The rain had been falling in sheets for hours, a steady, relentless drumming against the windshield of Detective Laura Fence's unmarked sedan. She had left the city late-too late-and now, as she drove through the dark, empty stretches of Route 8, the world outside felt like blur. A smudge of black pavement and gray sky, flickering orange streetlights barely illuminating the way.
Fence had been called out to a scene near an old rest stop. It was strecth of road she knew all too well, notorious for accidents, break-ins and the occasional homicide. Still, something about the call felt off. A body had been found by a trucker, but the details were scarce.
Her phone buzzed.
"Detective Fence, this is Officer Max. Victim's name is Aidan Flores, 35, Male. Found just past Mile Marker 142. Shot in the head. We've got a lot of witnesses, but no one seems to have seen anything."
"Thanks, Max. I'm about ten minutes out."
The Officer's voice crackled through the line, but the words barely registered as Fence's eyes darted to rearview mirror. Something moved in the shadows. She swerved instinctively, heart thumping, but it was just a fox. The headlights flickered for a second, and then the road was clear again.
By the time she reached the rest stop, the storm had intensified. The fluorescent lights flickered above the small, in abandoned building where the body had been found. A few police cruisers were parked haphazardly, their sirens turned off, but the red-and-blue lights still reflected off the west asphalt.
Fence parked next to an older officer who was standing by the crime scene tape.
"Detective Fence," he greeted her with a bow. "I'm Officer Lee. You're looking for the body?"
She scanned the area, noticing the tired eyes of few officers, the way they looked at the ground. It wasn't like them to be so quiet.
"Yeah. Walk me through it."
Lee led her behind the small, abandoned convenience store where the body had been found. There, lying face-up on the pavement, was a man in his thirties, his clothes dark and sodden from the rain. His eyes were wide open, fixed on the gray sky above. Blood had pooled around him, a crimson stain against the concrete.
"The trucker found him about an hour ago," Lee explained. "Said he was parked over there," he pointed toward the far corner of the rest stop, "when he heard the shots. Didn't see anyone leave the scene, though. No vehicles parked nearby."
Fence crouched down, inspecting the body. One clean bullet wound in the head. This wasn't random shooting. It looked deliberate, a calculated execution.
"Any witnesses?" she asked, already knowing the answer. There was always something off with cases like these.
"Not one," Lee replied. "A few people at the stop, but none of them saw a thing. It's like the guy just...
vanished after the shots."
Fence straightened up, her eyes scanning the area. The heavy rain had made the place eerily quiet, like a forgotten corner of the world. But there was something else---something nagging at the back of her mind. This wasn't the work of a casual killer. It was too clean, too precise.
"Who called this in?" she asked.
"Trucker named Jackson. He's waiting in his cab, said he didn't want to get involved, but he'll talk to you."
Fence nodded and mentioned for Lee to stay with the body. She walked towards the trucker's rig, where a lanky man in a soaked flannel shirt sat behind the wheel. His eyes were bloodshot, his fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel.
"You're the one who found the body?" she asked as she leaned in through the open window.
Jackson nodded slowly, glancing at her with a mix of suspicion and fear. "Yeah, I did. But I don't know anything else, Detective. I was just parked there, waiting out the storm. I heard one shot... looked over and saw the guy on the ground."
"You didn't see anyone else?" she asked.
"Not a soul , i swear."
Fence stared at him for a long moment, watching his fidgeting hands and darting eyes. There was something about his nervousness that didn't sit right. But then again, who wouldn't be rattled by finding a man dead in a place like this?
"Did you recognised the man?"
Jackson shook his head. "Nope. I've never seen him before in my life."
"Did he seem out of place? Was he acting strange?"
Jackson hesitated. "Not really. He was just standing there by the rest stop, looking like he was waiting for someone."
Fence nodded slowly. "Did you hear anything else? Any voices, maybe?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just the shots. Then I called it in."
Fence sighed, her mind racing. The rest stop wasn't far from the highway, but it was isolated, making it the perfect place for a quick and quiet murder. But why there? And who would want to kill a man and leave him in a place like this?
"Thanks," Fence said, straightening up. "Stay close, alright? I might have more questions."
As she turned to walk back toward the crime scence, something caught her eye. A small, scuffed footprint, partially washed away by the rain, but still visible. It was close to where the body had been almost as if someone had been standing over the victim.
Her stomach tightened. This was just the beginning.