"Persuasion"

Dawn pierced the gloom, and a slash of luminescent white appeared on the horizon.

Still clad in his business suit, Bud Burton dragged his utterly exhausted body back to 130 West Ninth Street.

Creak—

The door opened.

“Honey, I’m home!”

A brilliant smile stretched across Bud’s fair, handsome face as he stood at the threshold, arms wide open.

But he waited a full thirty seconds; no soft-voiced wife emerged to greet him with a warm embrace, pressing her cheek to his chest to feel his warmth and heartbeat.

Only darkness and deathly silence welcomed him in the vast hall.

Bud stood motionless in the doorway, staring at the disturbingly empty space, his lips trembling, his face ashen.

“She’s gone…”

He loosened the suffocating tie from his neck, stumbled to the living room sofa, sat down, covered his face, and his shoulders shook with two silent sobs.

Ring ring ring.

The phone by the television suddenly rang.

Bud wiped his tears, drew a deep breath to suppress his heartbreak, and picked up the phone.

“Good morning, Mr. Bud Burton?”

“Yes, who’s speaking?”

“This is Carl from LVPD. We’ve apprehended several suspects. We’d like you to come to the station and make an identification.”

“Thank you for your hard work, Officer Carl. I’ll be there right away.”

Bud hung up, about to freshen up in the bathroom.

Bang bang.

A knock sounded at the door again.

“And you are?” Bud peered through the peephole at a young Asian face, momentarily confused.

“I’m Dean Lu. I was here last night with Officers Thomas and Carl.”

“Oh, I remember you now.”

“I’ve found a very important lead, and I believe it’s necessary to discuss it with you immediately. Is now convenient?”

“But Officer Carl from LVPD just called and asked me to come to the station for a suspect identification.”

“This won’t take long. Let’s talk first.”

Dean entered and sat on the sofa, glancing at the man of the house, whose bloodshot eyes betrayed his exhaustion.

“Rough night?”

“I spent it at a hotel downtown,” Bud said, passing Dean a cup of coffee before sitting beside him and gazing forlornly at the dark television. “To be honest, I just couldn’t sleep on a different bed and without Carter by my side.”

“For a long while yet, you’ll have to get used to that discomfort.” Dean sipped his coffee, his keen gaze scrutinizing Bud’s posture: he sat with his knees close together, unlike most men; his upper arms pressed to his ribs, his forearms turned outward, contrasting the typical masculine stance.

“You loved your wife very much.”

“Carter was the center of my life, my motivation. I worked myself to the bone just to give her and our future children a beautiful life. But now she’s gone, and none of it matters anymore.”

Bud’s expression was one of utter despair, without a trace of performance.

Dean took another sip of coffee, steam curling past his cheeks, his eyes narrowing into slits that flashed with a blade-like sharpness.

“Mr. Bud Burton, if you loved Carter so much, why did you neglect her? Why did you betray her?”

The room fell silent for a heartbeat; the once harmonious atmosphere by the sofa turned instantly sharp and icy.

“Betray her? Mr. Dean, that’s not a funny joke.”

A twitch flickered across Bud’s cheek as he forced a stiff, fake smile.

Dean calmly observed the man’s awkward manner and shook his head.

“I don’t like beating around the bush. I’ll be direct: I have ample evidence that your marriage with Carter was a mere shell. You’ve been married three years, yet you constantly left her alone under the excuse of overtime, carousing until late at night.”

“Where are you getting these lies? That’s slander. Watch it, or I’ll sue!” Blood rushed to Bud’s face as he sprang up, right hand clenched to his chest, the other lashing out at Dean like a claw.

Dean gave him no chance to retort, stepping closer and driving him back into a corner.

“Lies? Carter told me herself.”

“That’s impossible—Carter’s gone! Stop playing ghost!” Bud’s face flushed, his hand trembling as coffee spilled onto the floor, steaming and staining the carpet dark. “Get out of my house now. I’m calling the police!”

“Last night, after I entered this house, I had a dream,” Dean continued relentlessly, ignoring the man’s protests. “In the dream, Carter wept and accused you of neglect and betrayal.”

“You claim to love her more than life itself, yet in her final moments, you refused to be honest with her.”

“Bud Burton, you are nothing but a cheating liar.”

Thud!

With nowhere to retreat, Bud slid down the wall, his whole body limp like a boneless squid, tears tracing down his pallid cheeks to soak the collar of his shirt.

The only sound in the hall was their heavy breathing.

After a long moment, Bud’s red-rimmed eyes opened wide in terror as he looked at Dean as though beholding a demon from the pit.

“How—how do you know all this?”

“I told you, Carter told me in a dream. Don’t believe me? She also shared other secrets about your marriage. Listen—”

“You opened a five-year fixed deposit in Carter’s name at the bank…”

“You absolutely hate apples.”

“You read for half an hour every night before bed.”

…

Dean listed detail after detail for two minutes.

Bud’s mouth hung open, his expression a fireworks display of disbelief, his initial skepticism wavering.

“But why you? Why didn’t Carter tell me herself?”

“You think everyone can communicate in dreams?” Dean’s expression and tone grew calm as he looked down at the man. “I can, but you’re just an ordinary man. You can only hear it from me.”

“Do you still want to deny it?”

Dreams, his departed wife, and a cascade of inexplicable revelations left Bud’s mind in chaos.

He took a deep breath and raked his hands through his short hair in frustration.

“You’re right—I’m a shameless bastard. I shouldn’t have dated other women behind Carter’s back. But I never toyed with her feelings. Even now, she’s still the woman I love most.”

“It’s just, we’re no longer a simple man and woman,” Bud said, his gaze softening with guilt as he stared at the empty kitchen. “I can’t leave her, and she can’t leave me… We’re family, bound together.”

“Don’t change the subject. Why couldn’t you give Carter the affection she needed?” Dean pressed.

Bud looked up, meeting his gaze.

“But I did everything else! And you know, there are five different ways to express love. The only one I lacked with Carter was one of them.”

“The five love languages?” Dean’s knuckles cracked as he squatted down, his expression skeptical. “Let’s hear your theory.”

“The first is words of affirmation—positive words and expressions of love,” Bud declared, his voice steady and eager to justify himself. “The second is acts of service—showing love through care and effort, doing things for her…”

“The third is giving gifts—material tokens that make her feel loved.”

“The fourth is quality time—spending undisturbed time focusing on the one you love, or having her focus on you;”

“The fifth is physical touch—just as it sounds.”

“I’ve known Carter for seven years, married for three. I know her so well there’s no passion left, no urge for intimacy. That’s my failing—I always avoided expressing love in the fifth way.”

“But the other four—hugs, kisses, caring words, gifts, companionship… Year after year, day after day, I never stopped expressing my love for Carter.”

Bud’s voice faltered.

“My love for Carter isn’t the love of lovers—it’s love of the spirit and soul.”

His gentle yet resolute words echoed through the room.

For the first time, Dean thought this effeminate man showed a hint of real manliness.

“Fine, the five love languages—an interesting theory.” Dean clapped his hands and stood. “But don’t you think you’re just making excuses to comfort yourself? Didn’t you know which kind of love Carter craved most?”

At this, Bud gritted his teeth, hope flickering in his eyes. “I was wrong. I only realized it when I lost her. So, can you help me contact her again? I’ll pay, whatever it takes!”

Dean’s eyelid twitched; for a moment he was tempted, but recalling Carter’s final, resolute departure, he shook his head.

“Sorry, I can’t help you. And Carter doesn’t want to see a liar like you.”

Bud lowered his head in silence.

“But Carter has a wish—she wants her killer brought to justice! If you feel guilty, then help catch the real culprit.”

Bud’s head snapped up, his expression suddenly determined.

“I swear to God! I’ll do everything I can to bring her justice.”

Dean thought his resolve genuine and nodded.

“Carter told me about the murderer—a woman, six-foot-three, nearly two hundred pounds, powerfully built, with a deep voice. Most crucially, before killing Carter, she said, ‘You belong only to her.’ She killed Carter for your sake…”

“The killer knows you.”

Sitting in the corner, Bud frowned in thought for a few seconds, then his face went deathly pale as if struck by a sudden illness.

“So the killer is your mistress?” Dean pressed.

Bud’s features contorted, and he pounded the floor with his fist, his face blanching and coloring by turns with a look of inner struggle.

“Even if you don’t talk, the cops will find the killer soon enough.” Dean’s face grew cold, his tone biting with sarcasm. “So much for your promises and your five love languages. So much for loving Carter.”

“Enough! I’ll tell you!”

Bud slumped against the wall.

“The killer is someone I know—Roxanne Toney, the bartender at the bar on West 12th. I’ve been seeing her for a year.”

Dean glanced at the rapidly advancing investigation progress and nodded.

“Why did she kill Carter and say those words?”

“She’s always wanted me to divorce Carter and be with her,” Bud recalled. “But I could never do that. I have a happy family, and Carter and I planned to have children together.”

“So why didn’t Roxanne just confront Carter? Why resort to murder over jealousy?”

“She knew I’d never agree. And that’s just her character—possessive, impulsive.” Bud paused, then cried out in grief, “Even though I liked her, she must pay for killing Carter.”

“You’re prepared to turn her in, then?” Dean checked his system and, after this honest negotiation, saw the investigation progress had reached eighty percent. Everything was in place. “Dry your tears and come with me to LVPD and tell them everything.”

“But remember—if you don’t want them to think you’re crazy, don’t mention anything about dreams.”

“Can I see Carter?”

“I told you, I can’t help. But if you keep your word, maybe one day in the future, she’ll contact you herself.”

…

Dean drove Bud Burton to the LVPD in his Bronco.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Hey, Karen.”

Dean greeted familiar faces as he made his way to the Group Five office on the second floor.

Inside, Holden Ford in his shirt sleeves, Carl Land with a towel draped over his shoulders, and several other officers were gathered around a conference table, enjoying hot breakfasts and coffee.

Everyone looked haggard, hair greasy and eyes bloodshot—clearly, no one had slept all night.

Holden pointed to a whiteboard covered with mugshots.

“Mr. Bud, you’re just in time. We’ve found thirty-five suspects in the files. Come see if you recognize any of them.”

“No need, officers.”

Bud shook his head, his gaze sweeping the room with a flicker of hesitation. But seeing Dean’s eyes, he swallowed hard.

“I know who the killer is. I’ll take you to her now—she should be at the bar.”

“What?”

The exhausted officers instantly revived, their faces flushed with adrenaline.

Pfft—

Carl, startled mid-sip, sprayed a mouthful of coffee across the office wall, leaving an ugly brown blotch.

“Cough, cough!”

“Hey, chief, when did you catch throat cancer?” a big-nosed officer teased, thumping his back. “Getting choked on coffee—seriously?”

Carl shot him a glare, his face finally returning to normal as he exhaled.

“Mr. Bud Burton, this is no time for jokes. We never told you anything about the suspect, and our investigation has barely started. How could you possibly know who the killer is?”

“Dean spoke to me this morning. Together, we noticed several critical details we’d overlooked before.”

Bud summarized the relationship between himself and the suspect.

Everyone shot incredulous looks at the young, inexperienced Dean. How had this rookie persuaded the man to confess about his mistress?

Dean met their skepticism with a calm expression.

“What are we waiting for?” Holden shrugged into his jacket. “Let’s go pick her up. Bud, you’re riding with me—explain everything on the way.”

“Wake up those slackers sleeping in the bathroom—no way the suspect slips through our fingers!”

After a brief discussion, the team moved out at once, piling into five police SUVs and heading for the Colorful Bar on West 12th Street.

(End of chapter)