Ethan's thoughts were abruptly shattered by the sharp barks of two dogs, echoing through the dense, foreboding silence. His eyes snapped open, and he inhaled sharply, the dream he'd been lost in evaporating instantly. He gazed out the window, taking in the scene that lay before him: a decrepit, abandoned factory, its walls whispering secrets of a time long past. The car had halted its journey, idling in the shadow of the forgotten structure. The dogs' barks seemed to originate from the thick woods nearby.
"Captain Bowen must have deployed search dogs into the forest," Jennifer surmised, her voice a calm contrast to the chaos of the scene.
Ethan stepped out of the car, his eyes scanning the factory building. A handful of police officers were stationed around, their presence a stark reminder of the grim reality they faced. Jennifer moved towards them with confidence, her credentials in hand, and soon, she and Ethan found themselves stepping into the decrepit edifice.
The interior of the factory was a haunting sight - piles of abandoned wood scattered haphazardly, the only interruption to the dust and decay being the chilling stains of blood on the floor. Most of the tools had long since been removed, leaving behind only the echoes of a once bustling workspace. Jennifer led the way to the heart of the factory. "I've seen the crime scene photos," she explained. "The chair was here," she gestured towards a spot, her finger then pointing to a corner littered with shredded paper. "And this is where the electric saw was discovered. Fingerprints and footprints have been collected, but no tire tracks were found along the dirt road leading here. It's improbable that the killer arrived by car."
Ethan, his detective's mind piecing together the puzzle, remarked, "If the killer drugged Trevor and brought him here, the weight of two people and a suitcase should have left deep footprints, especially on a dirt road."
Jennifer joined him, her voice laced with professional calm. "Captain Bowen thinks the killer might have avoided the main path and come through the woods, making it harder to track their footprints. That's the likely scenario."
Ethan knelt beside a dark, dried pool of blood, his thoughts on the victim. "Trevor was on a business trip. His suitcase would have held clothes, personal items. Have they been found?"
Jennifer's gaze followed his. "I believe Captain Bowen's dogs are searching for the suitcase contents and any footprints the killer left. They're still investigating, so it's likely they haven't found anything yet." Another series of barks echoed, underscoring her point. "This factory's location is so isolated. Who would choose to open a timber mill here?"
Ethan touched the peeling walls, his eyes scanning the decrepit roof. "This building has been standing for ages. Did you notice the lack of large trees nearby? They probably cleared the area for logging. This factory is older than both of us," he mused, his finger tracing the bloodstain, lifting it to his nose with a detective's curiosity.
The weight of the situation bore down heavily on Ethan as he pieced together the grim narrative. "This killer," he began, his brow creasing with deep thought, "he didn't necessarily seek vengeance for Madelyn. But we can be certain he was familiar with this factory, thanks to the video Trevor sent Madelyn using Barbara's phone. That's how he meticulously planned the second murder here."
Jennifer, her voice steady yet filled with a subtle edge of unease, chimed in. "The chainsaw and the chair, they were strategically placed here beforehand."
Ethan stood, his gaze sweeping over the desolate factory floor. "There's no electricity here. The chainsaw used must have been rechargeable. And notice, there's no wax residue from candles – this place was engulfed in darkness at night. This means the murder didn't happen under the cover of night." He paused, analyzing the scene. "That night, the killer drugged Trevor in the city and transported him here. It wasn't until daylight that he returned to gruesomely sever Trevor's hands and feet. The remoteness of this location ensured the acts went unnoticed, even in daylight."
Jennifer glanced at her phone, a symbol of connection so futile in this isolated place. "If Trevor was left here, he couldn't have escaped, no matter how loudly he screamed. The cell signal here is practically nonexistent."
Ethan, his fingers stained with the remnants of the crime, brought them to his nose, absorbing the scent as he closed his eyes, envisioning the sequence of events. "The killer must have scouted this factory multiple times before committing the murder, ensuring the area was secure." He opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the chaotic footprints and the displaced chair. "On the night of the murder, he brought Trevor here, tied him to this chair, and left. By the time he returned the next morning, Trevor, having regained consciousness from the drugs, had desperately tried to escape. These disturbed footprints and the chair's position are testaments to his struggle."
Jennifer's eyes followed Ethan's analysis, resting on the scarred wooden chair. "If the killer was here that night, he wouldn't have allowed Trevor any chance to escape."
Ethan's voice was tinged with empathy as he envisioned Trevor's plight. "Trevor, bound to this chair the entire night, must have been drained by the time the killer returned. Initially in despair, the sound of footsteps would have sparked a fleeting hope within him."
Jennifer's voice was soft yet laden with a grim truth. "The footsteps Trevor heard could only have been the killer's, but he didn't know that. In his desperation, he sought help, not realizing that death was what approached." She was pulled from the scene by a notification on her phone. Reading the message quickly, she informed Ethan, "A former colleague responded. Trevor was involved in a volunteer project in Gainesville, raising funds for families in poverty with sick members."
Ethan's mind was racing, connecting the dots with methodical precision. "So, it appears there's a thread linking the cases. Charles, known for his surgeries in that old building, to supposedly aid those who couldn't afford medical care. This might intersect with Trevor's work with impoverished families. But the likelihood of Charles and Trevor knowing each other beforehand seems slim. Perhaps Trevor learned about Charles through a patient, or maybe there was an issue with one of the families Trevor was helping?" He pondered aloud, his gaze drifting towards the factory door, looking out into the distance.
Jennifer joined him, her presence a silent support. "But with the patient list gone and both Madelyn and Charles dead, we've hit a dead end. No way to trace back Charles's surgical history before Caroline stepped in." She paused, picking up on Ethan's earlier words. "You used 'supposedly' to describe Charles's work with the poor. Do you doubt his intentions?"
Ethan turned slightly, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fit together in his mind. "There are numerous ways to perform charitable acts, from medical outreach to funding surgeries. Yet, our investigation revealed no trace of Charles's involvement in such benevolence. Instead, we uncovered a man indifferent to his family, guilty of infidelity. To operate outside a hospital setting, without oversight or consultation, is perilous and generally ill-advised. But that's exactly what Charles did. Was he a covert philanthropist, or was there something more?" He looked up at the sky, contemplative. "As a top surgeon, what would be his greatest fear?"
"The fear of losing his status, being overshadowed by new talent," Jennifer replied instantly, understanding the implication.
Ethan's gaze returned to the factory's interior, a symbolic darkness enveloping his thoughts. "Elevated to such prominence, Charles would have been both celebrated and burdened with his own insecurities. Maybe these unsupervised surgeries were his way of pushing his limits, honing his skills. Or perhaps, there were other, more sinister motives. If we're right, the surgeries he conducted here were exceptionally complex, weren't they?"
Jennifer inhaled deeply, the gravity of their findings settling in. "I recall surgeries like pancreaticoduodenectomy, endovascular embolization of intracranial aneurysms... complex procedures, even by name. And in that old building, it was just Charles and his assistant – the risk to patients was astronomical." She shook her head, disbelief and horror mingling in her voice. "It seems Charles had little regard for his patients' lives."
Ethan's expression was grave as he summed up their grim conclusion. "Operating in such a manner, without any form of oversight or expert advice, was a blatant disregard for patient safety. Initially, I doubted Charles's altruistic narrative. It seems the families of these patients were misled, believing he was their savior, while in reality, he was anything but."
Ethan's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as he pieced together the puzzle. "It's likely that Charles found his patients within the very hospital he worked at," he mused, his detective's intuition guiding his logic. "To uncover the truth, we need to delve into the hospital's records, particularly looking at recent cases involving patients with severe conditions who couldn't afford surgery. These patients, sent home to face their fate, could lead us to our answers."
He paused, a strategic plan forming in his mind. "We'll need to meticulously review each case, especially those from the time when Madelyn as Charles's assistant was involved in these off-site operations. It's crucial to scrutinize the family backgrounds of these patients. We're looking for young, physically capable family members," he continued, his gaze fixed on the distant factory.
Ethan's reasoning was clear. "The person who brought Trevor here had to possess considerable strength. This killer wasn't just methodical; he was physically formidable."