"Where's the factory?" Ethan inquired, his voice tinged with urgency, even as he mechanically spooned cereal into his mouth.
Jennifer, leaning against the kitchen counter, replied with a seriousness that belied the ordinariness of their breakfast setting. "It lies beyond the eastern outskirts, on the fringe of the city. There's a secluded road there. Follow it, and you'll find the factory, a forsaken lumberyard from days gone by. Its isolation makes it the perfect spot for deeds meant to remain hidden. Rarely does anyone wander that way."
Ethan paused, a spoonful of cereal hovering mid-air. "So, if the killer did away with Trevor, leaving his body in that desolate factory or burying it in the vicinity, discovery could be long in coming." He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then continued, his tone contemplative, "But why didn't the killer opt for a simpler route, instead dumping the body in the city?"
Jennifer pondered, her gaze distant. "Maybe the killer intended the body to be found."
Ethan took a sip from his cup, his eyes narrowing. "But burial would ensure the body remained undiscovered, the secrets it held forever buried." He drained his cup and declared, "The killer must have wanted those secrets unearthed."
"Secrets? Could they be linked to his relationship with Barbara, or Madelyn's abduction?" Jennifer queried, her brow furrowed in thought.
"Possibly," Ethan mused, finishing his cereal and gulping down the last of the milk. He glanced at his watch and added, "What about Philip, the man I asked you to look into?"
Jennifer stood, collecting their breakfast dishes. "I've set my colleagues on it, but we're still awaiting information." She paused, looking around. "This is the kitchen, right?"
With a nod from Ethan, Jennifer moved to the refrigerator and stored the breakfast remnants. Closing the door, she turned back to him. "What's our agenda for today?"
"We meet someone first," Ethan announced, checking his phone and wallet before confirming the time. He and Jennifer left the apartment on foot, crossing the square towards the coffee shop where he had met Nancy the previous day.
Nancy and Donna were already there, waiting. After brief introductions with Jennifer, Ethan's gaze settled on Donna. She was a striking figure, a young woman in her twenties, her attire youthful yet sophisticated. "Nancy mentioned you've started your own blog," Ethan began, his tone suggesting that this was more than mere social chitchat.
"Yes," Donna responded, her voice tinged with a hint of pride. "My focus is on emotive topics, particularly those surrounding relationships. Such content attracts more readers. It's been over a year now, and I've amassed about half a million followers."
Her smile broadened slightly as she continued, "I'm here today hoping for a photo with Detective Steele for my blog. It might just boost my following."
Despite the looming shadow of danger, Donna seemed unaffected by the threat that had claimed two lives already. Her demeanor lacked the fear one might expect from a potential target. In stark contrast, Nancy, seated beside her, exuded anxiety. She nudged Donna gently, her voice laced with concern, "We're deep into the night, and you're still fixated on photos."
Donna replied, her expression unfazed, "In the underworld's shadows, death comes at the third watch, with no soul spared till dawn. Fate decides our time, and fortune is but the will of the heavens." Turning to Ethan, she added, "What questions do you have? I'm ready to help, but on one condition — you agree to that photo."
Ethan listed four names methodically: "Charles Ingham, Trevor Francis, Barbara Ingham, and Madelyn Clarke. Do you recognize any of them?"
Jennifer, quick to assist, retrieved her phone, scrolled through it, and handed it to Donna.
Donna examined the photos but shook her head in response. "Nancy mentioned Charles and Trevor, the victims in the numbered card case. But the others? They're strangers to me."
Jennifer pressed, a slight frown creasing her forehead, "Think carefully. This could be vital for our investigation. If you don't know them, why would you receive one of those numbered cards?"
After a moment of reflection, Donna admitted, "I truly don't recall them."
"Nancy told us you once worked in journalism. Is that true?" Ethan inquired, sipping his coffee with a contemplative air.
"After college, Nancy joined the LA Insider, while I went to the California Morning News, focusing on human interest stories," Donna said, a wistful note in her voice.
Nancy interjected, "During that period, Donna faced some personal turmoil. She ended a long-term relationship with her college boyfriend. It was serious; they'd met each other's families and were discussing marriage. The breakup hit her hard, affecting her work. She was on the brink of being fired when she decided to travel, seeking solace. Upon her return, she started her blog."
"Was it about two years ago that you left your job?" Ethan asked, his brow creasing in concentration.
"Yes, it's been two years, not quite three," Donna confirmed with a firm nod. "Back then, my personal turmoil was overwhelming."
Jennifer leaned forward, her tone inquisitive, "Could it be possible that during your tenure at the California Morning News, you crossed paths with these individuals or inadvertently offended someone?"
Donna paused, pondering deeply. "I maintained amicable relations with my colleagues. But it's conceivable that I might have unknowingly upset someone," she admitted, her eyes briefly drifting towards the window before refocusing on Ethan. "These cards I've received are quite commonplace, easily found anywhere. Perhaps we're reading too much into this. Could it just be a prank?"
Ethan replied with a hint of gravity in his voice, "The specifics of these cases are known to very few, and the media hasn't reported on the cards. Nancy mentioned your receipt of them."
He continued, shattering any notion of a mere prank, "I actually learned about this through an internal source in the police department. So, the likelihood of someone playing a prank with these cards is slim. But don't worry, we've alerted the Serious Crime Unit. They've already stationed officers in your residential area for your protection."
Donna's expression shifted to realization. "That explains the unfamiliar faces I saw in the security room this morning." She turned to Nancy, her voice tinged with regret, "I'm sorry for dragging you into this."
Nancy, reassuring her friend, responded, "We're close friends, Donna. I wouldn't just sit back idly in such a situation." She then addressed Ethan, "Donna tends to be nonchalant about these matters. Had I not been there when she received the card, she might've carelessly discarded it."
Ethan took a deep sip of his coffee, his mind working through the details. "As much as I mentioned the possibility of a prank, we can't dismiss it entirely. We're still searching for a motive behind the killer sending Donna a card. I implore you to be honest. If anything comes to mind, inform Nancy immediately and contact me." He sensed that further questioning might yield little at this point.
Jennifer chimed in, emphasizing the seriousness of the situation, "In cases like these, wishful thinking is dangerous. It's crucial to be forthcoming, no matter how challenging it might be. Only with complete transparency can we hope to swiftly resolve this mystery."
Ethan methodically withdrew cash from his wallet and laid it on the table, rising to his feet alongside Jennifer. As they exited the coffee shop, Donna trailed behind, brandishing her phone with a reminder, "Don't forget our photo agreement." She swiftly switched her phone to camera mode and captured Ethan's image.
Crossing the park square and approaching Jennifer's car, Ethan paused, a contemplative expression on his face. "Let's head to that abandoned factory."
Jennifer, starting the car, responded, "Captain Bowen combed through it last night, collecting all pertinent evidence. I doubt we'd find anything new there now. Maybe we should seek out Caroline."
Ethan, reclining in the passenger seat, eyes shut, disagreed softly, "Caroline, as Charles's surgical assistant, likely knows less than Barbara. I need to visit the initial crime scene, to get a sense of the murderer's mindset during the act."
Jennifer drove in silence, contemplating Ethan's words.
Ethan, with eyes still closed, mulled over Donna's statements. Assuming she had no connection to Charles, Trevor, Barbara, Madelyn, or Caroline, yet still received a death card, it could upend their current theories. It suggested the killer's motives weren't tied to Madelyn's case, merely a coincidence.
But another angle emerged in his mind. What if Barbara's acquaintance with Trevor was also coincidental, and Trevor was an intended target? Yet, the victims' professions – a doctor and a real estate agent – bore no apparent connection. Could the murderer be a disgruntled former patient of Charles's, driven to vengeance?
Pondering these possibilities, Ethan's eyes flickered open. He turned to Jennifer, his tone thoughtful, "I recall seeing a certificate for volunteer service on Trevor's bookshelf. Do you remember the organization?"
"Yes," Jennifer replied, her memory stirring, "It was from the Gainesville Volunteer Service Center."
Ethan instructed, his eyes closing once more, "Have your colleagues check Trevor's involvement with the Gainesville Volunteer Service Center."
As Jennifer sent a message to her team, detailing the request, Ethan's eyelids drooped again, and he drifted off, the car's gentle motion lulling him into sleep. His dreams took him back to that forest, where Dennis, with a hunting rifle in hand, was aiming at a couple not far off. The man, noticeably overweight with a protruding beer belly, occasionally patted it in a self-conscious manner.
Dennis's fingers tensed on the trigger, his expression blank, a chilling calmness in his eyes. A solitary mantra echoed in his mind, relentless and urging: "Pull the trigger, pull the trigger."
As his finger tightened, inching the trigger towards its endpoint, an unexpected force seized him. Strong hands clasped around his ankle, yanking him backward with a ferocious pull.
"Bang~"
The shot erupted, not hitting its intended target but striking a tree behind the man. The blast sent the couple into a panicked embrace, their fear palpable.
A twinge of frustration flickered in Dennis. In that instant, rugged, scarred hands wrested the rifle from his grip, while another arm hoisted him over a shoulder with ease. It was a hunter, immune to Dennis's struggles, carrying him back to a secluded cabin and dumping him unceremoniously onto the wooden floor. The door slammed shut, the hunter's voice stern, "Kid, you were really going to use this rifle on someone, weren't you?"
Dennis, sprawled on the floor, scrambled to his feet, desperation fueling his attempt to flee. But the hunter's firm grip pulled him back. "You're staying here," the hunter commanded. He started gathering items, his tone a mix of irritation and concern. "Do you realize the trouble you've caused? Unlicensed possession of a firearm is no small offense. If the authorities catch you, prison is a certainty. Those two will surely report this."
Methodically, the hunter packed everything portable, then dragged Dennis outside. With swift, calculated movements, he set the wooden house ablaze. The dry, still air fed the flames, which thankfully didn't spread beyond the cabin, sparing the surrounding forest.
Dennis, watching the inferno consume the cabin, had a stark realization, a chilling clarity: "Taking a human life is an entirely different realm than killing a wild animal."