brows wrinkled slightly.
Soon, he found some unusual places from several details on the ground.
"hair?"
Kneeling on the floor, Davis took out the gloves and put a brown hair from the ground with a pair of tweezers.
The other hand took out the flashlight and placed the hair under the flashlight. He quickly found the problem.
"Brown, coincides with Torres hair color. The fracture is neat, not like being torn off in the assault, but like being cut off by some kind of sharp weapon. Whose blood is it?"
The conditions here are obviously not able to do DNA identification.
Davis took out a small plastic bag about the width of his index finger from his pocket, and held the hair with a pair of tweezers, carefully put it in.
After doing all this, he continued to search on the ground.
What surprised him, however, was that he found a lot of useful clues on the ground, but he did not find the one he was looking for.
"Golden hair... wrong, it should be very conspicuous. Isn't Torres suffering any resistance during the violence? But this can't explain the **** hair... and the fibers left by the textiles."
While whispering to himself, Davis looked for the past in the depths of the alley.
Just as he passed a row of trash cans, his footsteps suddenly stopped.
Frowning slightly, his eyes looked at the row of trash cans.
In the disgusting rancid smell, he faintly smelled a **** smell more than before.
Going forward, Davis reached out and held the lid of the trash can.
At the moment of opening, the stench came over and let him subconsciously move his head back.
Looking at the waste newspaper in the trash can, he reached out and arbitrarily fiddled.
Just as he reached into the waste newspaper, he immediately felt something wet and stuck to his hand.
A slight glimpse, he jerked open the newspaper in the trash.
When he saw something buried under the newspaper, his face turned pale, and a stream of heat tumbling up and down the stomach belt, almost rushing to his throat.
Arms, organs, and even eyeballs... All the parts are neatly placed in a **** bucket, perfect for every inch of space.
However, it is this almost cold and tidy that makes this **** more cruel and cold. Even if he was used to the body and blood, he couldn't help but feel the shudder and fear of the bone marrow.
What kind of person is it, can you get such a hand...
"God... Shet..."
Incoherently, he took the plastic gloves and mechanically turned the head out. Turning it to the front, his index finger slides down its nose and stops at its jaw.
"Abel Torres...not wrong."
Going back two steps, Davis stunned, smashing the plastic gloves and throwing away the bags that they carried with them.
"Here is the standard bearer..." Pressing the button on the neckline, Davis resisted the vomiting sensation in his heart and said in a difficult tone, "The track of Abel Torres has been locked."
"Where!?" cia headquarters special operations command room, Baird grabbed the communicator and hurried.
"In an alley outside the airport," Davis, who was white, looked at the pile of unspeakable things. "Inwardly walk 15 meters left, the second trash can..."
Baird stunned and thought he had got it wrong.
"The second... trash can?"
"Yes," Davis swallowed hard. "A total of three people were killed, or cruelly dismembered, stuffed into the trash. One of them was Torres, the other was his confidant, and the name was very Long, is a South American native."
"What do you mean, Abel Torres, he... was killed?" Baird said incredulously.
Taking a deep breath, Davis said slowly.
"Is such that."
Although cia has always wanted to get rid of this guy, he never wants him to die here. There is still a lot of intelligence on his body that can be excavated, so he died unconsciously and completely disrupted their work.
"The agent of Bradock..." Baird asked.
"I don't know," Davis said with a smile. "The only certainty is that he is not in this trash can."
"Find the murderer who killed Abel Torres! He may know something."
"Yes……"
Hanging up the communication, Davis’s bitter smile on his face is even worse.
The clue is broken here.
Who is it, and executed Abel Torres in such a cruel way? Is it pure black, or is it a secret to bury?
Also, where is the detective Bradock now? Did he discover something before he disappeared?
I don't know why, Davis suddenly felt a chill in the back.
From the rancid smell of **** smell, he faintly smelled a hint of conspiracy.
His instincts have always been accurate.
Now, his instincts are telling him that what he sees is just the tip of the iceberg of conspiracy...