27423481

[Realism] [High-IQ Crime]
[Peak Mental Duel]
[No Female Lead] [Logic Enthusiast]
 
The police received a call. A person who claimed to be the Ghost said that he was going to kill someone in three days. What's more, the other party hoped that the police could immediately dispatch officers to protect this person, and he intended to complete the hunt under the police's tight protection.
 
In response to this, the police attached great importance to it and made thorough arrangements. When the three-day period arrived, the result was beyond everyone's belief. The target was dead!
 
However, this was just the beginning.
 
The Ghost's goal was to complete 99 perfect crimes and kill 99 enemies.
 
Thus, one perfect crime after another occurred, and the biggest serial murder case in history came into being!

The Ghost in the Dark Night: The Ultimate Revenge Strategy

The rusty van reeked of stale coffee and sweat. Mark Carter and Neil Baker, slumped in their seats, jolted upright as the car phone blared. Mark grabbed the receiver.

"Where's Margaret now?" Thomas Wilson's voice crackled with urgency.

"At her villa," Mark replied, exchanging a glance with Neil. "We tailed her back an hour ago."

"**Don't lose her.** Or you'll both be scrubbing toilets till retirement."

Mark frowned. "Think they found something?"

Neil's eyes widened. "That package…?"

Before they could speculate, a black sedan screeched to a halt outside. Thomas stormed into the van, his jaw tight. "New orders. You watch the front; I'll take the flank. **Anything** suspicious—you call me. Got it?"

As he turned to leave, Mark blurted, "Boss—was the package linked to the Ghost?"

Thomas paused. "Yeah. Stay sharp."

The duo exchanged grins. *Adrenaline surged.* Catching the Ghost meant promotions—no more cold sandwiches or backseat naps.

Margaret emerged from her villa, a bulky duffel bag straining her shoulder. Mark held his breath as she slid into her car and sped toward central London.

Thomas's voice crackled over the radio: "Follow. **Don't spook her.**"

They shadowed her to a bank. An hour later, she reappeared, the bag visibly heavier.

Margaret drove straight home. James Morrison's order came through: "Hold position. Wait."

Nightfall brought movement. Margaret crept out, the duffel bag slung over her arm, and veered toward the city outskirts.

"This is it!" Neil hissed as Mark tailed her car.

"You think we'll get medals?" Mark whispered, knuckles white on the wheel.

The chase ended at a desolate graveyard. Margaret staggered to a roadside ditch, heaved the bag into it, and fled.

Neil thumbed his walkie-talkie. "Boss—she dumped the money! What now?"

"Stick to her. We'll handle the rest."

Thomas crouched in the thorny brush, eyes locked on the ditch. James's voice buzzed in his earpiece: "Reinforcements are inbound. Don't move till he shows."

"He's not slipping away this time," Thomas muttered, finger grazing his holster.

Chapter 19: The Trail of Money