MR.J document 5

Tracking a fifty-pound fugitive requires forensic precision, not blind optimism. I navigated the mossy brick border behind the garden shed until a suspicious snag along the weathered wooden fence caught my eye. Crouching low to keep my pressed trousers off the damp mulch, I used both paws to carefully pry loose a coarse tuft of bright ginger fur impaled on a cedar splinter. The fibers were fresh, and the broken spiderwebs beside them confirmed a direct escape route toward the adjoining hedge. Amateur investigators would chalk this up to luck; I call it verified market intelligence. The asset is close, and my fifty-quid profit margin is well on schedule.