The cold night air settled over Beacon Hills as the investigation took a darker turn. What started as a suspicious death had now unraveled into something far more sinister. Dr. Langer wasn't just murdered—he was executed with precision. And the person responsible? Not some ordinary killer.
A nurse. Someone with medical knowledge, someone who knew exactly how to make a death look like something it wasn't.
Now, Scott, Stiles, Javi, and Sheriff Stilinski had their next mission—find the car, find the killer. But with an entire hospital full of suspects, the real question wasn't just who did it.
It was why.
Stiles' Jeep screeched into the hospital parking lot, making a dramatic drift before coming to a stop.
"Alright, boys, time to find our psychotic killer!" Stiles announced, practically buzzing with energy. "Beacon Hills' finest trio is here to save the day!"
Javi groaned, clearly enjoying Stiles' theatrics but also half-annoyed. "Why do I get the feeling you've got way too much energy for this?" he teased.
Stiles puffed out his chest, his overconfidence in full swing. "Ever heard of instinct, Javi? I know we're catching our suspect tonight."
Scott, however, was unusually quiet. The fact that his mom was even on the suspect list weighed heavily on him. He let out a deep sigh before finally speaking. "Can we just focus? We've got a killer to catch, right?"
Stiles and Javi exchanged a quick glance—they both knew exactly why Scott was acting this way.
Javi placed a reassuring hand on Scott's shoulder. "Don't worry, man. We'll solve this. And we'll make sure the real killer pays."
Stiles nodded, throwing a glance at the hospital entrance. "Yeah, and besides, we know Melissa isn't that kind of person. We just need to prove it and get her off the suspect list."
Scott exhaled, nodding as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Thanks, guys. I appreciate it."
Javi smirked. "Come on, dude. We're friends. You don't have to thank us for having your back."
Stiles unfastened his seatbelt and shut off the engine. "Alright, alright, enough with the emotional moment. We've got a job to do."
Javi and Scott spoke in unison as they hopped out of the Jeep. "Right."
As they stood outside, waiting for the sheriff to arrive, the weight of the moment settled over them. The air was thick with anticipation, doubt, and unspoken fears.
They weren't just chasing a killer.
They were racing against time—to uncover the truth, clear Melissa's name, and stop a murderer before they struck again
After what felt like an eternity, the sheriff finally arrived—with backup.
Several patrol cars pulled into the hospital parking lot, their red and blue lights flashing against the dark sky. The squad of officers emerged, their faces set with determination.
Stiles let out a low whistle, his eyebrows raising. "Sheriff, you brought the entire force to deal with a single nurse?"
Sheriff Stilinski shot him a look but didn't take the bait.
Javi smirked, adjusting the strap of his ever-present duffle bag. "Not taking any chances, huh?"
The sheriff met Javi's gaze with a weary nod, his expression serious. "I'm not taking any chances because the stakes are too high, and we've got too much to lose."
Stiles, ever the one to lighten the mood, crossed his arms and tilted his head. "I mean, I get it, but still... all this for one nurse? Seems a little overkill, don't you think?"
The sheriff exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Maybe. But I'd rather be overprepared than underprepared." His eyes flicked toward the hospital doors, his voice dropping to something almost unreadable. "You never know what you're walking into."
*Scott shook his head, knowing all too well to just ignore Stiles' antics at this point. The sheriff, however, wasn't in the mood for Stiles' sarcasm.*
"This nurse is dangerous, Stiles," the sheriff said, his voice firm. "She has knowledge and access to things we can't comprehend. We have to take this seriously. Which means no more jokes, understood?"
Stiles held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, got it. No more jokes," he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting off a smirk.
Javi nodded in agreement his early playfulness is shifted to something serious. "You're right we can't let our guard down, even for just a bit."
Stiles chimed in his expression curious. "So what's the plan dad? You're going to ask each and every single nurse in this hospital?"
*Sheriff Stilinski nodded, his expression serious. "Pretty much, yes. We'll go through the hospital staff, start at the night of the murder and work our way back. See who was on duty that morning, who had access to the right areas. We'll question them one by one, get their alibis, see what they know. It'll be tedious, but it's the only way we can rule people out. And eventually, we'll find our nurse."*
*Stiles rolled his eyes, clearly not looking forward to spending his night in a hospital interrogating nurses. He turned to Scott, a mischievous glint in his eye.*
"Looks like we're in for a riveting night, huh Scott?" *He said sarcastically.*
*Scott grumbled, his expression unamused.* "Stop gloating." *He said simply. Javi stifled a laugh in his hand, enjoying the interactions between Stiles and Scott.*
Before they could continue, the sheriff interrupted, his expression shifting to something more skeptical. "Wait a second. How did you even get those hospital records? The security footage? You didn't—" He flicked his eyes between the three of them. "—hack your way in, did you?"
Stiles let out an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand over his chest. "Dad! I'm hurt! Offended, even! How could you accuse me of something so... so..."
Javi cut in with a smirk. "So obviously true?"
Scott sighed, rubbing his temples. "Stiles, just admit it before he arrests you."
Sheriff Stilinski crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. "Well?"
Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes. "Okay, fine! Yes, I may have—hypothetically—bypassed some totally outdated and embarrassingly weak security systems. But come on, Dad! We needed answers!"
The sheriff exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stiles, one day, I swear, you're going to get yourself arrested. And I won't be the one bailing you out."
Stiles grinned proudly. "But today is not that day!"
Javi shook his head, amused. "Yeah, yeah, we get it. You're a genius hacker. Can we get back to the whole 'tracking down a killer' thing?"
Sheriff Stilinski gave them one last warning look before sighing. "Fine. But if anyone asks, I don't know how you got that footage."
Stiles nodded eagerly. "Understood! Plausible deniability. Got it."
Scott cleared his throat, steering them back to the task at hand. "So… what's next? We question every nurse in the building?"
Sheriff Stilinski nodded. "That, and we need to find Langer's car. If it's still out there, it might have evidence that could confirm our suspect."
Javi's eyes narrowed slightly. "And if the killer is still here…?"
The sheriff's expression hardened. "Then we make sure they don't get away."
The trio exchanged glances, the weight of the moment settling in. This wasn't just some high school mystery anymore. This was real. And whoever they were up against… they were smart, careful, and dangerous.
Stiles clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. "Alright, boys. Time to find ourselves a murderer."
As the deputies gathered in the parking lot, Sheriff Stilinski barked out orders, his tone firm and no-nonsense.
"Alright, listen up! I want every nurse in this hospital gathered for questioning. No exceptions. Javi, Scott, Stiles—you three help explain the situation, keep things organized. I'll be speaking with the medical director to get his full cooperation."
Stiles gave a mock salute, his expression deadpan. "Right, Dad. Leave the info-dumping to us."
As the sheriff strode off toward the hospital entrance, the three friends turned to face the gathered deputies. Stiles glanced at Scott and Javi, then groaned.
"Great. So now we get to play twenty questions with a bunch of nurses. This is gonna suck."
Scott rolled his eyes, already prepared for Stiles' complaints. Javi, on the other hand, tried to keep things optimistic.
"Come on, man. It could be interesting. We're basically detectives now. We get to interrogate medical professionals—"
Stiles let out a loud, sarcastic laugh, cutting Javi off. "Oh, yeah. Nothing says 'thrilling night' like questioning a bunch of overworked nurses about a murder."
Javi smirked, slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder. "Look at it this way: at least we're not the ones being questioned."
Scott sighed, rubbing his temples. "Let's just get this over with before Stiles finds a way to get himself kicked out of the hospital."
"Hey!" Stiles shot him an offended look before muttering under his breath, "That happened one time."
One of the deputies cleared his throat loudly, cutting through their banter.
"Uh, could we maybe get started now?" he asked, arms crossed, clearly impatient.
Stiles blinked, then gave a sheepish grin. "Right, right. Priorities. Murder investigation first, witty banter second."
Scott sighed, shaking his head. "Let's just do this."
Javi smirked, nudging Stiles. "Guess we should keep the jokes to a minimum, huh?"
"I make no promises," Stiles muttered as they followed the deputies into the hospital.
As soon as Scott and the others stepped inside, the usual calm of the hospital shifted. Conversations hushed, and the rhythmic beeping of monitors became the only consistent sound. Nurses exchanged uneasy glances, some stiffening at the sight of law enforcement. Others busied themselves with tasks that didn't seem to require immediate attention—stacking papers, adjusting charts, avoiding eye contact.
Scott's senses sharpened, picking up every reaction. A nurse near the reception desk clutched her clipboard too tightly, her knuckles whitening. Another stole a wary glance in their direction before quickly turning away. The air was thick with tension, like a hive that had just been disturbed.
Javi leaned toward Stiles, his voice low but laced with amusement. "Looks like we rattled the nest."
Stiles smirked but kept his expression neutral. "Yeah. Now let's see who panics first."
The lead deputy stepped forward, his presence commanding attention. Clearing his throat, he addressed the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, we need your full cooperation. We'll be conducting interviews regarding Dr. Langer's death. Please remain calm and follow instructions."
Murmurs spread among the hospital staff. Some exchanged worried glances, while others stood frozen in place.
Scott inhaled deeply, bracing himself. They were close—so close to uncovering the truth. And the killer, whoever they were, was standing among them.
A familiar voice cut through the murmurs.
"Scott?"
Melissa McCall emerged from the crowd of nurses, her expression betraying a flicker of unease. She wasn't just a mother now—she was a nurse under scrutiny.
Scott turned, meeting her gaze with a mix of relief and guilt. "Mom, it's… complicated."
The lead deputy cleared his throat again, stepping forward with practiced professionalism. "We're gathering all the nurses on staff for questioning. There's been an incident."
Melissa's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes, Dr. Langer's murder. But why here? Why focus on the hospital?"
Javi adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, stepping forward with an air of quiet authority. "Based on our investigation…" He let the words hang for a moment before continuing, his tone firm yet reassuring. "The killer is a nurse."
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Some of the nurses recoiled as if the words themselves carried weight. Others whispered among themselves, the disbelief evident in their faces.
Melissa stiffened. "A—a nurse?" Her voice faltered, the color draining from her face.
The deputy's voice remained calm but resolute. "As long as everyone cooperates, there won't be any problems. We appreciate your assistance."
A few hesitant nods followed, but the atmosphere remained tense, thick with uncertainty.
Scott shifted his gaze to his mother. Melissa stood unnervingly still, her face composed, yet her hands betrayed a slight tremor.
She was scared.
He glanced at Stiles and Javi—a silent request for permission. They understood, stepping back without a word.
Scott took a step closer to her. "Mom, you okay?" His voice was gentle, barely above a whisper.
Melissa managed a small smile, resting a hand on his arm. "I'm okay, sweetie."
But Scott saw through the act. Her voice wavered just enough to crack the illusion of calm.
"You don't have to hide it," he said softly. "You're scared."
Melissa exhaled, the tension in her shoulders sagging. "I am, Scott," she admitted. "I am scared."
Without hesitation, Scott pulled her into a tight embrace. She melted into the hug, gripping the back of his jacket as if grounding herself.
"What if they think I did it?" she whispered, her voice raw.
Scott held her closer, his voice fierce with certainty. "They won't. You didn't do anything wrong. I believe in you, Mom." He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. "We'll get through this. I promise."
Her gaze searched his, the love of a mother mingling with the fear of someone who suddenly found themselves under suspicion.
"Thank you, Scott."
He nodded, determination steeling his features. "No matter what happens, I've got you."
Melissa took a steadying breath, her fingers brushing his cheek in a fleeting, affectionate gesture. Slowly, she composed herself, straightening her posture.
Scott gently guided his mother toward the growing line of nurses waiting to be questioned. Her grip on his arm was firm, as if grounding herself in his presence.
Before they reached the line, Scott caught Javi and Stiles watching them. Neither said a word, but their reassuring smiles spoke volumes.
Javi gave a small nod, his usual playful demeanor momentarily replaced by quiet support. Stiles, always the one to crack a joke in tense moments, simply offered a look that said, We've got this.
Scott exhaled, squeezing his mother's hand one last time before stepping back.
"You'll be okay," he murmured.
Melissa nodded, offering a small, grateful smile before joining the others. But as she stood there, waiting for her turn, Scott couldn't shake the unease settling in his chest.
They were closer than ever to the truth.
Javi leaned toward Stiles, his voice low with curiosity. "I wonder why your dad is taking so long with the director. How hard can it be to get permission to question his own nurses?"
Stiles raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Who knows? Maybe he's just soaking in the ambiance." He gestured subtly toward the nurses shifting anxiously in line, their stress palpable.
Javi scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Real reassuring, Stilinski."
Stiles shrugged, unfazed. "Hey, I just call it like I see it. Besides, you know my dad. He's probably checking every nook and cranny of this place just to be extra thorough."
Javi sighed, adjusting the strap of his duffle bag. "Guess that means we wait."
Stiles exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Guess we do."
His foot tapped restlessly against the floor. Waiting wasn't his strong suit—especially when they were this close to answers.
Scott rejoined his friends, his shoulders visibly less tense. "Mom's fine... for now." He hesitated before adding, "I hope."
Stiles placed a hand on Scott's shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. "Relax, man. She's gonna be okay."
Scott let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting toward the growing line of anxious nurses. The weight of the situation pressed down on him.
"I want to believe that... but something doesn't feel right."
Stiles raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "What kind of feeling? The 'something's off' kind or the 'I just failed a test I didn't study for' kind?"
Javi, ever the observer, scanned the room before speaking. "Scott, as long as your mom has an alibi, she'll be fine. The truth always comes out... eventually."
Scott nodded, the gratitude in his eyes muted by lingering concern. "I know... it's just hard not to think the worst. She's my mom."
Javi patted Scott's shoulder, his voice steady. "I get it, hermano. But we're on this case together. We're not gonna let anything happen to her."
Stiles nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he glanced at the officers stationed at the entrance. "Besides, the place is locked down. If the killer tries to run, they won't get far."
Scott managed a small smile, his worry easing—if only slightly.
"You're right. We're all here. We won't let her escape."
Javi's eyes lingered on the line of nurses, his expression unreadable. "Yeah… but something tells me she won't run."
Stiles shot him a questioning look. "Why's that?"
Javi's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "Because she thinks she's untouchable."
A quiet tension settled between them.
They were close. Closer than they realized.
Javi's words sat heavily in Stiles and Scott's minds. Something about the way he said it made them both uneasy, like there was a deeper truth hidden beneath his casual tone.
Scott broke the silence first. "What do you mean she thinks she's untouchable?"
Javi shrugged, his gaze still locked onto the line of nurses, his expression unreadable. "Just a feeling."
Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes. "Here we go again—Javi Garcia, king of cryptic comments."
Javi simply smirked, unbothered. "What can I say? It's a gift."
Scott sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Javi, quit being weird. You have a theory, don't you?"
Javi grinned, attempting to reassure them. "Relax, guys. I'm not about to do anything reckless."
Scott and Stiles exchanged a look—one of mutual skepticism. Javi's definition of not reckless had always been questionable.
Scott crossed his arms. "Just… be careful, alright? Last thing we need is for you to pull something crazy and get yourself in trouble."
Javi sighed, knowing they wouldn't let this go. "Fine. Look, I was thinking about the footage—the way that woman just got in the car with him, no hesitation. Maybe, just maybe, the killer and Dr. Langer were… close."
Stiles arched a brow. "Close? Like… romantically?"
Javi shrugged. "Could be. Think about it—Dr. Langer was injected with a sedative before he was smothered. That means the killer had to be someone he trusted enough to let their guard down."
Scott frowned, skeptical. "That doesn't automatically mean they were involved. There are plenty of ways someone could've gotten close to him."
Javi exhaled, shaking his head. "You're missing the point. Whoever did this had intimate access to him. It wasn't just some random attack."
Stiles, his curiosity piqued, tilted his head. "So… you're saying she wasn't just a coworker—she was his lover?"
Javi nodded, thoughtful. "It makes sense. If she was involved with him, she would've had access to his things, his schedule, and even medical supplies."
Stiles hesitated, the footage replaying in his mind. "But we checked his family background—nothing suspicious. Are you saying he was… cheating?"
Javi lifted a brow. "It's possible. Look at the way they interacted in the video. It wasn't just casual."
Scott's disbelief was clear. "You can't just assume they were lovers based on one video clip."
Javi shrugged. "Why not? It's a solid lead. People kill for love—and for betrayal."
Stiles tapped his fingers against his arm, thinking. "Well, if that's true, then it would mean your mom is in the clear, Scott. If the killer had a personal motive, it had nothing to do with Melissa."
Scott hesitated, the weight of the idea sinking in. "Yeah… if we can prove that the killer had a personal connection to Dr. Langer, it changes everything."
Javi smirked slightly. "Told you it was a good lead."
Scott sighed, still unsure, but there was no denying the possibility.
Now, they just needed proof.
----------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, in Director Gregory's office, Sheriff Stilinski sat across from the hospital's medical director, ready to have a difficult conversation.
Director Gregory's face twisted in a mix of surprise and disbelief. "Wait—are you telling me that the person who murdered Dr. Langer is one of my nurses?!"
Sheriff Stilinski gave a firm nod, his expression serious. "Yes. Based on our investigation, we have reason to believe the killer is among your staff."
Gregory ran a hand through his graying hair, visibly agitated. He began pacing the office, muttering to himself. "That's impossible. We run extensive background checks—none of my staff have criminal records."
Sheriff Stilinski sighed, understanding his frustration. "I get it, Director. But the evidence points in this direction. The night before Dr. Langer's death, surveillance footage captured him getting into his car with someone in a nurse's uniform. We believe that person is responsible for his murder."
Gregory stopped pacing. His face was a mixture of conflict and denial. "I see… This is serious. But my nurses—they're good people. I can't imagine any of them being capable of something like this."
"I understand your concern," Stilinski said evenly. "But we have to follow the facts. I promise we'll conduct this investigation thoroughly and fairly."
The director exhaled sharply and sank into his chair, rubbing his temples. "Fine. Do what you need to do. I won't stand in the way—I don't want a murderer working in my hospital."
Sheriff Stilinski gave a respectful nod. "We'll handle this as discreetly as possible. The last thing we want is unnecessary panic."
Gregory let out a heavy sigh, his voice laced with worry. "Just... make sure my staff is treated with respect. They're already under a lot of pressure. I don't want them to feel like they're being hunted."
"Of course," Stilinski assured him. "This will be handled professionally. We're here to find the truth—not to target innocent people."
Gregory's tense shoulders eased slightly. "Alright. Keep me updated on every development. I want to know exactly what's happening."
"You have my word," Stilinski said.
Gregory's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Good. Just… find the killer, Sheriff. Before someone else gets hurt."
Stilinski met his gaze with unwavering determination. "We will."
With that, the sheriff left the office. Outside, he turned to one of his deputies. "Are the nurses gathered?"
The deputy nodded. "Yes, sir. They're waiting in the private room downstairs."
Stilinski nodded in approval. "Good. The private setting will help keep them calm—we don't need anyone panicking."
With a final glance toward the waiting area, he took a deep breath. The real work was about to begin.
Sheriff Stilinski rejoined Scott, Javi, and Stiles in the hospital lobby.
Stiles spoke first, his curiosity barely contained. "How'd it go, Dad?"
The sheriff sighed, rubbing his face, exhaustion evident. "About as well as expected. Gregory's worried about his staff being unfairly targeted, but he's cooperating."
Scott nodded in understanding. "So, did he give the green light to question the nurses?"
"Yeah," Stilinski confirmed. "They're waiting in the private room. Deputy Thompson is keeping things organized—thanks for helping him out earlier."
The trio exchanged grins. "Hehe."
Javi adjusted his duffel bag and stepped forward. "We've got another theory."
The sheriff raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Alright, let's hear it."
Stiles jumped in. "We're thinking the killer messed up. Either the sedative didn't work, or they used a backup plan—like a rope and pulley system. That means they either underestimated Dr. Langer or got desperate."
Sheriff Stilinski considered it, his expression thoughtful. "Hmm. That's an interesting angle. If they made a mistake, it could be a crucial lead."
Scott added, "And we think there was some kind of relationship between the killer and Dr. Langer. Well, that's his theory." He gestured toward Javi, who grinned.
The sheriff's eyebrows lifted, his interest piqued. "A relationship?" He studied them carefully. "You think the killer was close to Langer?"
Stiles quickly clarified, "Just a theory, Dad. A big maybe."
Sheriff Stilinski exhaled, rubbing his temples. "But Dr. Langer's family background is clean. Are you sure about this?"
Javi nodded. "We checked—nothing suspicious on record. But people keep secrets, Sheriff. We're just saying it's possible."
Stiles added, "If that's the case, we could narrow down the suspect list, right?"
Javi smirked. "And even if the killer was a woman, she still could've hung Dr. Langer's body—"
Scott picked up the thread. "Using a pulley system. That would explain the lack of drag marks—no struggle because he was already dead before he was hanged."
Stiles nodded. "That's the theory. So… what are we waiting for? Let's start questioning."
Sheriff Stilinski raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "We? Who said anything about we? You're not coming in for the questioning."
The trio looked stunned. "WHAT?! WHY?!"
Stiles immediately jumped into protest mode. "Dad, we've been helping since the start! You can't shut us out now."
The sheriff's stern gaze met his son's. "I appreciate everything you've done, but this is a police investigation. You're high school students. I can't let you interfere."
Stiles groaned. "But, Dad—"
"No buts," Stilinski cut him off. "I'm not shutting you out. I need you three to focus on your theories. Go back to the woods, find Dr. Langer's car. That's the real crime scene. Leave the questioning to me."
Scott, Stiles, and Javi exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unhappy with the decision.
Scott tried to argue. "But, Sheriff, we've been working on this from the beginning! We've already cracked key evidence."
Stilinski sighed, his voice firm but appreciative. "I know, and I'm grateful. But interrogating potential suspects is delicate. One wrong move could jeopardize the case."
Stiles sighed in defeat. "Fine. We'll go search for the car. That's where it all started anyway."
Javi nodded. "Yeah, and we also know Dr. Langer's last stop was the movie theater before he was killed."
Stiles perked up. "That is my department. I can check the theater's records—see who bought tickets that night."
Scott shot him a skeptical look. "You're not going to hack into anything, are you?"
Stiles scoffed, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Scott, please. I can do this legally." He winked.
Sheriff Stilinski raised a warning eyebrow. "Stiles, about that hacking—I meant it."
Stiles groaned. "Dad, come on. I'm not hacking anything. I'm just… utilizing my God-given talents to access public records."
The sheriff gave him a deadpan look. "God-given talents? You mean your ability to bend the law?"
Stiles grinned. "I prefer 'bending the rules creatively.' It's an art."
The sheriff rolled his eyes. "Creative rule-bending tends to lead to handcuffs, kid."
Stiles nodded innocently. "Noted." Then, after a beat, he grinned mischievously. "Buuut… if I happen to find something interesting, could I maybe bend the rules just a smidge?"
Javi and Scott groaned, face-palming in unison. "Stiles will always be Stiles."
The sheriff sighed, shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not. No rule bending. No hacking. Nothing shady. Anything we find has to hold up in court."
Stiles dramatically threw up his hands. "Fine, fine, fine! No rule bending, no rule breaking, no secret hacking escapades. Just good old-fashioned legal research." His tone was innocent, but his eyes still danced with mischief.
Scott suddenly spoke up, his expression shifting. "Umm… can I stay here? I want to check on my mom, make sure she's okay with the questioning."
The sheriff's stance softened. "Yeah, Scott. I get it. Stay as long as you need."
Scott exhaled in relief. "Thanks, Sheriff."
Javi patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, man. We've got this."
Stiles nodded confidently. "Yeah. We'll handle this. You just make sure Melissa's okay."
Scott gave them a grateful smile. "Thanks, guys."
Stiles smirked. "Of course. We're professionals."
Sheriff Stilinski groaned. "God help me."
*Stiles received a phone call.* "Hold on a sec, Hello?" Then he walked to the distance.
Sheriff Stilinski motioned Javi to come close pulling him aside. "Javi, a word?"
Javi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Sure. What's up?"
Sheriff Stilinski motioned for him to step aside, ensuring Stiles and Scott were out of earshot. His voice lowered.
"I need you to keep an eye on Stiles. He's been through a lot lately… more than he lets on."
Javi's expression softened, concern flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, I've noticed. He jokes around, but there's something behind it."
The sheriff nodded, his face lined with worry. "Exactly. Stiles has a habit of burying things, focusing on everyone else instead of himself."
Javi exhaled, nodding. "I get it. Don't worry, Noah. I got him."
Sheriff Stilinski let out a small sigh of relief. "Thanks, Javi. I appreciate it. Just… make sure he doesn't do anything reckless."
Javi smirked. "Oh, that's a daily struggle. But I'll do my best to keep him under control."
The sheriff chuckled, shaking his head. "That's a full-time job in itself. Stiles and his impulsive ideas—" he let out a breath, "—one hell of a handful."
"Ahem."
They turned to see Stiles standing there, arms crossed, wearing an unimpressed look.
"Are you two done plotting behind my back? Because, you know, we still have an investigation to focus on."
Sheriff Stilinski smirked. "Alright, alright. We'll let you get to work."
He gave Javi one last nod—a silent gesture of trust—before stepping back.
Javi clapped Stiles on the back with a grin. "Relax, dude. Just making sure you don't do anything too stupid."
Stiles huffed. "Wow. The faith you people have in me is overwhelming."
And with that, Stiles and Javi left the hospital, heading off on their mission. Meanwhile, Scott stayed behind, joining his mom and the sheriff as they prepared for the questioning.
Stiles and Javi stepped outside, bracing against the cold night air. Stiles pulled his jacket tighter around himself, shivering slightly as he glanced at Javi.
Javi smirked, giving him a knowing look. "Cold?"
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Nah, I'm boiling. Look, I'm even sweating."
Javi chuckled, recognizing Stiles' habit of masking discomfort with sarcasm. He raised an eyebrow, playing along. "Right, my mistake. You look seconds away from heatstroke."
Stiles huffed a laugh, appreciating Javi's ability to keep up. "Yeah, definitely overheating in this winter weather. Might pass out from the extreme heat."
Javi shook his head, still amused. "Oh yeah, we wouldn't want that. You should probably take off your jacket before you spontaneously combust."
Stiles shot him a look before shaking his head with a smirk. "Guess I'm stuck with you for this crime scene investigation, huh?"
Javi raised a brow, intrigued. "Why? That a problem?"
Stiles sighed dramatically. "Let's just say I'll have to endure your Sherlocking—which, for the record, annoys me."
Javi chuckled, adjusting his duffle bag. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Stiles grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Of course you would."
Javi smirked. "I have a gift for taking things the wrong way. One of my many talents."
Stiles climbed into the Jeep, and Javi followed suit. As the engine rumbled to life, Stiles' expression shifted—still teasing, but with an edge of seriousness. "I still don't trust you, you know?"
Javi fastened his seatbelt, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, here we go again."
Stiles kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. "Can you blame me? You kept secrets from us, then boom—you suddenly show up right in the middle of all this chaos."
Javi shrugged. "Some secrets are meant to stay hidden, right?"
Stiles shot him a brief look before focusing back on the road. "Yeah, well, secrets have a way of coming out eventually. Bottling things up never works out."
Javi leaned back, tone light but a little defensive. "You sound like a therapist."
Stiles snorted, laced with sarcasm. "Yeah, clearly my life's calling. Maybe I should add 'therapist' to my already long list of talents."
Javi sighed, his playful tone dropping just a notch. "I told you—I'll tell you everything once we're done with this case. I promised, didn't I?"
Stiles nodded, still focused on the road. "Yeah, you did. But that doesn't mean I'm just gonna stop worrying about it."
Javi's expression softened. "I know. But trust me, I have my reasons. I'm not just keeping secrets for the hell of it."
Stiles sighed, a mix of frustration and concern evident in his voice. "I want to trust you, Javi, but it's hard when you're holding back. It's like you expect me to just accept it without asking questions."
Meanwhile, outside the interrogation room, Scott stood beside his mother, Melissa McCall, sensing the tension rolling off her in waves. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep herself composed.
"Mom, are you okay?" Scott asked softly.
Melissa forced a small smile, but he could see the worry in her eyes. "Yeah, I just—" She sighed. "I know these people, Scott. They're my coworkers, my friends. The idea that one of them could be a murderer…" She trailed off, shaking her head.*
"I get it," Scott said gently. "But the sheriff is being careful. He's just following the evidence."
Melissa exhaled. "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier."
Scott placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure this out, Mom. Whoever did this, they're not going to get away with it."
________________________________________
The Questioning Begins.
[First Suspect: Shane Vukovich]
Sheriff Stilinski sat across from Nurse Shane Vukovich, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead casting a cold, clinical glow over the room. The sterile setting contrasted sharply with the tension hanging in the air. Shane sat stiffly in her chair, hands clenched in her lap, but her fingers kept fidgeting nervously, constantly adjusting a small, delicate hairpin that seemed far too small for the thickness of her dark hair.
He watched her, his gaze piercing. "State your name for the record," he said, his voice calm but authoritative.
"Shane Vukovich," she answered, barely above a whisper, her eyes flickering to the sheriff before dropping to her hands, where she continued to twist the pin.
"Are you close to Dr. Langer?" Stilinski asked, watching her closely.
"No. We were colleagues, nothing more," she responded quickly, her voice defensive, but her gaze was evasive.
He scribbled a quick note in his book, unconvinced by her answer, but he pressed on. "Can you drive?"
"Yes," she said with a sharp nod, her eyes briefly flashing to his. The answer was so quick, it almost felt rehearsed. He made another note, but didn't comment.
"Was Dr. Langer getting tired or spending most of his time working lately?" The sheriff's question was more casual, but the intensity behind his eyes remained unwavering.
She hesitated, clearly searching for the right words. "He worked a lot. He was focused on his cases, but... he didn't seem tired," she said, but her voice wavered slightly at the end. He noted that too.
"Where were you between 7 AM and 9 AM, the time of Dr. Langer's death?" The sheriff leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering just enough to make the question feel more personal, more pressing.
Shane's eyes darted toward the door for a second, but she quickly regained her composure. "I was at home. Alone. I woke up early, didn't go anywhere," she said, her words coming out with an unsettling haste. The hairpin continued to get readjusted between her fingers, tighter and tighter, as if she were trying to force herself to stay calm.
"Do you have a grudge against Dr. Langer?" Stilinski asked, his voice hardening, his eyes narrowing as he studied her every move.
"No," she replied instantly, but the hesitation in her voice and the tightness in her expression spoke volumes. The sheriff's suspicion deepened.
He leaned back, observing her, and then, as the silence stretched between them, he raised an eyebrow. "Mind if I ask about your hairpin? If it's uncomfortable, why did you choose it?"
Shane froze for a split second, her fingers pausing mid-adjustment. Her gaze flickered to him, and for a moment, there was a shift—a slight crack in her otherwise composed demeanor. She quickly averted her eyes, trying to regain her cool. "It's... it's nothing. Just... uncomfortable, that's all." She said the words quickly, almost too quickly. Her hand moved once again to adjust the pin, but this time, it was more of a nervous tick than an attempt at comfort.
The sheriff didn't miss the brief flicker of discomfort. Her body language was betraying her, and he was beginning to piece things together.
He made a final note in his book, his voice steady. "Alright, Ms. Vukovich. That will be all for now."
She stood up abruptly, her movements too swift, too rigid. Shane gave him a forced, tight smile that didn't reach her eyes. She left the room quickly, but her hurried steps were telling in themselves.
Sheriff Stilinski stayed seated, his eyes following her until the door clicked shut. There was something off about her answers—too many small inconsistencies, too much nervous energy.
But for now, he had to let her go. He needed to see how the other nurses would respond, and maybe then he'd start to put the pieces together.
[Next Suspect: Lea Stallone]
The room was quiet when Nurse Lea Stallone entered, her posture rigid, eyes hard as stone. She didn't offer a greeting, nor did she make any attempt at pleasantries. The moment she took a seat, it was as if the air around her thickened with barely-contained frustration. The sheriff could feel it—the anger rolling off her in waves. She had been expecting this.
Stilinski made a mental note of her reaction, but kept his face neutral, his tone even. "State your name for the record," he said, glancing at her from behind his notebook.
"Lea Stallone," she answered sharply, her voice clipped. She didn't look at him, her gaze set firmly on the wall in front of her.
"Are you close to Dr. Langer?" The sheriff's question was straightforward, though he sensed the tension in her stiff posture.
Her lips curled into a tight smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "We worked together. That's it." She practically spat the words, as though even the mention of his name left a bad taste in her mouth.
"Can you drive?" He kept his tone calm, unaffected by her hostility.
"Yes," she responded with a clipped nod, clearly not in the mood for small talk.
Stilinski continued, undeterred by the hostility that hung thick in the air. "Was Dr. Langer getting tired or spending most of his time working lately?"
Lea snorted derisively, rolling her eyes as she sat back in her chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Of course he was working," she said, her voice rising with frustration. "It's what he did. He didn't have time for anything else. That's why he's dead, isn't it?" The bitterness in her voice was undeniable.
Stilinski didn't flinch. He'd dealt with this kind of anger before. "Where were you between 7 AM and 9 AM, the time of Dr. Langer's death?"
"On shift," she shot back quickly, her eyes narrowing. "I was here, working my ass off, while you guys are sitting around, accusing anyone who walks in the door."
Her voice was laced with venom now, the anger more than evident. Stilinski jotted down a few notes, but kept his eyes on her, unblinking.
"Do you have a grudge against Dr. Langer?" He asked, voice firm, but not hostile. He needed her to focus, to feel the weight of the question.
Lea's face hardened, her jaw clenched so tight that the sheriff could hear it. She didn't answer right away, but the tension in the room swelled. "I didn't like the way he ran things," she finally muttered, her voice low but steady. "But a grudge? I don't have time for that."
Her fingers tapped against the edge of the table, sharp, staccato sounds that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat. She was still angry, too angry for someone who claimed not to have a grudge. Stilinski's eyes narrowed as he watched her, taking in the details. Anger was a powerful emotion, but it didn't always mean guilt. Sometimes, it meant something more—a desire to protect, to hide the truth.
"You said you were on shift, so you have an alibi for the time of death?" He pressed.
Lea's eyes flicked to his, and for a brief moment, her anger was replaced with something else—something sharper, more calculated. "I'm not stupid," she replied coldly. "I don't have an alibi for every minute, but I was working. I was in the ER."
Sheriff Stilinski wrote that down quickly, but then leaned forward slightly, his voice softening, though it held an edge. "I'm going to ask you one more time, Ms. Stallone. Do you have any reason to be angry with Dr. Langer? Any reason to hurt him?"
Lea's lip curled again, and she shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her. "He wasn't a saint. But I didn't kill him." She stood up suddenly, her chair scraping against the floor with an unsettling screech. "Now, if you're done wasting my time, I've got work to do."
Stilinski stayed seated, his gaze unwavering. "Alright, Ms. Stallone. That will be all."
As she stormed out, her heels clicking loudly on the tile floor, the sheriff stayed still for a moment longer, processing the exchange. Lea's anger, her defensiveness, it could be a cover for guilt—or maybe it was just her way of protecting herself. Either way, there was more to uncover, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
[Next nurse: Angela Lambert]
The door creaked open softly, and in walked Nurse Angela Lambert, her face pale, eyes red-rimmed, as though she hadn't slept in days. She moved slowly, her shoulders slumped under the weight of grief that clung to her like a shadow. There was no anger or deflection in her demeanor, only sadness, and a deep, almost palpable sense of loss.
Sheriff Stilinski noted her state immediately. This wasn't someone holding back—this was someone who was barely holding it together.
As she sat down, the sheriff gave her a moment of silence, hoping to ease the tension, before he spoke gently. "State your name for the record."
"Angela Lambert," she whispered, her voice barely a tremor.
"Are you close to Dr. Langer?" Stilinski asked, keeping his tone neutral but kind, knowing full well this might be the hardest question she'd answer.
Angela's hands, still trembling slightly, rested in her lap, and for a moment, she didn't respond. When she finally did, her voice cracked. "He was my mentor," she said, the words coming out with a faint sob. "He taught me everything. He… he was more than just a boss to me."
Her eyes welled with tears, but she quickly blinked them away, as though not wanting to show any further weakness. Still, her grief hung in the air like a heavy fog, threatening to overwhelm her.
"Can you drive?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, trying to shift the focus, not wanting to press her too much on the emotional aspect just yet.
"Yes," Angela replied quietly, though her mind seemed far away, lost in thought.
"Was Dr. Langer spending his time working, or was he getting tired?" The sheriff asked, hoping for some insight into the doctor's state of mind before his death.
Angela looked down at her hands, the answer already visible on her palms. The unmistakable imprint of glove marks—deep and stark against her skin. Her gaze lingered there for a moment, almost as if she were bracing herself for the inevitable question. Finally, she looked up at him, her voice heavy with emotion. "He was always working," she said softly, almost too quietly. "But he was… getting tired, too. I could see it. But he pushed through. He always did."
The sheriff observed her for a moment longer before continuing. "Where were you between 7 AM and 9 AM, the time of Dr. Langer's death?"
Angela's hands twitched, and her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. She swallowed hard, collecting herself before answering. "I was jogging in the woods," she said, her voice almost drowned out by the weight of the words. "I go there every morning. It's… it's my escape."
Stilinski's brows furrowed. "The same woods where Dr. Langer was found dead?"
Angela nodded. Her lips trembled as she met his gaze. "Yes."
The sheriff's tone remained calm but sharp, trying to piece everything together. "And you found him?"
Angela's face crumpled at the memory. She nodded again, unable to keep the raw emotion from her voice. "Yes. I found him lying there. I… I thought he was just sleeping at first. I didn't realize—" Her voice broke, and she had to pause, taking a steadying breath before continuing. "I called it in. I reported the incident."
Her hands, still trembling, moved to her face as she wiped away the fresh tears that had fallen, clearly struggling with the emotional toll of the situation. She didn't look at the sheriff now, her gaze fixed on the floor, as if she couldn't bear to look at anyone.
"Do you have any reason to be angry with Dr. Langer? Any reason you would want to hurt him?" Sheriff Stilinski asked softly, though his words carried the heavy weight of the question.
Angela recoiled, her head shaking violently. "No!" she exclaimed, her voice almost desperate. "No, I loved him like a father. He was the one person who believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself."
Her outburst faded into quiet sobs, her shoulders shaking with the force of her grief. Sheriff Stilinski watched her for a moment, his heart heavy. There was no anger here—no defensiveness, no hiding. Just the painful truth of someone who had lost someone they cared for deeply.
He let the silence stretch for a moment, allowing her the space to collect herself before continuing. "The glove marks on your hands. Can you explain them?"
Angela blinked in confusion, her gaze returning to her hands. "Glove marks?" she repeated, as if the question caught her off guard. She looked down, seeing the imprints, her brow furrowing. "Oh. I—" She paused, a faint flush rising in her cheeks. "I was wearing gloves when I jogged. I don't usually, but I was… I was upset, I guess. It was cold, and I didn't want to risk getting sick."
She seemed lost in thought for a moment, then shook her head slowly. "I swear, I didn't hurt him. I loved him. He was my mentor. I couldn't—"
The sheriff didn't interrupt her, instead taking a moment to jot down his notes. Her story checked out on the surface, but the questions lingered in the air like a thick fog.
"Thank you, Nurse Lambert," he finally said, his voice kind but firm. "That will be all for now."
Angela nodded numbly, her movements slow as she stood up. She seemed to shrink as she left, as though the weight of her emotions had become too much to bear. The door clicked shut softly behind her, and Sheriff Stilinski exhaled slowly, his mind racing. Angela's grief seemed genuine, but the truth was elusive. There was still much to uncover, and time was running out.
[Next nurse: Melissa McCall]
The door opened gently, and Nurse Melissa McCall stepped into the room, her face calm but her eyes holding a trace of concern. Sheriff Stilinski recognized her instantly, not just as a nurse, but as Scott's mother. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment, the familiarity softening the edges of the interview.
"State your name for the record."
"Melissa McCall," she said, her voice steady. She took a seat, folding her hands neatly in her lap, her posture professional yet undeniably tense.
"Are you close to Dr. Langer?" the sheriff asked, cutting straight to the heart of the questioning. He had dealt with Melissa for years and knew how much she valued honesty and professionalism. She was the last person he'd expect to have anything to hide.
Melissa's gaze dropped for a second, as though she was carefully considering her words. "I've worked with Dr. Langer for a long time. We were colleagues, but we weren't close. Not like… not like some people are."
Her tone was measured, and there was an unmistakable distance in her voice, which made Sheriff Stilinski nod. "Can you drive?" he asked next, trying to keep things straightforward.
"Yes," she responded promptly, though there was no hesitation.
"Was Dr. Langer getting tired, or was he spending all his time working?" Stilinski pressed, his eyes studying her face for any hint of change.
Melissa seemed to pause, as if weighing the question carefully before answering. "Dr. Langer worked hard," she said, her words clipped. "He was focused on his work, but yes, I think he was starting to show signs of fatigue recently. He'd been pushing himself too hard, and it started to show."
"Where were you between 7 AM and 9 AM, the time of Dr. Langer's death?" The sheriff's question was blunt, but Melissa seemed prepared for it.
"I was home," she replied without missing a beat. "Scott can confirm that. We were both at home that morning."
Stilinski nodded, his gaze briefly flicking toward the file in front of him. He had already checked with Scott, and her alibi held up. She wasn't lying, at least about that.
"Do you have any reason to be angry with Dr. Langer, or any reason to hurt him?" Sheriff Stilinski's voice remained even, though his eyes narrowed slightly, searching for a crack in her calm exterior.
Melissa's expression tightened, but only for a split second. She was quick to recover. "No," she said, her voice steady. "I had no reason to hurt him. Whatever happened to him, I didn't have anything to do with it."
The sheriff gave her a nod, then leaned forward, his tone shifting slightly, careful now. "There's a theory going around that Dr. Langer might have been in some kind of relationship—possibly a romantic one—with someone here at the hospital. Any truth to that?"
The change in her posture was subtle, but noticeable. She shifted slightly in her seat, her hands gripping the edge of her chair a little tighter. "I don't know where that theory's coming from," she said quickly, her voice sharp. "It's completely unfounded. Dr. Langer was a professional. He wasn't the type of person to engage in that kind of behavior. If there was anything going on, I wouldn't know about it, and I certainly don't believe it."
Her denial was firm, her tone leaving no room for doubt, but Sheriff Stilinski couldn't help but notice the faintest tremor in her hand. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. It made him wonder if she was so adamant about denying the theory because it was simply untrue… or because she might know more than she was letting on.
"So, you're certain there was no relationship, no infidelity?" Stilinski pressed, his gaze steady.
"Absolutely," she replied, her voice cool and composed, though her eyes flicked away for a moment, as if the question made her uncomfortable. "This is a professional environment, and Dr. Langer was always that—professional. Nothing more."
Sheriff Stilinski gave a small nod, taking note of her quick responses and her firm stance on the matter. But he wasn't convinced.
"Thank you, Nurse McCall," he said, his voice polite but firm. "That will be all for now."
Melissa stood up, the air of finality hanging between them as she gave him a brief, curt nod. But before she left, she glanced at the sheriff with a hint of something like concern.
"I just want you to know," she said softly, "Dr. Langer was a good man. He didn't deserve this."
Her words lingered in the air as she left, leaving Sheriff Stilinski to ponder her answers. She had the perfect alibi, no history of conflict with Dr. Langer, and an air of sincerity that made it difficult to read her true feelings. But the doubts, as always, simmered beneath the surface. Everyone had a secret.
[Next nurse: Jane Anuevo]
The door opened once more, and Nurse Jane Anuevo stepped into the room with an air of quiet confidence. Her posture was impeccable, her expression neutral, almost unreadable. She held herself with the calm authority of someone who had seen it all, someone who knew how to keep her emotions buried under layers of professionalism.
Sheriff Stilinski studied her for a moment, sensing there was more to this nurse than met the eye. He gestured for her to take a seat.
"State your name for the record," he said, his voice steady.
"Jane Anuevo," she replied crisply, sitting down in front of him. Her voice was calm, devoid of any nervousness or hesitation.
"Are you close to Dr. Langer?" Stilinski asked, his gaze steady. He had already heard a few murmurs about her disdain for the victim, and he wanted to start with that.
Her lips tightened ever so slightly, but she maintained her composure. "No," she answered bluntly. "I worked with him. I did my job. That's all."
The sheriff's gaze sharpened, noticing the faintest flicker of something—resentment? Annoyance? But she was quick to cover it. He continued.
"Can you drive?" The question seemed simple enough, but Sheriff Stilinski was determined to cover all his bases.
"Yes," Jane responded, her tone flat and direct.
"Where were you between 7 AM and 9 AM, the time of Dr. Langer's death?" Stilinski asked next, pressing her for an alibi.
She hesitated for a moment, just enough for the sheriff to catch the subtle shift in her posture. But her face remained impassive as she responded.
"I was here, at the hospital," she said evenly, though she offered no further details, and no one could confirm it.
Stilinski made a note in his file, but he didn't let up. "Is there any particular reason you would have a problem with Dr. Langer? Any reason to hate him?"
At the mention of hatred, Jane's eyes briefly flicked to the side, but she didn't flinch. "Hate is a strong word," she replied slowly, her tone still measured. "I didn't like him. He had a way of doing things that rubbed me the wrong way. But I didn't hate him."
Stilinski leaned in a little, his voice lowering just slightly. "Why didn't you like him?"
The question seemed to catch her off guard, just for a moment. But she quickly recovered. "Dr. Langer was… controlling. He had this way of pushing his ideas onto everyone else. He didn't listen. He thought he knew everything, and that didn't sit well with me."
Her voice had remained calm, but there was a noticeable bite to it now. The sheriff could sense the underlying tension, the things left unsaid. She didn't like him—that much was clear. But could that translate into motive?
"Do you think it was possible for you to have committed the crime, based on the timeline?" Stilinski asked, almost as if testing her.
Jane met his gaze squarely, her eyes unflinching. "It's impossible," she said with quiet certainty. "I may not have an alibi, but I didn't do it."
Her tone was resolute, but the sheriff didn't buy it entirely. Her sharpness, her cold demeanor—there was something off about the way she was distancing herself from Dr. Langer's death.
"So, you're telling me that despite your clear dislike for Dr. Langer, there's no way you would have taken matters into your own hands?"
Jane's eyes narrowed just slightly, but she didn't flinch. "I didn't kill him," she said simply, and the finality in her voice left little room for argument.
Stilinski nodded, taking in her words carefully. He knew she wasn't being completely honest, but the puzzle pieces weren't quite fitting yet. Jane Anuevo was sharp, calculating, and calm. But there was a fire in her words, something beneath the surface that he couldn't quite pinpoint.
"Thank you, Nurse Anuevo," he said, his voice even. "That will be all for now."
She stood with the same poised demeanor, giving him a slight nod of acknowledgment. "You're welcome, Sheriff."
As she left the room, Sheriff Stilinski remained seated, staring at the door for a moment. He couldn't shake the feeling that Jane knew more than she was letting on. There was something about her, something about the way she distanced herself from the crime, that didn't quite sit right. But for now, he had no concrete evidence—just a gut feeling.
As the questioning of the nurses came to a close, Sheriff Stilinski sat back in his chair, his mind racing. Each of the women he'd just spoken to had something about them that stood out, something that made them either more suspect or more sympathetic. But there were only a few who truly captured his attention.
Nurse Shane Vukovich, with her odd behavior—constantly adjusting that hairpin, a sign of nerves or discomfort. She had no alibi, just a vague claim of being at home alone. Was it an oversight, or was there something more to her story? He could feel there was something off about her, but the question was, was it enough to prove guilt?
Then there was Nurse Lea Stallone, whose fury had been palpable. It was easy to dismiss her anger as a reaction to the tragedy of losing a colleague. After all, people grieve in different ways. But her temper was short, and her willingness to jump to defensiveness over something so small made him wonder if she was hiding something deeper. Her solid alibi and the anger boiling beneath the surface were hard to ignore. Could she be trying to distract from something?
Angela Lambert had been the most emotional of them all, almost as though the loss of Dr. Langer had struck her to her core. She had an alibi in the form of jogging in the woods, but she'd reported the body, and there was something about that—something that didn't quite add up. Was she telling the truth, or was she too emotionally invested in the case because she had more of a connection to Dr. Langer than she let on? The glove marks on her hands were another detail that couldn't be ignored. Had she been cleaning up something? Or was it just a coincidence?
Then there was Nurse Melissa McCall, who had been straightforward and calm, giving an alibi from her son Scott. She had no connection to Dr. Langer's death other than being a nurse who worked with him. When Javi's theory came up about the possibility of a relationship between the victim and someone on staff, she was firm in denying it. Her demeanor made it hard to read her—was she really that unaffected, or was she just adept at masking her emotions?
Finally, there was Nurse Jane Anuevo. Calm, collected, and with no alibi. Her disdain for Dr. Langer was impossible to miss, yet she denied any possibility of involvement. There was a sharpness to her answers, an almost calculated way of distancing herself from the crime. Could she have killed him because of their professional conflict, or was there another reason? Her lack of alibi put her under suspicion, but her steady composure suggested she was telling the truth. Still, Sheriff Stilinski couldn't shake the feeling that something was being left unsaid. He needed to keep his eye on her.
The sheriff rubbed his face, exhausted by the weight of the questions. It was clear that one of these nurses knew more than they were letting on, but which one?
As he turned toward the door, ready to rejoin the others, he felt a growing unease. There was no clear answer yet. But one thing was for certain—there were more twists to this case than he had initially anticipated.
Scott approached the sheriff, his voice low and tentative. "Sheriff, um... is my mom cleared now?"
Sheriff Stilinski looked up from the notes he had been reviewing, his gaze softening as he met Scott's eyes. "Yeah, Scott. Your mom's alibi checks out. She was on shift at the time, and there's nothing that links her to the incident. You don't have to worry about her being involved."
Scott let out a small, relieved breath, the tension that had been building in his shoulders slowly easing. "Good. I just wanted to make sure. You know how these things go… everyone starts wondering about everyone else."
The sheriff nodded, his expression serious but understanding. "I know. And I want to make sure you're all at ease. But you should also know that just because we've cleared her doesn't mean the investigation's over. There's still a lot to figure out."
Scott nodded, his eyes momentarily shifting to the floor as he thought about everything that had happened—the case, his mom's involvement, and everything that still felt so up in the air. "Yeah, I get that. It's just been... a lot."
Sheriff Stilinski gave him a knowing look, his voice softening further. "I understand, Scott. This is a tough situation. But we're getting closer to the truth. Just hang in there."
Scott's shoulders straightened slightly as he met the sheriff's gaze again, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thanks, Sheriff. I appreciate everything you're doing. It means a lot."
The sheriff offered a small, reassuring nod. "You know I've got your back. Just make sure you stay focused, okay? There's still a lot we don't know, and we need everyone sharp for what's coming next."
Scott gave him a brief smile, his resolve firming again. "I will. Thanks again."
To be continued...