Half an hour later, Michael's wife was taken to the hospital, and the police left after examining the scene.
They believed it was a very ordinary and apparent case of burglary and assault, something not uncommon in Bail Federal—a place where some lazy individuals, unwilling to work, take risks to gain some money through illegal means.
However, the police didn't come away empty-handed. At least they believed that the escaped criminal was likely very familiar with Michael's house, knowing that Michael had gone on a business trip, the children were still at school and hadn't returned, leaving only Michael's wife at home alone.
The fact that the burglary turned into an assault also provided evidence, in the eyes of the police, that the criminal might know the family — hatred.
The house, now empty, was pitch black and desolate. Lynch, wearing gloves, pushed open the garden gate and entered the yard, closing the gate behind him.
He took out a homemade lock-picking tool from his pocket—a modified corkscrew and a modified hook pick, both of which could be purchased at hardware or tool stores.
The principle of the old-style lock was very simple. To put it plainly, pressing the pin into the pinhole would allow the lock cylinder to turn, which in turn would open the door.
If using a key, this was easily done, but without a key, it was necessary to apply a certain amount of torque to the lock cylinder.
The torque caused a slight, negligible misalignment between the lock cylinder and the pinhole, which was sufficient to make the pressed pin in the pinhole stay in place. Once all pins were pushed into the correct position using the pick, the door would open.
With the sound of clicking twice, the lock inside the door made a clunking sound. Lynch glanced around, twisted the doorknob, and slipped through the door crack into the room.
The room was a bit messy, as the police had just spent some time collecting evidence there. He took out a flashlight he carried with him and felt his way upstairs.
A few minutes later, he found the study room of the house.
It was surprising that Michael, the hot-tempered investigator, actually liked reading. Looking at the neatly arranged rows of books, Lynch couldn't help but feel that Michael's books were all read for nothing.
He rummaged around and found a safe, but he didn't touch it.
He had learned how to open this type of old-fashioned safe, and if one grasped the principle, picking the lock was not difficult at all. The key to this kind of dial-lock was a set of wheels.
By rotating the wheels intermittently to change their alignment, once they were aligned, a small leaf spring or a slot mechanism attached to the wheels would line up, allowing the bolt to retract freely into the safe door.
Some movies used stethoscopes to discern the sound of the internal wheels turning. Initially, this method worked, but soon manufacturers fixed this apparent flaw, making it difficult to hear any sound.
For the technically skilled artisan, however, using touch instead was actually easier. But that's beside the point.
The safe likely contained nothing but some money, evidence somehow useful to Michael, a notebook, or something else, none of which aligned with the purpose of Lynch's infiltration here.
He wandered around the room, opened a few drawers under the desk, and found some loose change in the right-side drawer. A plan formed in his mind. He placed the gold ring he carried into the second-to-last drawer, restored everything to its original condition, checked it over, and then left.
This was one of his main purposes today — to place that gold ring into Michael's house, after which he needed to address some other issues regarding the informant.
The informant had already successfully fled. In this era, the crime-solving rate of the police was appalling. Due to personal privacy and public privacy issues, as well as other reasons, Bail Federal did not have any surveillance systems.
This also meant that all physical appearance traits related to criminals relied on indirect clues and some eyewitness accounts.
If there were no eyewitnesses, like in the case where Lynch's room was burglarized, the case would be difficult to crack unless the suspect got caught during another crime and the inquisitors excelled, eliciting a confession of past deeds.
Otherwise, there isn't much to expect from the police.
This case was somewhat serious, involving the head of the Tax Bureau investigation team, so the Sabin City Police Station had allocated additional staff. They were waiting — waiting for Michael's wife to recover from shock and provide a more accurate description of the suspect's appearance.
The community security guard provided a sketch of the suspect's appearance, but since the confrontation took place on an unlit first floor, all lighting came from the dim street lamps, and the guard used too many ambiguous, uncertain words to describe what he saw. Thus, the sketch made from his description held little value.
At this moment, the informant they were looking for had returned to his small territory. His heartbeat had just settled from 180, and only the gun tightly gripped in his hand provided some comfort.
He felt a little foolish. He merely wanted to make that woman suffer a bit, to threaten her while trying to retrieve the evidence left in Michael's hands.
Yet, somehow, a terrible desire suddenly overtook him, leading him to act impulsively.
Now that his emotions had stabilized, he realized he made a huge mistake. The woman had seen his face, and it was sure to be a face she would never forget.
Tomorrow, or the day after, no later than a week, wanted posters with his face on them would flood all over Sabin City. Too many people knew him there, and by that time, he would be doomed.
He could fully imagine Michael's rage—even at this moment, the informant still feared Michael, a fact he could not change.
Though reluctant, he made a decision to leave, to escape Sabin City and hide outside for a while.
After some time, when things calmed down, he might never return.
He had money; over the years, he had saved tens of thousands of dollars kept not in the bank but in a shoebox in his room.
He also had a gun. With money and a gun, he could relocate to another place, live under a new identity, maybe start a small business, or even return to his old ways.
With this in mind, he no longer hesitated. Ignoring the kids in the dormitory building, he returned to his room, retrieved the shoebox from a pile of seemingly worthless junk, collected some items he was reluctant to part with, and slipped out under cover of night.
He thought no one noticed him, but some of the oldest kids in the dormitory did notice his movements.
Since he had fired a shot at a child's thigh yesterday, though the children appeared docile again, a feeling had arisen among them of which the informant was unaware.
Less than a minute after he left, a few of the older children brandished everyday kitchen knives and some sharpened rebar they "picked up" from the construction site, chasing after him.
At the same time, Lynch had also pursued them nearby. Just as he contemplated quietly dealing with the informant, he saw the informant rush out with a bag on his back, followed closely by a few hurried midgets.