Ethan, who had just risen to his feet, caught sight of a stark white card emblazoned with the numeral '3' resting on the table. With a sense of foreboding, he reseated himself and cast a questioning gaze at Nancy. "Did you also receive one of these ominous cards?" he inquired with a hint of suspicion in his tone.
Nancy's expression clouded with concern as she replied, "It's not mine; it belongs to a friend. Tragically, Charles met his demise on the third day following the receipt of a similar card. While the precise timing of Trevor's card remains unknown to me, I fear the pattern holds true. This is why I orchestrated the disruption at the press conference, desperately seeking your attention."
Ethan's brow furrowed as he probed further, "Why haven't you turned this over to the authorities?"
Nancy's response was steeped in earnestness. "It's not that I question the competence of the police; I simply believed your direct involvement could expedite the investigation. I resolved to seek you out this morning, and should you decline to take on the case, I'll have no choice but to approach the police." Her voice faltered slightly, "Since my friend is now in possession of the card, she's likely already marked by the assailant. The police can offer only temporary safety. If the perpetrator remains at large during this critical period..."
Ethan's fingers cautiously grasped the card, scrutinizing it thoroughly. The card was unremarkable in its simplicity, devoid of any distinctive features save for the number '3' scrawled in ordinary ballpoint ink. "What's your friend's name? Her current whereabouts? The time she received this ominous card?" he questioned, his tone urgent.
Nancy's voice lowered to a near whisper, laden with anxiety. "The card arrived yesterday at noon. I was at her residence when it happened. An unseen visitor rang the bell, but upon opening the door, she found no one there. It was only upon reentering that she discovered the card. She's a freelance writer, not one to concern herself with the concrete facts. Dismissing it as a juvenile prank, she paid it little mind, thankfully I was there." She paused, her gaze darkening, "Since Charles's tragic end, I've been vigilantly tracking the case, amassing information to eventually publish once it's resolved. The gruesome photos of the suitcase concealing the body, the two cards recovered from the victims – I had them all before this latest development. Discovering that my friend, too, had received such a card was a harrowing revelation."
Ethan pondered aloud, holding up the card to the faint light, "One a physician, another a real estate executive, and your friend, a freelancer. No apparent link between them." He scrutinized the card, yet it revealed nothing more.
Nancy retrieved a video clip from her phone, her voice steady but filled with urgency. "I immediately checked the surveillance footage from her housing complex after she received the card. The time, noon, saw a flurry of students, delivery workers, and couriers. No one seemed out of place." She handed Ethan the phone, "This is the footage from that time. Oh, and her name is Donna Summers. Fearing for her safety in her rented home, I've since moved her to my place for protection."
Ethan absorbed the surveillance footage on the phone. It depicted the bustling entrance of the residential complex from the previous day at noon, swarming with the comings and goings of various individuals, predominantly children.
Nancy, watching Ethan's focused gaze, began to share more background. "Donna and I go way back to our college days. She pursued journalism for a while post-graduation, only recently opting to run her own public account. We've remained close friends throughout," she explained. Her voice grew more solemn as she recounted the events leading up to their current predicament. "After much deliberation yesterday afternoon, I decided to approach you at the 'Insight' press conference. I've been an admirer of your work since your 'Mastermind' program days, and I've kept tabs on the cases where you served as a consultant. Though you might not recall my involvement," she added, her eyes flickering with a mix of nostalgia and urgency. "If the pattern holds, with Charles being murdered three days post-card receipt, then counting today, Donna has been in possession of the card for two days."
Ethan, still engrossed in the video, shared his thoughts. "Charles's murder exactly three days after receiving the card might just be a fluke. The card's primary intent could be a prelude to the victim, signaling they're under surveillance. It's also a message to the police, linking the crimes to a single perpetrator. Trevor's case might not align with the three-day pattern; he could have received his card before Charles," he theorized, his eyes never leaving the phone's screen. "Moreover, the card could be a red herring, intended to throw off the police. Criminals often plant unrelated evidence at crime scenes to mislead investigations."
Nancy pondered aloud, "I asked Donna about Charles and Trevor. She claimed no knowledge of them. Their professional circles don't intersect, so a mutual acquaintance seems unlikely. Could this be a case of the killer choosing victims at random?"
Ethan, pausing the footage, turned the phone towards Nancy, his finger pointing at a particular child in the frame. "This child entered and left the complex twice within thirty minutes, each time with a backpack." His observation hung heavily in the air.
Nancy, taken aback, questioned, "Are you suggesting this child was the messenger for Donna's card?"
Ethan elaborated, "The first time, the child was in and out in just seven minutes. However, between the second and third appearance, there's a twenty-minute gap, and this time, the child carried a bag of snacks." He leaned back, his voice steady, "It seems likely someone paid this child to deliver the card."
In the shadowy confines of the surveillance room, Nancy's focus narrowed on the child in the footage. "So, this child might have witnessed the killer?" she queried, her voice laced with a mix of intrigue and apprehension.
Ethan, leaning back in his chair, replied with a calculated nonchalance, "It's unlikely the killer would risk exposing their identity to a child. That would be amateurish." He stood up abruptly, his determination clear. "We won't crack this case just sitting here."
Nancy, sensing Ethan's commitment, hastily gathered her belongings. "Does this mean you're taking on the case?" she asked, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
Ethan, striding towards the exit, responded, "The Major Crimes Unit is handling it, and I've heard their leader is a tough nut to crack." His tone suggested a hint of professional rivalry.
Nancy, quick to keep pace, blocked his path, offering her credit card with a flourish. "With your reputation as a 'case consultant', I doubt you'll face any hurdles," she insisted, attempting to settle the bill.
Ethan, however, was firm in his principles. "No free rides," he declared, placing cash on the counter for his coffee before stepping out into the brisk air.
Outside the café, Nancy hurried to catch up with him. "Where to now? The police station?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued.
Ethan paused, then turned to face her with a decisive look. "First, we visit the scene of Charles's murder," he stated. "Do you know the location?"
"Absolutely. Follow me," Nancy said with confidence, leading Ethan to her red sedan.
The journey was a silent one, lasting half an hour, and brought them to a desolate, old residential area, its buildings bearing the stark label 'marked for demolition'. The air was heavy with a sense of forgotten stories.
Parking her car, Nancy pointed towards one of the decrepit buildings. "That's the place."
They alighted and approached the building. Ethan's gaze swept the surroundings before he stepped inside. On the second floor, the door to Charles's former residence stood ajar, guarded by a police officer. The officer's expression shifted to one of recognition upon spotting Ethan.
"I need to examine the crime scene," Ethan interjected before the officer could speak, presenting his 'case consultant' credentials with a practiced ease.
The police officer took Ethan's ID, briefly inspecting it. "No need for formalities, Detective Steele. Your face is well-known at the station," he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.
Ethan retrieved his ID, then turned to Nancy with a firm tone, "You know the drill. As a crime scene, it's against protocol for civilians to enter."
Nancy, with her experience as a reporter for the LA Insider, understood the seriousness of the situation. She peered curiously inside before stepping back, "I'll wait out here."
Ethan nodded in acknowledgment and proceeded into the apartment.
Once inside, the officers closed the door behind him. One of them, unable to hide his awe, whispered, "Um... before you start, could I take a selfie with you?"
Ethan, taking in the somberness of the scene, gave a slight nod of consent. The officer eagerly took out his phone, switched to selfie mode, and snapped a photo with the famous detective.
The crime scene was stark and unsettling. In the center of the living room stood a surgical table, its surface marred with dried bloodstains. Around it lay an array of surgical tools - scalpels, forceps, tweezers - each telling a silent tale of the horror that had unfolded.
The congealed blood on the floor formed a sizable patch, suggesting that it had taken time to seep through the floor tiles, indicating that Nancy's estimated time of Charles's death might be off.
Ethan's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the surgical instruments, "Have these always been arranged in this order?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the orderly display.
"They've been untouched since the discovery of the scene," the officer nearby responded. "We wouldn't dare tamper with the setup."
The meticulous arrangement of the tools stood in stark contrast to the brutal evisceration that had occurred. The killer, Ethan deduced, was either extraordinarily thorough, ensuring every tool was replaced precisely, or they were driven by an obsessive-compulsive need for order.
Two spaces among the instruments were conspicuously empty, likely taken by the serious crime team for analysis.
Ethan's attention then shifted to the bedroom door, noticing the lock. He took a deep breath and turned to the officer, "Could I get a pair of shoe covers? I need to inspect inside."