The next morning, I shuffled into the precinct, clutching my coffee like a lifeline. Jenkins was already at his desk, animatedly recounting our latest escapades to a bemused Harper. Alex sat nearby, engrossed in a massive tome on unsolved mysteries.
"And then Kan says, 'Crimes and Punchlines,'" Jenkins continued, smirking as he saw me approach. "Can you believe it? The rookie's got jokes."
Harper glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "I hope you're not making a habit of turning this investigation into a comedy routine."
"Just trying to keep morale up, sir," I replied, attempting to sound earnest while suppressing a grin.
Harper sighed. "Well, let's hope you can balance comedy with catching this killer. What's the latest on our suspect from last night?"
"Not much," Jenkins said, his tone more serious now. "She's just a student with an unhealthy obsession with the case. No connection to our killer, but she did provide some interesting insights."
Alex looked up from his book, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've been thinking about the museum. What if it's not just the anniversaries that matter, but the specific exhibits? The killer could be targeting items connected to past crimes."
Harper nodded slowly. "It's a possibility. We need to reexamine the exhibits, see if there's a pattern we've missed."
As we gathered the museum's exhibit list, Jenkins couldn't resist another quip. "You know, Kan, if this detective thing doesn't work out, we could always start an art gallery. 'Detectives by Day, Curators by Night.'"
I laughed. "Sure, Jenkins. We'll call it 'Criminal Artistry.'"
We spent the next few hours poring over the exhibit details. The museum's collection was vast, but a few pieces stood out—artifacts and paintings connected to notorious heists and unsolved mysteries. One exhibit, in particular, caught our attention: a painting rumored to be cursed, linked to a series of mysterious deaths over the years.
"This could be it," Alex said, excitement evident in his voice. "If the killer's targeting specific items, this painting might be next."
Harper considered this, then nodded. "All right. We'll set up another stakeout, but this time, we'll be ready for anything."
As we prepared for the night ahead, Jenkins leaned over to me, a conspiratorial grin on his face. "So, Kan, what's your take on cursed paintings? Think we're gonna end up in a horror movie?"
"Given our luck, probably," I replied, grinning back. "But hey, at least we've got comic relief."
The museum was eerily silent as we took our positions. The cursed painting, an unsettling portrait of a grim-faced man, loomed over the exhibit room, its dark eyes seeming to follow our every move. Jenkins, ever the joker, whispered to me as we settled in.
"You know, Kan, if that painting comes to life, you're taking the lead."
I rolled my eyes. "Deal. And if we get trapped in a Scooby-Doo episode, you're in charge of snacks."
As the hours ticked by, the tension in the room grew palpable. Every creak of the old building set our nerves on edge. Harper and Alex were stationed at the entrance, while Jenkins and I kept watch from a hidden corner.
Around midnight, we heard it—a faint shuffling sound, like footsteps on the marble floor. Jenkins tensed beside me, his hand on his gun. We peered into the darkness, straining to see any movement.
Then, out of the shadows, a figure emerged. They moved slowly, cautiously, heading straight for the cursed painting. Jenkins signaled to Harper, and we silently moved into position, ready to apprehend the intruder.
"Freeze!" Harper's voice rang out, echoing through the exhibit hall.
The figure spun around, and to our shock, it was a young man, probably in his early twenties, holding a small paintbrush. He looked utterly terrified.
"Please, don't shoot!" he cried, dropping the brush. "I'm just here to fix the painting!"
Harper lowered his gun slightly, confused. "Fix the painting? Explain yourself."
The man swallowed hard. "I'm an art restorer. I got a message saying there was a defect in the painting, something that needed immediate attention. I didn't mean any harm."
We exchanged glances, trying to process this new twist. Jenkins, ever the quick thinker, stepped forward. "Who sent you the message?"
The restorer fumbled for his phone, showing us the text. It was from an unknown number, instructing him to repair a specific part of the painting, claiming it was an urgent matter.
"Looks like our killer has a sense of humor," Jenkins muttered. "Using an art restorer as a distraction."
Harper nodded. "All right, let's get him out of here and figure out our next move."
As we escorted the restorer outside, Jenkins leaned over to me. "You know, Kan, I think our killer missed their calling as a prankster."
I chuckled. "Yeah, but let's hope they stick to puzzles and leave the art world alone."
Back at the precinct, we debriefed Harper on the restorer's story. It was clear the Jigsaw Killer was toying with us, using the museum's exhibits to send us on a wild goose chase.
"This is getting ridiculous," Harper said, rubbing his temples. "We need to get ahead of this guy."
"We will," I assured him. "We just need to keep piecing together the clues."
As the sun rose, we gathered around a whiteboard, mapping out our next steps. The restorer's encounter had given us another clue—our killer was not just targeting significant anniversaries but also specific individuals connected to those events.
Jenkins, ever the optimist, cracked another joke as we worked. "You know, Kan, if we keep this up, we might actually solve this case. And then we can finally open that art gallery."
I smiled, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "Yeah, Jenkins. But first, let's catch this killer."
With our newfound resolve, we dove back into the investigation, ready to outwit the Jigsaw Killer at their own twisted game. And with Jenkins' humor and our growing camaraderie, I knew we had what it took to bring this case to a close—one laugh at a time.