Chapter 15: Real Lies

"Answer the questions carefully."

Sitting behind a desk in an office at the LAPD, Murphy remembered his lawyer's advice from the phone call earlier. "Be cautious of the police's verbal traps."

As expected, Murphy encountered the police when he left the TV station. He had voluntarily agreed to assist them, which brought him to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Office.

Everything was going according to Murphy's plan. He remained calm, knowing he was well-prepared.

After a short wait, the door opened, and two detectives, a man and a woman, whom Murphy recognized, walked in. They set down their folders and pens, then sat opposite him. Their expressions were not pleasant, akin to preparing for an interrogation.

Murphy remained composed. His lawyer was on the way, and a reporter sent by Kara Faith from Channel Six was waiting outside the police station.

After all, he was just a freelance journalist who filmed a news video, not a lawbreaker.

"We've already read you your rights," the male detective started. "And you came here voluntarily, correct?"

"That's right," Murphy nodded lightly. "That's correct."

"You understand this is being recorded?"

Murphy glanced at the camera in the corner of the room, deliberately making a joke. "Of course! I see the camera, and it's filming in wide-angle."

The male detective seemed irritated by this, pausing his file review to sit up straight. "Why were you at Beverly Hills and Mort's Pizza tonight? And why did you call the police?"

He stared into Murphy's eyes, as if trying to see through him.

"I'm a freelance journalist. My primary work locations are Santa Monica, West Hollywood, and Beverly Hills."

The detective's expression shifted slightly. Murphy was stating basic facts. He knew that to get through this, most of what he said had to be true and verifiable. "Tonight, I left downtown and headed to West Hollywood. While waiting for news in a middle-class neighborhood, I noticed someone in a car watching me from the roadside."

Murphy continued, as if recounting a true story. "At first, I didn't pay much attention. But after driving around the neighborhood for a while, I noticed that car and person were suddenly following me. I felt something was wrong and lost them."

The detectives remained expressionless.

"As I was about to leave the neighborhood, I saw that car again from a distance." Murphy's tone was steady. "Curious about why they were following me, I followed them from afar. They picked up another person on the outskirts of Beverly Hills. They seemed familiar, but I couldn't recall where I had seen them."

The female detective glanced at her colleague, sharing a look of mutual suspicion.

"I'm not a great driver, and to avoid being noticed, I kept a considerable distance. When we reached Ronald Avenue, I lost them." Murphy mixed a lie with mostly true statements. "Though curious about why they were following me, I had work to do and decided to let it go."

He cleared his throat. "Unexpectedly, as I continued down Ronald Avenue, I saw their car again at the intersection with Seventh Street. They were getting out and entering the pizza place."

"Did you confirm they were the culprits?" the male detective asked.

"No, I only thought their figures looked familiar," Murphy shook his head, then added, "But as one of them entered the restaurant, I saw a gun under his jacket, which made me certain."

The female detective spoke up, "You previously said you couldn't see their faces."

"I didn't see their faces clearly," Murphy spread his hands. "It was too dark. But I remembered one man's build. Judging by his build and walk, combined with the fact they were armed, I knew it was them."

Murphy shrugged. "You probably know that many people can identify someone by their build and gait. So I took out my phone and called the police."

The male detective's face showed a hint of mockery. "That's your story?"

"It's the truth!" Murphy said firmly. "That's why I voluntarily came here to report what happened!"

He added, "I suspect those two men saw my news video, tracked me down, and were planning to do something to me."

Murphy sat there, as honest as a newborn.

"Fascinating," the male detective didn't hide his sarcasm. "Want to hear what I think?"

"Of course," Murphy nodded. "Please go ahead."

"I think you're hiding information. I think you saw those two men on Bill Road," the detective stood up, looming over Murphy. "You also saw their car and kept quiet to get the footage you wanted."

He stared at Murphy. "Is that it?"

"A compelling story, but it's not true," Murphy met the detective's gaze. "I'm a responsible citizen of Los Angeles and wouldn't do such a thing. It would violate my professional ethics."

The detective leaned closer. "You're equivalent to a murderer!"

"You have colleagues who are severely injured. I understand why you feel this way, but it's not the truth," Murphy remained calm. "I didn't do what you're accusing me of, and my professional ethics wouldn't allow it."

"Don't think you can fool me," the detective's tone grew agitated.

"I never intended to deceive you," Murphy replied, "You know I'm telling the truth."

"I believe you're lying!" The detective pressed his hands on the table, trying to intimidate Murphy. "You're a manipulative liar who will do anything to achieve your goals!"

Murphy stared back, unblinking.

"You filmed everything and sold it all!" The detective accused.

"I'm a journalist," Murphy replied matter-of-factly. "That's my job. My duty is to capture and share the news. The public has the right to know."

"You..." The detective raised a hand. "We'll make you pay..."

The female detective quickly pulled him back. He glanced at the camera behind him and swallowed the rest of his words.

Murphy remained calm, sitting opposite them.

The detectives weren't fools. They knew they were dealing with a formidable opponent—someone meticulous, composed, and difficult to shake.

Most importantly, they had no evidence to prove he was lying.

In Los Angeles, many major roads are monitored. The videos and images they had retrieved showed that the black Ford's route matched Murphy's story.

Fox's Channel Six was watching the police station closely. Without evidence, the police couldn't take drastic measures. Channel Six reporters were outside, eager for the police to overstep.

Soon, Murphy's lawyer, Robert, arrived. Since Murphy had come voluntarily to assist, Robert didn't have to work too hard to get him released. By the time the sun was fully up, Murphy was walking out of the police station with his lawyer.

"Thank you, Robert."

In the police station's parking lot, Murphy shook Robert's hand. "This incident made me realize the importance of having a professional like you. As a witness, I almost faced unjust treatment from the police."

"I'll file a protest with the police," Robert shook Murphy's hand, reminding him, "If you face any more trouble, call me immediately."

Murphy nodded slightly. "I will."

To avoid the fate of his predecessor, Murphy had hired Robert, a reasonably well-known lawyer, once he had stable income. There was a reason for this.

To live a relatively stable and respectable life in this country, having your own lawyer is essential.

Just as Murphy got into his car, his phone rang. Without checking, he answered, "Hello, this is Murphy Stanton."

"Murphy, it's Kara," a slightly tired female voice came from the other end. "How did it go? Did the police give you any trouble?"

"A bit," Murphy replied calmly. "But I managed to handle it."

Perhaps due to the recent rise in ratings from the videos he provided, Kara sounded genuinely concerned. "Don't let your guard down. Especially avoid doing anything that might make the police suspicious."

Murphy nodded. "I understand. Right now, I'm more keen on avoiding them."

Over the past few days, Murphy knew he had landed on the LAPD's blacklist. This time, they had no evidence and couldn't do anything. But if they ever caught him on something, they would undoubtedly settle all scores.

After hanging up with Kara, Murphy reviewed recent events in his mind, ensuring there were no loose ends, then started his car and drove away.

To many, this might seem like an unworthy risk, but Murphy had no regrets. Any process of accumulating capital is never smooth and is always filled with hardships. As someone with almost no presence, obtaining a significant startup fund required extreme measures.

Besides, this was America, not the other side of the Pacific where he was born and raised.

Murphy never had universal saintly aspirations.

Back home, Murphy didn't rest. Despite his fatigue, he went to the bank to deposit the thirty thousand and one hundred thousand dollar checks into his account.

With money in hand, Murphy knew he also had to deal with the IRS. Having already offended the LAPD, he didn't want to provoke the much more troublesome IRS.

This matter could be handled by his lawyer, and with tax season still far off, it wasn't an immediate concern.

In addition to these tasks, Murphy met with his lawyer, Robert, several more times over the next few days to pursue the ten thousand dollar reward from the LAPD.