The world of American TV series: Starting with the L.A. Patrol.

After leaving Franz's house, Jack looked at the time. He learned about the case from Stella Bonasilla the night before, and then spent a day arranging various matters.

This included but was not limited to handing over to the NYPD, contacting Joey Reacher and using his FBI authority to search for Jack Reacher's whereabouts. He then contacted the BAU team that was dealing with a pervert in Pennsylvania, and borrowed their Gulfstream early this morning and headed straight to Arkansas.

After returning to New York, the two of them went straight to visit Franz's widow. It was already 5 o'clock in the afternoon.

Flatbush is located in the central area of ​​Brooklyn, and its main road is called Flatbush Avenue. Jack found this tiny office by counting the house number.

Although there was some traffic jam on the road, it took no more than 20 minutes to get from Franz's house to here. It could even be said that driving was a waste of time, and walking might be faster.

Jack looked up at the shops on both sides of the office. On the left was a comic book store, and on the right was a kitchenware store. If it weren't for the sign "Three Rivers Consulting Company" hanging on the glass door, he might have thought it was the entrance to the apartment upstairs.

"For a private detective dealing with Wall Street, isn't this place too low-key?" Jack turned his head and looked around. The location here is actually not bad. There are no tents on the sidewalk and no needles on the ground.

"It's low-key and simple, close to home, and I can spend more time with my family. It's indeed a place Franz would choose." Reacher took out the key and walked to the door, pausing slightly when he saw the pry marks near the door lock.

Although Franz's wife gave him a bunch of keys, there were actually only three keys on the keychain. One was the key to Franz's house, one was the key to his office, and the other one she couldn't tell clearly, it looked like the key to some kind of safe.

At this time, Reacher had already opened the door of the office. Although Jack was mentally prepared, he still sighed when he saw the mess inside. It looked like a tornado had passed through here. It seemed that there was no hope of gaining anything.

Franz's office is not big, a room of no more than 60 square meters, divided into two areas inside and outside by a simple partition made of glass doors.

At this time, both the inner and outer rooms made people feel as if they had nowhere to stand. All the sofas and chairs with linings had been cut into pieces with knives, and the drawers of the cabinets had been pulled out and the contents had been poured out to the floor.

Lei Che lowered his head and examined it for a moment, then said confidently, "It looks like the other party didn't find anything."

Jack was a little surprised at how he could tell that. The big guy pointed to the broken glass separating the inside and outside and said,

"If it was something with a clear goal, they wouldn't have gone to such great lengths. They spent a lot of time but got nothing. When they left, they picked up the phone and smashed the glass. It was a pure act of venting."

"Sounds like you're more versed in psychology than I am."

Jack picked up a broken chair and shook it. "But what they are looking for should not be big. At least it should be able to fit into a small secret compartment. Otherwise, there is no need to break off four chair legs to see if the inside is hollow."

After he finished speaking, he noticed that Reacher didn't seem to react. He turned around and saw the big guy picking up a broken photo frame and looking at it in a daze.

"Is this the team you led back then?" Jack curiously stepped forward to take a look. In the photo frame was a group photo of people in front of a campfire.

There are 7 men and 2 women in the photo, all wearing camouflage uniforms or military T-shirts. Everyone has a smile on their face, including Reacher.

"It seems like yesterday." The big guy muttered to himself.

Jack looked at the photo and then at Reacher. It's not entirely without advantages for some people to look older. Franz in the photo looked like a young man in his early 20s, which was very different from the 30-year-old man in the information.

There is basically no difference between Reacher himself and in the photo, he looks just as weathered.

The two did not spend too much time in Franz's office because they had no idea what they were looking for, and when leaving, Reacher took out the key again to lock the door, but Jack looked across the street thoughtfully.

"Can you please let me see that bunch of keys?"

Reacher was slightly stunned and handed the key in his hand to Jack.

Jack picked out the key that looked like it was from the safe, and tilted his head towards the other side of the street, "Do you think this could be a mailbox key? It's unexpected but very safe. You don't even need to register with your real name. You can just cross the street when you need it."

The United States Post Office provides a private mailbox service, which is a row of cabinets placed in the post office that can only be opened with your own key.

Reacher's eyes lit up, he quickly crossed the street, then frowned at the combination lock at the door of the post office.

"It's already five forty." Jack, who followed, shook his phone to indicate the time.

The United States Post Office (USPS), also known as the Federal Postal Service, is one of the few state-owned enterprises in this country. Thanks to the fact that this country still uses paper letters to send bills, in this information age, the number of letters handled by USPS each year accounts for a quarter of the global total.

However, like all state-owned enterprises, the post office's closing time is terribly punctual. It closes at 5 o'clock and you won't wait even a second longer.

"Can't you use your FBI privileges to open the door? I hate guessing passwords." Reacher was a little depressed.

"I'm just a private investigator now, and the post office has its own law enforcement unit. I don't recommend you break in." Jack was referring to the famous postal police.

The first people in federal history to use the title Special Agent were the postal police, and the Postal Inspection Service to which they belong is the oldest federal law enforcement agency in the United States, bar none.

As early as the 18th century, the United States Postal Inspection Service was established after Benjamin Franklin was appointed as the first Postmaster General of the United States.

Later, the title of Special Agent was changed to Postal Inspector and continues to this day, but its law enforcement attributes have remained unchanged.

Jack didn't know the postal police, but that didn't stop him from asking friends who knew these people for help. An hour later, when Reacher's stomach began to rumble, Danny Reagan appeared in front of the two of them with a white-bearded old man.

The old man opened the combination lock for them very quickly, and Reacher stood in front of a row of cabinets with the key and tried each one.

"Under normal circumstances I should ask you to show a search warrant." The old man muttered somewhat dissatisfied.

"A bottle of Jack Daniels No. 7 Black Label, Uncle Ed, the best bourbon in my dad's collection." Danny smiled and put his arm around the old man's shoulder.

"Try the big cabinet below. As a private detective, Franz should have a lot of mail." Jack suggested.

With a "click", Reacher opened the mailbox on the far left and took out a pile of letters.