We made decent time on the way to Staten Island. The traffic was light tonight. Another missing person's report came in over the radio. I was beginning to ponder the connection with these cases we've been working on. Eddie was working on similar cases in the Bronx, and after Parker, I knew there was a connection. I couldn't connect the dots. Tate led the way, allowing me to admire her sultry walk again. Those swaying hips and her heels against the pavement were a pleasant and soothing distraction. The outline of her panty line shows through her pencil dress. Almost revealing the shape of her ample rump. If only for a fleeting moment. I found myself wondering about an erotic encounter with her and my wife, Camilla. For some reason, it felt more immediate than my normal fantasies. Things felt like they were heating up when I thought about them. We checked in at the front desk, then talked with booking before we were allowed to speak with the suspect. All the while, I couldn't take my eyes off Hannah. She didn't seem to mind but definitely noticed my unwavering eyes. Hannah just played along to my gawking over her fit figure. I felt like I was under some spell or drive that had taken hold of me. I force whatever this feeling is back to the depths of my mind as the suspect is brought to an interrogation room.
We watch from behind the double-panel window as the suspect is brought in. A well-dressed man was brought into the room. I recognized the press badge in his right pocket. 'A reporter, huh?' The wavy-haired brunette reporter keeps his eyes on the ground. Taking peeks here and there with wide hazel eyes. The man was scared out of his mind. Hannah and I stood there observing him as a Detective gave us the rundown of the suspect. A forty-year-old reporter named James Wesley. He was a freelancer that worked with most of the major outlets. Two days ago, he burned down his apartment along with an unidentified person. There was a substantial similarity between how the detective described the scene and how ritualistic murders are performed. The only difference was no strange language or burning at the cross. Impossible temperatures had affected only his apartment, just like Parker's home. I'd heard enough; I had to listen to what this man had to say face to face.
I entered first, with Hannah taking a position in the corner behind the man. He seemed uncertain as to why we were here. No doubt he'd been questioned thoroughly long before we got here. I started with the obvious question.
"Who was the victim at your apartment?" I said bluntly.
Wesley mumbled under his breath, but I managed to hear his words. 'Jason Colt.' The name sent a chill down my spine. I seemed to be getting that reaction more and more the past day. 'He's fucking kidding me, right? Jason Colt? Staff Sergeant Jason Colt. The same one with an X over his face in the photo I received just a few hours earlier?' I ask the question again. There was no way this was the same Jason Colt I knew.
"Who is Jason Colt???" I asked again, firmly.
"You know who I'm talking about, Thomas Hunt," Wesley said, calmer than expected.
Tate glanced at me when Mr. Colt mentioned my name. Crossing her arms as she paced behind the suspect. Her heels impact the hard-tiled floor as she walks. I could see the interest piquing on her face. There was no hiding what I knew from her after Hannah heard that. Her face was making a disappointing frown. I kicked myself again for not telling her. Adding insult to injury, I couldn't take my eyes off her jiggling bosom as she paced. 'Why the hell am I thinking about this right now?'
"How the hell do you know who I am?" I asked.
I hadn't mentioned who I was or who Hannah was. That was by design. He didn't need to know our names. Not at the start, at least. The fact that he knew of me was concerning. I took a different tactic and brought the photo on my phone up.
"Do you recognize anyone in this photo?" I questioned, sliding my phone in front of him.
"That's him, the one right there," Wesley said, fingering Captain Hison.
I took the team photo from my pocket and showed him. Again, after a long moment, he fingered Aaden. He didn't seem phased at all by the photos' different periods. Or the fact that I was among the men pictured. Hannah walks around the table, inspecting both images discreetly. She pulls the two photos over, then taps the table with her finger. That was a bad sign. Hannah knew what I was hiding now. My past was coming back to bite me in the ass. My partner takes a long hard look at Aaden.
"Why was Jason Colt at your apartment, and how do you know this man in the picture???" I questioned more.
"Jason came to me, offering a story around mid-last year. Well, more like he wanted my help investigating the death of a friend. One which he thought was mysterious. Through that investigation, we came across this man. Indirect at first, but the more we dig up information about his friend's death…," Wesely trailed off.
"Keep going; this is important," I affirmed.
"This man was in some way, directly or indirectly involved in a host of suspicious disappearances and deaths. Jason seemed to know the man but never asked me how or who he was. The other day, Jason said this man showed up at his apartment. That's why he was at my place," Wesley said.
"Who was this friend?" I asked.
"Enrico Alvarez, one of the men in the second picture with you," the reporter said.
Now I understood how he knew who I was. Lance Corporal Alvarez, another Marine I served with on the Blue Spectors. Tate didn't intervene while I was questioning the reporter.
"Do you have any information on murders involving ritualistic murders by arson? Anything similar like that?" I inquired.
"You have no idea what's going on, do you?" Wesley barked.
"And you do?" I countered.
"Hell no! No one knows what kind of horrible things are coming!" the reporter snapped more aggressively. "I come home to my apartment to find Colt tied to a chair in the living room. It looked like he'd been tortured for days, but that wasn't possible. I was only gone for half a fucking hour. These symbols were carved into every inch of his body and all over every surface in the apartment. I got a notification from my ring cam. He was at the door, so I booked it out the window, and down the fire escaped. The next thing I know, my apartment explodes like a nuclear bomb went off," James revealed.
The door opened abruptly, and the Lieutenant motioned for us to exit. Tate and I left to see what the Lieutenant wanted.
"You believe a word this guy is saying?" the Lieutenant asked.
"I don't know what to believe at this point," I said.
"Sounds like this new suspect is out to get you," he said. "What do you want to do about this suspect? I can hold him on some minor charges for a while, but that's it. We don't have any concrete evidence to do more than that," the Lieutenant explained.
"Keep him here as long as you can. I'd add extra security, too. This man he pointed at, I knew. The thing is, Aaden Oswald Hison died in Afghanistan, I said.
The Lieutenant took any relevant information we had. There wasn't much to go on. Before we left, the Lieutenant gave us an address Welsey had mentioned earlier during his interrogation. It was outside the city limits. This was worth checking out in the morning. It was getting late, and I needed rest. Tate didn't say much on the way back to Manhattan. She wasn't talkative, but not quite either. I suspected it had something to do with those photos. It was like a powder keg ready to blow. Tate turned onto my block when we both spotted the plume of smoke. Emergency service lights flashed at the block's end, right around my apartment building. An ominous feeling sinks in as the orange hue of the night sky glows brightly. Hannah got us as close as possible. My entire complex was up in flames. I opened the door and stepped out in awe of the sheer magnitude of the fire. It was almost like it was alive, reaching high into the night sky. The heat could be felt even from this distance. It was apparent now if there was any doubt about a threat to my life. The only question is, what does all this have to do with my old unit.