Chapter 5 Family Secrets
The coffee shop on Bleecker felt different in daylight. Less secretive, more exposed. I arrived early and chose the same corner booth where Alex and I had sat, positioning myself to watch the entrance. When Detective David Chen walked in, I nearly dropped my coffee.
He looked exactly like Alex, but older. Same dark hair, same sharp cheekbones, same intelligent eyes. The family resemblance was unmistakable.
"Detective Jenkins," he said, sliding into the booth across from me. "Thank you for meeting me."
"Are you related to Alex Chen from the Tribune?" I asked directly.
David's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "He's my brother. I was wondering when that would come up."
My mind raced through the implications. Two brothers, one a journalist tracking a serial killer, one a detective working the same case. Either this was the world's most unlikely coincidence, or I'd stumbled into something much more complicated than a simple murder investigation.
"How much do you know about his... research?" I asked carefully.
"Enough to know he's been chasing ghosts for three years." David opened his laptop and pulled up files on the five victims. "Ever since Lisa died in Chicago, Alex has seen connections everywhere. It's become an obsession."
"Lisa?"
"Our younger sister. Murdered three years ago in what Chicago PD ruled a random attack. Alex never accepted that explanation." David's voice was matter-of-fact, but I caught the pain underneath. "He quit his job at the Chicago Tribune and started traveling the country, trying to prove her death was part of some grand conspiracy."
I thought about Alex's research, the map with pins across twelve cities. "What if he's right?"
David looked up sharply. "You've been talking to him."
It wasn't a question. I decided honesty was my only option. "He approached me yesterday after the Walsh crime scene. He had... compelling evidence."
"Evidence of what? A nationwide serial killer that every police department in the country has somehow missed?" David shook his head. "Alex sees patterns that aren't there because he needs Lisa's death to mean something more than random violence."
"Show me the victim profiles," I said, changing the subject.
David pulled up photos and background information on all five women. Sarah Walsh, gallery worker. Maria Santos, jewelry designer. Jennifer Kim, photographer. Angela Torres, artist. Emily Rodriguez, freelance photographer.
"They all moved in the same social circles," David continued. "Same coffee shops, same galleries, same networking events. The killer is definitely targeting a specific type."
"Creative professionals," I murmured, studying the photos. "All single, all independent, all successful in their fields."
"Exactly. Someone who understands their routines, their haunts, their vulnerabilities."
I thought about Alex's research again. Had he found similar patterns in other cities? I needed to see his full files, not just the summary he'd shown me yesterday.
"David," I said, "what if your brother isn't wrong? What if there really is a connection between these cases and others across the country?"
"Then he would have brought his evidence to the police instead of playing journalist. Alex has always been more interested in the story than the truth."
The bitterness in his voice surprised me. Whatever had happened between the two brothers went deeper than just disagreement about their sister's death.
"When was the last time you spoke to him?"
"Six months ago. He called claiming he'd found evidence that Lisa's killer was active in Boston. Wanted me to contact Boston PD and request they reopen similar cases. I told him to let it go."
"And did you contact Boston PD?"
David hesitated. "No. I thought he was grasping at straws."
"But what if he wasn't?"
Before David could answer, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and frowned. "It's the task force. They need us back immediately."
We rode to One Police Plaza in uncomfortable silence. I could feel David watching me, probably wondering how much his brother had told me. The truth was, Alex had barely scratched the surface during our brief meeting. But tonight at Pier 45, I planned to get the whole story.
The task force conference room was buzzing with activity when we arrived. Jameson stood at the front, looking grim.
"We have a problem," he announced. "The media has gotten hold of the serial killer angle. Someone leaked information about the connections between cases."
My stomach dropped. If Alex had published something based on our conversation, my career was over.
"Channel 7 is running a story tonight about a possible serial killer terrorizing New York," Jameson continued. "They're calling him the 'Alley Killer' and claiming we've been covering up the connections."
Agent Martinez looked furious. "Who had access to that information?"
"Limited circle. Everyone in this room, plus a handful of supervisors." Jameson's eyes swept the room, landing briefly on me. "If I find out someone in here leaked classified information to the press, they'll be off this case and facing charges."
I felt sweat beading on my forehead. I hadn't told Alex anything that wasn't already public knowledge, but our meeting could look suspicious if anyone found out about it.
"There's more," Jameson said. "The killer left something at the Rodriguez scene. We missed it during the initial canvas, but a follow-up search found this."
He held up an evidence bag containing a small piece of paper. Even from across the room, I could see handwriting on it.
"It's a note," Agent Rodriguez said. "Three words: 'You're getting closer.'"
The room fell silent. A serial killer who communicated with police was exponentially more dangerous than one who just killed and moved on. This was someone who wanted to play games, who got satisfaction from taunting the investigation.
"Handwriting analysis is being rushed," Jameson continued. "But this changes everything. Our killer is escalating, and he's making this personal."
As the meeting broke up into smaller working groups, David caught my arm.
"Whatever my brother told you, forget it," he said quietly. "This case is complicated enough without his conspiracy theories. Promise me you won't do anything stupid."
I looked into his eyes and saw genuine concern. But I also saw fear—not just of the killer, but of what Alex might uncover.
"I promise," I lied.
As I left the building, I realized I was caught between two brothers with very different versions of the truth. One believed in connections and patterns. The other believed in evidence and procedure.
Tonight at Pier 45, I would find out which one was right.
But first, I had to survive a meeting with a man who might be either the key to solving this case or the most dangerous person I'd ever encountered.
The note kept echoing in my mind: "You're getting closer."
The question was, closer to what?