Chapter 43 Chapter 43

Chapter 43 Chapter 43


Detective Harlan Pov

The briefing room smelled like stale coffee, cheap cologne, and the kind of frustration that builds when a case starts rotting. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry insects, casting a sickly white glow across the long conference table where six of us were crammed together. The walls were covered with crime scene photos from the bunker massacre, and other crime activities. Bodies torn literally in half. Deep claw marks gouged into concrete walls. Blood patterns that looked more like abstract horror art than anything human. It had been days since that nightmare scene was discovered, and we still had jack shit for leads.

Captain Reeves stood at the head of the table, arms crossed tight over his chest, his face carved with deep lines of stress. “We’ve got the mayor breathing down our necks every hour. The press is calling this a slaughterhouse. National news is trying to pick it up. And we’ve got zero answers. How the hell does something like this happen in our city and we’re sitting here with nothing?”

I leaned back in my chair, clicking my pen in a slow, steady rhythm. Click. Click. Click. The sound was the only thing keeping my mind from spiraling. My eyes kept drifting to the gruesome images on the board. Massive paw prints in blood. Torn torsos. This wasn’t gang violence. This wasn’t even human. And I knew exactly who could do something like this.

Reeves’ sharp eyes landed on me. “Harlan. You’ve been quiet over there. You’re the one who never lets a case slip past him. No matter how ugly. Tell me you’ve got something.”

The room went dead silent. Every detective at the table turned to look at me. I stopped clicking the pen and sat up straighter, keeping my expression calm and professional.

“I’ve got nothing concrete yet, Captain,” I said evenly. “We’re still processing all the evidence from the bunker. The wounds are… unusual. Not typical gang violence. Not knives. I’m chasing every possible angle, but it’s slow going. The second I have something real, you’ll be the first to know.”

Reeves stared at me for a long, heavy second, like he was trying to read my mind. Then he let out a tired sigh and rubbed his face. “Alright. Meeting dismissed. Everyone get back to work. I want progress reports by end of day tomorrow. No excuses.”

Chairs scraped loudly against the linoleum floor as the team stood up and started filing out. I stayed seated for a moment longer, staring at the photos pinned to the board. Torn bodies. Massive paw prints bigger than any dog I’d ever seen. This wasn’t human. I knew it in my gut. And I knew exactly who was responsible.

Once the room finally cleared out, I stood up and pulled the burner phone from the inside pocket of my jacket. I checked the screen. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing. That useless idiot I’d planted inside Marcus Valerius Kane’s estate still hadn’t made contact. Not once since I sent him in.

I gripped the phone tighter, my jaw clenching hard enough to ache. “Fucking fool,” I muttered under my breath. “Probably thinks he’s on some paid vacation in that goddamn mansion, eating steak and sleeping on silk sheets.”

I shoved the burner phone back into my pocket and headed out of the briefing room. The station was its usual controlled chaos—phones ringing off the hook, officers moving between desks, the smell of burnt coffee drifting from the break room. But none of it touched me. My focus was locked on one man: Marcus Valerius Kane. The untouchable crime lord who thought he was above the law.

I pushed through the side exit into the parking lot. The ground was still slick from the earlier rain, reflecting the overhead lights in oily puddles. I climbed into my car, slammed the door, and started the engine. Cold air blasted from the vents until the heater kicked in, slowly warming the interior.

Before I could shift into drive, someone knocked on the passenger side window. I glanced over. Ruiz stood there, collar turned up against the damp chill, looking as exhausted as I felt.

I unlocked the door. “Get in.”

Ruiz slid into the passenger seat and closed the door quickly behind him. He smelled like rain and cheap station coffee. “I got something for you, Harlan?”

“Talk fast.”

He pulled a small notebook from his jacket and flipped it open. “I ran the Rolex like you asked. Serial number traced back to a registered buyer. It’s not directly connected to Valerius on paper, but the owner was a guy named Orlando Rodriguez.”

The name hit me immediately. I frowned, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “Orlando Rodriguez… Marcus’s old friend. Business associate. His death was ruled an accident a few months back.”

“Yeah, that’s the official story,” Ruiz said, flipping another page. “But I dug deeper. Something doesn’t add up. I managed to get my hands on some security footage from his last known meeting. The quality is shit—grainy as hell—but it looks like a woman visited him right before he died. She was there for about twenty minutes. We can’t get a clear face yet, but the techs are enhancing it frame by frame.”

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, staring out at the rain-soaked parking lot through the windshield. A woman. That was new. Interesting.

‘’how did this slip pass investigation’’?

“If we can ID her,” Ruiz continued, excitement creeping into his voice, “we might actually have something solid. Connect the Rolex to the bunker slaughter, the bunker to whoever is involved, and maybe this mystery woman to all of it. It’s thin right now, but it’s the best lead we’ve had in weeks. We keep pushing this, we can finally nail the crime lord of this city.”

I let out a slow breath, the image of Marcus’s cold, arrogant face flashing through my mind. Always untouchable. Always one step ahead. Rich. Powerful. Dangerous.

“Marcus must fall,” I said quietly, almost to myself. “One way or another. No matter what it takes.”

My burner phone suddenly rang, sharp and loud in the quiet car. I snatched it up fast. Unknown number. I answered immediately.

“Yeah?”

The voice on the other end was low, nervous, barely above a whisper. “It’s me. The guy you planted.”

“About damn time,” I snapped, anger flaring hot in my chest. “I was starting to think you got lost in that fancy mansion. What the hell took you so long to call?”

There was a short, tense pause. He sounded rattled. Scared, even.

“Things got complicated on my end,” he whispered. “But listen… someone important is in town, someone important to marcus.”

I sat up straighter in the driver’s seat, my grip tightening hard on the phone.

“Who?”