CHAPTER 296: QUESTIONS OFF THE RECORD

The man standing in front of Max was Marvin Morgan, one of the most infamous detectives ever whispered about in the underworld.

His name was known in every major gang, his true face recognized by nearly all of them. And yet, if Marvin didn’t want you to know who he was, you wouldn’t.

He was a master of disguise. Not just in appearance, but in sound, he could imitate accents, voices, even mannerisms so perfectly that people who had met him a dozen times might not realize it was the same man.

But that wasn’t what made him feared.

Marvin was also a fighter, one of the best. The kind who could walk into a bad situation and walk out without a scratch, leaving everyone else wondering what had just happened. Paired with his ability to vanish into new identities, he was the perfect choice for deep-cover assignments.

He’d infiltrated gangs, criminal syndicates, and smuggling rings, sometimes taking down entire organized groups by himself. His name carried a kind of weight in the underworld, not because he was loud or showy, but because he was dangerous in a way that stuck in people’s minds.

Max had never had a run-in with him back when he was part of the White Tiger Gang, or at least, not that he’d been aware of. Maybe he’d been lucky. Maybe the White Tiger’s operations hadn’t been in Marvin’s line of interest. Or maybe there had just been too many criminal groups in the city at the time for one man to cross paths with them all.

Over the years, Max had heard less and less about him. Some said Marvin had retired, enjoying a quiet life somewhere far away. Others claimed he’d been deep undercover for so long that no one recognized him anymore.

But now Max knew the truth.

Marvin Morgan was in Notting Hill City, standing in front of him, dressed like any ordinary detective working an ordinary case.

Is he here because of Abby?

Max wondered. I guess he’s aged now... what is he, forty? Probably doesn’t take the most dangerous assignments anymore.

Marvin studied him for a moment, then spoke.

"First question I have to ask, before anything else," he said. "Why did you choose to wear a jacket as flashy as that, instead of a suit?"

It was a question plenty of people had been wondering today.

From the corner of his eye, Max spotted movement, Joe was making his way over. Without turning his head, Max raised a hand slightly, a subtle gesture telling Joe to stop.

Marvin’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, catching Joe’s movement. The two men made brief eye contact, and Joe, without missing a beat, quickly turned away... and of all things, began to whistle as if he’d simply been strolling by.

Max turned back to Marvin. "About the jacket," he began, choosing his words carefully. "It was a gift... one she never got to see. So I wanted to wear it for her."

To Max, the words he’d just spoken weren’t a complete lie. And when it came to lying, he knew the golden rule, wrap it in the truth. That way, people were far less likely to pull at the threads.

"Right..." Marvin murmured, glancing briefly at the jacket again. "I’ve seen that logo around a fair bit. Some new fashion brand that seems to be popping up all over." His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp, watching for the smallest reaction.

"And as for your relationship to Abby," he continued smoothly, "would you say it was a close one? How did you two know each other? Were you friends... maybe dating, perhaps?"

Max’s lips curved into a faint smirk at the question.

"Aren’t you supposed to read me my rights before questioning me like this, Detective?" he said, his voice level but edged. "And at a time like this? Feels a little unprofessional."

Marvin raised his hands in mock surrender.

"You’re right. Truth is, this is all off the books. I was just curious, that’s all."

He tilted his head slightly, as if weighing whether to say more. Then his smile shifted, less friendly now.

"You know, I wasn’t even assigned to this case at first. In fact, I had almost no interest in it." He paused deliberately, letting the words hang before continuing. "That was... until I found out that three students from the same school had died."

Max didn’t reply, but his posture stiffened just slightly.

"Now, three students dying in the same year, well, it’s not unheard of," Marvin went on. "Sometimes it’s the result of an attack, a suicide pact, or some other tragic incident. Sadly, those things happen. Every year, there’s always at least one case that makes people start talking about curses or bad omens. And when superstition starts spreading, my job gets messy, people start giving you all kinds of strange theories."

His tone shifted again, subtle but sharper.

"But here’s what’s strange, Max. These three students didn’t die on the same day. Their deaths happened relatively close together, yes, but each one died in a completely different way."

He took a slow step forward, closing just a fraction of the space between them.

"It’s my job to find patterns. Tell me, do you think there’s a pattern here?"

Max said nothing. On the surface, there was no connection. To an outsider, it would look like three unrelated tragedies. But to anyone with all the pieces of the puzzle... the pattern would be clear.

They were all linked to him.

Marvin’s gaze didn’t waver. "Why don’t you come down to the station with me? We can make this all official."

Max’s mind raced. There was only one move he could make without drawing even more suspicion.

"I’m sorry," he said evenly. "I’m happy to talk, but today’s not the day. If you give me your card, I’ll arrange a time when we can sit down properly."

Marvin studied him for a beat, then nodded. "Fair enough." He slipped a card from his jacket pocket and handed it over.

Max glanced at it briefly before sliding it into his own pocket and turning toward the front door.

"Don’t leave town, Max!" Marvin called after him, his voice carrying across the quiet space. "If you do... it’ll look very suspicious."

Max didn’t break stride.