The precinct was quieter than usual this morning, the hum of activity dulled by the weight of unanswered questions. I arrived earlier than normal, the crisp dawn breeze still clinging to my coat as I stepped into the familiar bustle of desks and phones. A few officers offered nods of acknowledgment, but most were too wrapped up in their tasks to linger.
Asher was already at my desk, leaning against it with a file in hand and an expression that could only mean one thing: news.
"You're up early," I said, setting my bag down and shrugging off my coat.
"Could say the same for you," he replied, but his tone was too clipped to be casual.
I sat, eyeing the file. "What's going on?"
He dropped it in front of me and folded his arms. "Updates on Jennings and Robert. Jennings isn't our guy. No ties to Robert's wife's death, and no suspicious activity within the past few months. He wanted a fresh start, according to him.
As for Robert..." He hesitated, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—concern, frustration, maybe both.
Asher's voice was steady, but the frustration behind it was impossible to miss. "He's gone. Disappeared without a trace. He is still a liable suspect for his wife's murder, but after what we've seen—his sudden disappearance right after? I think he went into hiding."
Hiding? The word nearly made me smirk, but I kept my face neutral, tilting my head as if I were processing his words. Robert wasn't hiding. He'd never be found. The man Asher was looking for wasn't somewhere on this earth anymore. He was ashes, washed away into obscurity. I'd seen to that with precision and care.
If only Asher knew how neatly I'd tied up the ends, how much effort had gone into ensuring no one would ever link his disappearance to me. He could trace all he wanted, turn every stone. The pieces of Robert didn't exist in any form that could ever point him back to me.
Still, I let out a small, thoughtful hum, nodding slowly. "Makes sense," I said, my voice calm. "If he killed his wife and thought we were onto him, running would be his only option." I kept my tone measured, even offering a slight frown as if I truly cared about the theory Asher was spinning.
Deep down, though, there was something almost thrilling about the conversation. They'd never know. Not Asher, not the department, not anyone. Robert Smith wasn't a missing man. He was a forgotten monster erased by my hand.
But the sick part? The part I didn't want to admit? It wasn't just about getting rid of him. I liked it. Watching him crumble, hearing him scream, knowing I was the last thing he'd ever see. That's what stayed with me. That made the corners of my mouth twitch as I stood there, listening to Asher talk like he had a clue.
He didn't. He never would.
"What about Wider?" I asked, changing the subject.
Asher's shoulders tensed. "That's the kicker. The higher-ups are leaning toward this being part of a bigger pattern—a serial killer case. They're connecting dots, tracing back similar murders over the last five years."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Five years? Are they serious?"
He nodded. "Yeah. They think Wilder might've been the latest victim. Same MO, same precision. It fits."
Relief washed over me—not for Wilder, but for the fact that the suspicion wasn't pointing in my direction. If there was another killer out there, it took the spotlight off my... extracurricular activities. Still, the idea of a long-running serial killer operating under our noses wasn't comforting.
"Do you agree?" I asked, studying his face.
Asher let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think it's worth investigating. But five years is a long time to go unnoticed. Either they're good, or we've been blind."
I nodded, unsure what to say. Serial killers were methodical and meticulous. If someone had been operating that long, they weren't just good—they were a ghost. But that is none of my concern—well technically it is given I'm a cop but for my other works, I have been saved.
"Why don't we compare the last few cases with Wilder's maybe we will catch on to something?" I sat down, gesturing my hands towards the chair beside me for him to sit.
"Yeah, that would be great." He opened the case files, and we went ahead reviewing them.
By the time we were done reviewing, the sun had gone into the full scorching mode. I had told Asher we should take a break since we were on break actually. I had gone down to get myself a meal when all of a sudden three cars drove abruptly into the precinct.
The cars were familiar, SUV jeeps, black, all brand new. This was their fourth visit, apparently some politician. He had been frequently visiting the lieutenant, something about a partnership for him to become the governor—or something like that.
The car doors swung open and out walked the politician, Mr. Grayson. He was dressed sharp, like a man who knew how to make an entrance—dark blue suit, pressed to perfection, shoes polished until they shone like mirrors. His tie, blood red, stood out like a warning, and he carried himself like he owned the room. His watch caught the light as he moved, gold and expensive, a silent reminder of his power.
Behind him, two bodyguards followed, thick-necked and stiff, eyes scanning the room like they expected trouble at any second. They looked the part—black suits, earpieces tucked in, hands resting a little too close to their waists. Their presence screamed intimidation, even without them saying a word.
Then there was his wife. Mrs. Grayson. She came out from the third car, her eyes fixed on the floor like she didn't dare meet anyone's gaze. Her dress was simple but elegant, pale gray, but it hung on her like a shadow. She had on thick sunglasses enough to cover her entire face. Her hair was styled to perfection.
Her face told the rest of the story. The makeup couldn't quite hide the dark circles under her eyes or the faint bruises near her cheekbone. Her lips were pressed tight, the corners pulling down like a constant frown she couldn't shake. Her hands clutched her purse too tight, knuckles white, fingers trembling just enough to notice if you looked close.
She didn't say anything, but her silence was deafening. It clung to her like a second skin, like she carried something too heavy to put into words. They walked into the precinct, I, on the other hand, continued to munch on my sandwich.
The photo is still in my pocket. I brought it out and stared right at the boy. Is this an uncanny feeling? I knew him. He looked too familiar but I just can't say where I knew him from.
I groaned in frustration when I saw Asher coming towards me. I quickly hid the photo before he came any closer.
"Hey, I was looking for you everywhere." He said while taking a seat.
"I just wanted some fresh air outside. Why are you looking for me?" I asked, looking at him with my eyebrow raised.
"I think I found something that links Wilder to the serial killings from the other victims." He came closer almost whispering.
"What is it?" I became invested in whatever he was trying to say.
"I'll tell you inside."
"Okay, then, let me finish this," I said, gesturing to my burger. He chuckled as I took another bite. I watched him stare at me as I continued eating.
"What now?"
He came closer, resting a hand on the close to mine. "How about taking a break? Go out with me tonight."
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Removing my hands abruptly from the table "Asher..."
"Come on," he pressed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Colleagues go out for drinks all the time."
"Colleagues," I echoed, narrowing my eyes.
"Yeah, colleagues who maybe have spent more time together than necessary. You know, like staying late after what happened at your place." His tone was light, but the meaning behind his words was unmistakable.
I shook my head, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "That was one night. I don't think it's a good idea."
"Why not?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "It's just one night. No pressure, no strings."
Because I don't want you to see the shadows I carry. Because you wouldn't understand. The words stayed lodged in my throat. I don't have the emotions to be in a relationship.
"I just don't think it's a good idea," I said finally, my voice firmer this time.
His smirk faded, replaced by something softer, almost disappointed. "It's just a dinner as friends nothing more"
"I'm good Asher," I said with a serious look on my face.
"Okay," A hint of disappointment in his voice. "I will see you inside then."
He headed inside, leaving me by the table. I finished up and was heading inside when I saw them coming out—Mr. Grayson and his wife.
Mrs. Grayson walked out behind him, slow, almost hesitant, like she was walking on broken glass. Her shoulders were hunched, her face pale, and I noticed the stiffness in her movements right away. Before she could even catch her breath, it happened. Grayson grabbed his wife's arm, his hand tightening in a grip too firm to be loving. She flinched, barely audible, but I saw it. His voice was low and sharp, his words drowned out by the traffic, but his expression was enough. The way his fingers dug into her skin, hard enough to leave marks, sent a wave of nausea through Khloe.
I ducked back, my heart thudding as I watched. A part of me wanted to look away, to walk inside and pretend I hadn't seen anything, but she couldn't.
Not this time. Something about the way Mrs. Grayson stood there, frozen, swallowing whatever pain I felt, burned itself into my mind. That face—blank but hiding so much—looked too familiar.
The nightmares it dragged up made her throat tighten. I told myself she didn't have the time, but as Grayson led his wife out of the precinct, the decision was already made. I'd look into him.
Whatever skeletons he had buried, I'd find them.