Carter sat in the conference room, surrounded by a mountain of evidence that had gathered dust for years. Boxes of old case files, autopsy reports, photographs, and crime scene notes were strewn across the table. His desk lamp cast harsh shadows on the walls, illuminating the chaos that was the reopened serial murder investigation.
Detective Thompson, his reluctant but sharp-minded partner, leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "You really stirred the pot with this one, Carter. Everyone's watching us now, you know that?"
"Let them," Carter replied without looking up, flipping through an old file. "We have a witness, new evidence, and a suspect. For the first time in years, we actually have a lead. I'm not stopping now."
Thompson sighed, stepping inside and pulling up a chair. "Alright, let's go through it. Where do we start?"
Carter pointed to the photo of the suspect taken the previous night. "We've got a face. The tech team is running it through every database we have, but this guy's a ghost. No prints, no matches so far. That tells me he's either extremely careful or has help hiding."
"Could be both," Thompson said, glancing at the photo. "What about the girl?"
"Abigail's still too shaken to give us much," Carter admitted, rubbing his temples. "But she said something interesting last night-when I asked if she'd seen the suspect before, she didn't say yes or no. She just kept saying, 'He's always watching.'"
Thompson frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"
"I don't know yet," Carter admitted, leaning back in his chair. "But it's clear she knows more than she's letting on. I think she's terrified of him, maybe even brainwashed."
Thompson nodded grimly. "We need to tread carefully there. If we push too hard, she might shut down completely."
Carter opened another file, laying out crime scene photos of the victims. "Alright, let's focus on the murders. Five years, six victims, all killed in different ways, but all with traces of the same industrial solvent on their clothes. That's what led me to the train yard."
Thompson studied the photos, his brow furrowing. "And we're sure the solvent isn't a coincidence?"
"It's not," Carter said firmly. "I found barrels of it at the train yard, in the same shed where Abigail was being held. That place was his base of operations. He might have moved by now, but it confirms the connection."
"Alright," Thompson said, nodding. "So we've got location and method. What about motive? Serial killers usually have some kind of pattern, right? What ties these victims together?"
"That's the missing piece," Carter admitted, gesturing to the photos. "They don't seem to have anything in common-different ages, genders, backgrounds. But I think that's intentional. He's covering his tracks, making it harder for us to see the connection."
Thompson tapped the edge of the table, his mind racing. "What about the girl? If he took her but didn't kill her, maybe she's the exception. Maybe the connection starts with her."
Carter froze, Thompson's words igniting a spark in his mind. "That's it," he murmured, pulling Abigail's file closer. "What if she wasn't random? What if she's the key?"
He flipped through her file, his eyes scanning the details. Then, he grabbed a marker and began writing on the whiteboard.
Questions:
1. Why did he take Abigail?
2. Why didn't he kill her?
3. What does "He's always watching" mean?
Thompson watched as Carter circled the questions. "You think she's connected to the victims somehow?"
"Maybe," Carter said. "Or maybe she's connected to him. Either way, we need to find out. And fast."
The door to the conference room burst open, and a junior officer rushed in, holding a printed report. "Detective Carter, we've got a hit."
Carter snatched the paper, his eyes scanning the information. His heart stopped.
The suspect's face had finally matched to man.A drifter with a long history of arrests for assault, arson, and breaking and entering-but never murder.
Carter slammed the paper down. "Where is he now?"
The officer shook his head. "No known address. He's been off the radar for months, maybe years. But there's one thing-he used to work as a mechanic at the train yard where you found Abigail."
"That bastard was hiding in plain sight," Thompson muttered.
Carter stood, grabbing his coat. "If he worked there, he might've left something behind-tools, personal effects, anything. We're going back to the yard."
Thompson grabbed his coat as well. "You think we'll find him?"
Carter's eyes burned with determination. "If he's still out there, we'll find him. And we're going to make sure he never hurts anyone again."
* * *
