Chapter 6

There was a pause on his end. “Seriously? Did you see anyone? Did you get a good look?” His tone immediately sharpened, the cop coming out.

“Nah, not really. Just a big shadow. Probably nothing, just my imagination running wild after all the shelter stories today, you know? Makes you paranoid.” I laughed, a soft, self-deprecating sound that felt entirely natural. “Anyway, I just got home. Safe and sound. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

He let out a slow breath. “Well, good. Always call me if anything like that happens. It doesn’t matter how silly it feels. You got it?”

“Got it, boss,” I teased, injecting some warmth into my voice. “You still at the precinct?”

“Yeah, just wrapping up. Another dead end on the Jenkins case. This guy’s a ghost. Commissioner’s breathing down my neck.” His voice had that familiar edge of frustration.

“I’m sorry Babe” I murmured, genuinely feeling a pang for him. He worked so hard, believed so much in his job. “That sucks. You just need a break. Come home. I’ll order something, and we can just veg out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, and I could hear the weariness lifting, just a bit. “Be there in an hour.”

“Perfect. See you soon.” I hung up, and the phone felt lighter in my hand. The warmth from the call spread through me, calming the last of the jitters from the chase. I wasn't just safe; I was back. Back to being Gracie, the school counselor, the volunteer, the loving partner. The other part of me, the one that had run through the dark park and slipped through alleys, that part folded neatly away, a quiet secret nestled deep inside. It was always there, ready. But for now, it was just me, waiting for David, ready to be normal. My life was a series of perfectly played roles, and tonight, I'd just aced another one.

David

The Chinese was cold. Or maybe it was just me. Even with Gracie here, her easy laugh and quiet hum filling the apartment, my brain felt like it was still back at the precinct, grinding over those damn case files. It was late, past midnight again, and the city outside our window was finally quiet, a rare peace that felt almost fake. Gracie was asleep on the couch, curled up under a blanket, the TV still murmuring some late-night show. I sat at the kitchen counter, sipping a beer that tasted flat, staring at the corkboard I’d set up in my head.

Tommy Jenkins, the fourth victim, was still the biggest knot in my gut. And the others: Vance, O’Malley, and that bar owner. Four dead men. Four pieces of trash. All taken out with the same brutal precision. Clean. Too clean. Like a professional hit, but without any of the usual chatter, no whispers on the street, no rival gangs taking credit. Just… silence.

The commissioner’s words kept playing in my head: "You get me results, Corbin. Or someone else will be leading this investigation." That kind of talk always lit a fire under your ass, but this time, it just felt like a heavy stone on my chest. I’d been working this case almost solo since the beginning, the brass trusting me because I knew these kinds of scumbags. But knowing them didn’t mean knowing who hated them enough to turn them into Swiss cheese.

Ben called earlier, even though it was his night off. “Anything?” he’d asked, his voice low, like he was afraid someone would overhear him admitting defeat.

“Nah, man,” I’d sighed. “Just the usual. More pissed-off families of victims past, all pointing fingers at each other, but nothing solid.”

“Still no forensics?”

“Nope. Ghost. I’m telling you, Ben. This one’s a ghost.”

The silence that followed was heavy. We both knew what that meant. No leads, no evidence, nothing to hang our hats on. It was a cold case before it even got warm. And that was messing with me. Bad.

My eyes drifted to the window, reflecting the dim lights of the kitchen. Gracie had told me about someone following her in the park earlier. She thought it was probably nothing, just her imagination playing tricks on her, but I knew better. She worked with tough stuff, heard heavy stories all day, it was bound to make her jumpy. But now, looking at the dark reflection, I wondered. Was it just paranoia? Or was there something else? A ripple, maybe, from the dark pond I was constantly fishing in. No, that was stupid. She was completely out of that world. My mind was just trying to connect dots that weren't there.

The next morning, the precinct was a madhouse. The media had officially crowned the killer "The Vigilante." Photos of our dead victims were plastered all over the morning papers, next to outrage from community groups demanding answers, and strangely, some whispers of public support for whoever was doing this. It was a mess. Commissioner Davies practically exploded when he saw the headlines.

“Corbin! My office! Now!” he roared, his face purpling.

I walked in, my shoulders already braced. He tossed a newspaper onto his polished desk. The headline screamed: "CITY'S SHADOW JUSTICE: IS THE VIGILANTE A HERO?"

“A hero, Corbin? Is that what we’re calling serial killers now? Is that what your investigation is leading us to?” he spat, leaning over the desk. His hands were clenched, knuckles white.

“Sir, the public is frustrated. These victims all have a history of preying on vulnerable people. It’s an understandable, albeit misguided, reaction,” I tried to explain, keeping my voice even.

“Understandable?! We’re the police, Corbin! We uphold the law! This isn’t a goddamn comic book! This is a dangerous, escalating situation, and you, Detective, are failing to stop it!” He slammed his hand on the desk. “I’m putting you on notice. You have one week. One week to bring me a lead, a suspect, anything solid. Or I’m pulling you off this case. And maybe giving it to someone who can actually get results.”

My jaw tightened. “Understood, sir.” I walked out, the anger a cold knot in my stomach. One week. It felt like trying to find a needle in a haystack, blindfolded.

Ben met me outside the office, his expression grim. “He light you up?”

“He gave me a deadline,” I muttered, heading for my desk. “One week. Or I’m off the case.”

Ben whistled low. “Damn. That’s harsh. What’s the plan, then? We’ve got nothing.”

“We go through every goddamn piece of paper again,” I snapped, then immediately regretted it. Ben was a good partner, didn’t deserve my foul mood. “Look, I’m sorry. Just… the pressure’s getting to me.”

“Tell me about it,” he sympathized, running a hand over his bald head. “Okay. We’ll double back. Every past interaction with these guys. Every victim. Every person they ever pissed off. Someone knows something. Someone always does.”