Chapter 24: The Case Escalates

“No, it’s not that we were a step too late. We were far too late.” Roan’s nose twitched as he caught a faint, indistinct scent in the room. With a dark expression, he strode into the kitchen, circled it twice, then looked at Lacey, who appeared utterly bewildered.

“Call the trace evidence team. We need a thorough sweep here.”

“Why?” Lacey obediently pulled out her phone and dialed, but still couldn’t help asking, “What did you find?”

Roan’s face was grim. At her question, he grabbed the refrigerator door in the kitchen and yanked it open forcefully.

Inside, cuts of frozen meat were stacked neatly on the shelves. At the very top, a woman’s severed head, eyes still open, stared silently at Lacey from within.

“Holy shit!” Lacey was so startled she nearly dropped her phone.

“What did you say?” The person on the other end of the line sounded annoyed. Why was the first thing out of her mouth a curse?

...

Half an hour later.

“That Joseph can be temporarily ruled out as a suspect.” Mona’s clear voice came through the phone, accompanied by the clatter of keyboard keys. She spoke calmly, “According to the records, Joseph is a freelance journalist. For the past few months, wherever there’s a car accident in New York, he’s there. And during the two hours before and after Sabina’s abduction, he was arguing with producers at NBC. He had no window to commit the crime.”

“Okay.” Roan nodded, then continued, “What about the boss at the paper where Selena worked? They announced they fired her because she went missing for a week without reason. Didn’t anyone from the paper go looking for her during that time?”

Mona, who already knew about Selena’s death, replied angrily, “The newspaper boss said they tried calling Selena for a week, but she never answered, so they fired her. As for going to her apartment—he said the staff was short-handed and overworked, and no one had time to check on her. Also, for freelancers like Selena, it’s not uncommon for them to suddenly drop out or disappear entirely. The paper’s long since gotten used to it.”

“All right.” Roan nodded. “Thank you, Mona.”

After hanging up, Roan saw Lacey had, during his call, had the patrol officers collect Joseph’s contact details and home address, then sent them away.

Glancing at the nearby refrigerator, Roan moved to Lacey’s side and spoke in a low voice, “Sorry, Lacey. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Roan himself was deeply unsettled; he’d only smelled a strong odor of blood in the fridge and guessed the killer had stuffed the female reporter’s body inside.

Lacey, being a professionally trained FBI agent, was not new to seeing corpses.

But he never expected that the killer would have gone so far as to dismember the victim and arrange the remains so methodically—placing the head at the very top.

“It’s not your fault,” Lacey replied, shaking her head at Roan’s apology. “I was just thinking—from the state of the body, this can’t be the killer’s first time. How many women has he killed before this?”

Roan was silent; he had no answer. In America, the reality was that the country produced no shortage of serial killers, most of whom targeted women. No one really knew how many women died at the hands of such monsters each year.

As Roan searched for words to comfort Lacey, Niall from the trace evidence unit approached, handing Roan a small evidence bag with a grave expression.

“We found fingerprints in the bathroom that don’t belong to Selena. They’re already at the lab for comparison—we’ll have results soon. Also, these are two credit cards we found in the bathroom. After checking, we’re fairly certain they don’t belong to the victim. We didn’t find her own cards, either.”

“All right, thank you.” Roan took the evidence bag, and Niall turned to leave.

Looking at the two credit cards, Roan’s expression grew even more somber. Lacey seemed to understand, hesitating as she asked, “These…”

“If I’m right, something bad happened to the owners of these cards,” Roan said, pulling out his Nokia and dialing Mona.

“Mona, check the owners of credit cards ending in 3 and 8. Find out who they belong to.”

“Okay.” The sound of furious typing came down the line, while on Roan’s end, he and Lacey exchanged a silent glance.

“Found them,” Mona announced three minutes later. “Both cards belong to…”

Before Mona could finish, Lacey interrupted, asking directly, “Their names don’t matter. They’re women, aren’t they?”

“…Yes.” Mona felt her throat tighten, her heart racing, and a rising fury clouding her mind. Why did the killer always target women? Why?

Roan, as a man, glanced down at the information Mona had sent on the cardholders. One lived in Brooklyn. After a moment’s thought, he called Ryder.

“What’s up, Roan?”

Ryder, who was investigating the ‘Lake Victim Serial Killer Case,’ sounded puzzled by the call. “Did you find a lead on the serial killer?”

“I did, but not the one you’re working on.” Roan’s response confused Ryder, but he quickly understood the instructions.

“You want me to check the apartment in Downtown Brooklyn?” Ryder confirmed. “If there’s a body, I call you right away and get the trace evidence team there too, right?”

“Exactly.”

Hearing Roan’s affirmation, Ryder agreed it was no problem and hung up.

Roan then called over Lacey, who was searching the apartment with Niall, and said, “Let’s head back to headquarters, Lacey. We need to report this to Chief August.”

“Okay.”

...

Investigation Team Five, 8:00 p.m.

Mr. Darren still sat in the conference room, waiting anxiously for news of his wife, Sabina. It had been fourteen hours since her disappearance.

In the team leader’s office, Chief August sat in his chair, pressing a hand to his forehead as he regarded Roan and Lacey with a complicated look.

“So what you’re saying is, the ‘Missing Heiress Kidnapping Case’ has now escalated into a new serial murder case?”

“It’s not certain yet,” Roan shook his head. “We don’t know if the cardholders are dead or alive. Ryder is investigating the Brooklyn apartment…”

The shrill ring of Roan’s Nokia interrupted him. No sooner had he answered than Ryder’s booming voice erupted through the line.

“FUCK! Roan! You’ll never guess what I found here! The fridge is stuffed with chunks of meat! And…”

“Okay, contact the trace evidence team,” Roan calmly cut him off and hung up, then looked up at August.

“It’s a serial murder case now.”

August was speechless.