Criminal puzzles In Texas

Chapter Twenty-Five

The alarm buzzed at 6:15 a.m.
Victoria silenced it with a practiced hand, rubbing the edge of her thumb across her brow as she sat up. Pale light curled through the curtains — the kind that hinted at a chill outside, even if spring had technically arrived. Her body felt like it was on the third day of work, and in a way, it was. She’d already burned her day off chasing down leads, and the fatigue hummed in her joints like background static.
She caught the sound of the shower shutting off down the hall. Samantha was already up.
In the kitchen, her daughter stood in mismatched socks, hunched slightly over a cereal bowl while checking something on her phone. Her bag was zipped and by the door. Damp hair was tucked into her hoodie, still dripping faintly down her neck.
“You’re up early,” Victoria said as she entered, reaching for the coffee maker. Her voice was still rough from sleep.
Samantha gave a short nod. “Coach is doing time trials. Lane assignments for regionals.”
Victoria blinked once, then poured her coffee. “Didn’t know you were going out for regionals.”
Samantha shrugged, trying to sound casual. “It’s next Friday. You’re off rotation, right?”
“I am.” Victoria leaned against the counter, mug cradled in her hands. She watched her daughter for a second longer. There was something about the way Samantha bounced one foot anxiously while eating — she was trying not to make a big deal of it, but it mattered.
“You think you’ll come?” Samantha asked.
Victoria sipped her coffee before answering. “I’ll be there.”
It was a simple reply, but it landed like a promise. Samantha glanced up, and a brief smile bloomed across her face — quick, unguarded. Victoria stored it away like she always did with moments like that. They were rarer now, but no less grounding.
“You nervous?” she added.
Samantha shook her head. “Not really. I’m actually kind of excited. I’ve never swum in something this big before.”
“You’ll do great,” Victoria said. “You’ve been putting in the work.”
After Samantha left, Victoria took a moment to breathe in the quiet. The coffee warmed her hands. The house held the stillness that came only in the brief window between her daughter’s departure and the churn of another homicide shift. It felt like the calm before something.

By 8:05 a.m., she was pulling into the lot outside the station. The sun was higher now, but the light still felt cold. She moved past officers chatting by their cruisers and made her way to her desk, where a few folders were already waiting.
The day shift rhythm was different. Detectives still easing into the pace. Admins catching up from overnight reports. But Victoria’s mind was already moving — one name cycling again and again: Herrera.
She logged in and took a breath. The name wasn’t unfamiliar. She couldn’t place it exactly — but it stirred something from years back. A training seminar. A case whisper. An off-record debrief.
Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out her personal phone. A hesitation, then she tapped a name she hadn’t touched in a while: Derek Ramirez.
It rang twice.
“Vic?” came the familiar voice, edged with surprise. “What’s this, you miss my sunny disposition?”
“Not quite. Just figured it was time to call in a favor.”
“Wow. Two sentences in and I’m already sweating.” His tone shifted. “What’s going on?”
“I need a quiet look into something. A name popped up. Tomas Herrera.” Silence stretched.
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah.”
Derek exhaled. “You know he was sealed under four aliases. Buried under enough red tape to make him a ghost. I thought the department wanted his entire record to vanish.”
“So did I. But his name — or someone using it — showed up in a case down here. And the pieces… don’t feel random.”
“You think someone’s mimicking his work?”
“Either that, or he never stopped.”
There was a pause on Derek’s end, then the sound of a chair creaking. “Alright. Send me what you’ve got. I’ll run it clean. No digital footprint.”
“You still using the encrypted line?”
“Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.” Then, quieter, “You okay?”
Victoria hesitated just long enough for the silence to mean something. “Still doing the job. Still playing the long game.”
Derek didn’t push. “Alright, ghost hunter. I’ll call you if I find anything.”
She hung up and leaned back slightly, mind already tumbling through possible paths. Her fingers moved across her keyboard as she pulled up the working case board — the faces, the location tags, the bag left at the motel. It was all building toward something she couldn’t quite name yet.
Alan passed by then, coffee in hand, and tapped once on the frame of her desk.
“Got a minute?” he asked. “A new lead came through this morning. Might be something.”
Victoria stood, sliding her phone away. “Always.” As they walked toward the conference room, the hallway felt sharper, more focused. Herrera. Regionals. A duffel bag staged like bait. Something was shifting again, under the surface — and Victoria could feel it rising.