Chapter 19 THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND HAS A FACE
\[ARIA POV\]
I keep going back to James’s words, can’t shake them loose.
The killer isn't some outsider. Instead, it's a person nearby. In fact, someone you rely on.
I’m sitting at my desk. It’s 9 o’clock in the morning. The station is loud - phones are going off, folks chatting away. Noise everywhere.
I’m not listening to none of that.
I open my notebook from yesterday’s talk. All the stuff James said about Michael Cordero - what went down, what he was involved in.
I went over them once more.
Pause at a single point.
The third person hurt showed marks on her left hand - signs she’d been trying to block or hold onto a thing. Tiny slashes stood out there. As if resistance kicked in when danger came close.
I sit upright.
Lisa Tran. That’s number three. She got caught up in it.
I open her autopsy file.
Scroll down.
Here’s what we found. Small cuts on her left hand and fingertips - probably happened when she tried to protect herself or touched something sharp by accident.
Yet this piece stayed hidden from journalists.
We held onto it. Just routine stuff. A detail only the murderer could’ve known.
Maybe a person who could open the document.
How does James know?
I rise. Then head toward the meeting space.
Sarah’s here - checking out pictures.
"Hey," I say.
She looks up.
"Morning."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"If someone knows a detail about a crime scene that wasn't made public, what does that mean?"
She puts the pen aside.
"Means they either have access to the investigation or they were there."
"That's what I thought."
"Why? Did someone say something?"
I hesitate.
"Maybe. I don't know yet."
She watches me.
"You're chasing something. What is it?"
"Just a hunch."
"Aria. If you know something—"
"I don't. Not yet."
I step away before she starts digging deeper.
I head back to my chair. Then I open James’s profile online once more.
Flip through his pictures.
Pause at the one from half a month back.
He’s in the city center. Over by the street edge. Got his mobile in his hand.
I take a closer look at what's behind.
Behind him is a café - yeah, that one. I know this spot. West End, right? Ethan stops by now and then.
I get closer. Then take a tighter look.
Someone’s in there - just sitting near the glass. Looks like they’re waiting, maybe watching.
Can't make out the face well - though the body type seems like someone I know.
I snapped a pic. Then keep going down.
A different picture. A month back. Not the same place. Spotted inside a shop full of books.
A person stands behind, wearing a black coat. Meanwhile, there’s a cap pulled low. One hand rests near their side. Still, the scene feels tense.
Right here. Every second, keep an eye.
I grab a stack of printed pictures. Then lay them across my workspace.
Seven pictures. But different spots.
In each one, though, that same person appeared.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Marcus.
Coffee?
I ignore it.
Open the DMV system. Check James’s license tag once more using it.
1247 Ashford Street - Apartment 3 B.
I take my jacket. Then I grab my keys.
Walk out.
I head over to his place. Then I stop the car on the opposite side of the road.
It’s a calm area. Some aged buildings here. Roads with greenery on both sides.
I stay put. Power down. Just looking around.
His car’s sitting up ahead - a black four-door model.
I wait.
Two minutes pass, then the main entrance swings wide.
James steps outside. Wearing a dark coat. Faded jeans on his legs. A baseball cap dangles from one hand.
He climbs into his ride.
I hang back till he steps away - after that, I move right behind him.
He drives really carefully - never speeds, but always checks the mirrors.
I keep a space of three vehicles behind. That’s my spot.
He grabs the freeway. Then heads out of the city.
Pulls up at a parking lot.
I follow, but I stay back.
He pulls into a spot on the second floor - steps out right after.
Pops the lid on.
Behind, he’s just like Ethan - almost identical at first glance.
Equal in size. Not different in shape. Wearing identical outfits.
I stay a couple of spots away. Then I see him head toward the lift.
Hold on till the doors shut.
After that, I step outside - use the staircase instead.
He leaves the place by way of the front area. Through the clear doors, I spot him right away.
I stay behind. Then I observe.
He’s on the curb, glancing toward the structure opposite. His gaze lifts, fixed on the windows above.
I glance upward as well.
That’s Ethan’s publisher - Redstone Media, on the fifth floor.
James walks across the road - then steps into the building.
I wait half a minute. After that, I go the same way.
The lobby isn't big - marble underfoot. To the left, elevators line up. A directory sticks to the wall, just there. Floors gleam faintly in low light.
James stands there, snapping pics on his phone.
I move to hide behind a pillar. Keep my eyes open.
He’s snapping pics of the directory - different firms inside. One after another. Floor levels are tagged beside each name.
He heads over to the lift, then hits the call button.
The doors swing wide. Then he steps inside.
I don’t get it. Otherwise, he’ll spot me.
I wait.
Check the digits right above the lift.
It halts at five.
Ethan's publisher.
The doors close.
I'm just standing. My heart's racing.
What’s that guy doing way up there?
I sit around for a quarter hour.
The lift gates swing apart.
James heads out - slips the phone into his pocket.
He slips out the back way.
I trail behind him out the door - stay back a bit.
He climbs into his car again - then pulls off down the road.
I'm lost right now.
I head back in - ride the lift up to floor five.
Redstone Media. Glass doors - welcome area inside. Desk up front when you walk in.
A lady glances my way as I enter.
"Can I help you?"
I take out my badge.
"Detective Kane. I need to ask a few questions."
"About what?"
"A man was just here. Early thirties. Dark jacket. Glasses."
"Oh. Yeah. He said he was a journalist. Asked about one of our authors."
"Which one?"
"Ethan Cross."
My stomach drops.
"What did he want to know?"
"Just general stuff. When his next book's coming out. If we had any upcoming events. I gave him a press kit."
"Did he say why?"
"Said he was writing an article. True crime piece."
"Did he leave a name?"
"Yeah. James something. Reynolds maybe?"
"Thanks."
I walk out.
I'm sitting in the car. My hands are trembling.
James is checking up on Ethan.
It’s not only about trailing behind. It’s more like checking things out. Looking deep into who he really is.
Why?
Does he think Ethan's the killer?
Maybe he's teaming up with him instead?
My phone buzzes.
Text from Ethan.
Hey, where'd you go? I gave a ring.
I look at it.
Don't respond.
Look up.
James’s car starts moving out of the driveway.
After that, there’s a vehicle following closely. It comes up from the back.
Black four-door car. Just like before. Identical shade.
Wait.
I look closer.
The tag looks changed.
This isn't James’s vehicle.
Another person’s on his trail.
I fire up the motor. Then roll away.
Stick with each one.
They go for ten minutes - quiet roads. Through homes. Neighborhood spots.
The second vehicle keeps near - way too near.
James just walks on by.
It could be that he knows. Or perhaps he’s guiding them along.
They head down a narrow road. So I keep going after them.
Pull over. Watch.
James pulls into a spot. Then he steps out.
The next vehicle pulls up right behind his.
The door opens.
Someone steps out.
I can't make out the face - too distant.
Yet the structure. This coat. How they shift.
Looks like Ethan.
My breath catches.
Is that him?
James heads toward the car. Then, he starts chatting with them. I can't make out their words.
Next, James gives the guy an item - just a small envelope.
The guy grabs it, then hops back into the vehicle.
Drives away.
James sees them leave. After that, he climbs into his vehicle.
Leaves.
I sit there.
Frozen.
What on earth popped up right there?
I drive home.
Ethan’s around. Over in the kitchen. He’s cooking tonight.
"Hey," he says. "Where were you? I texted."
"Work."
"You okay? You look pale."
"I'm fine."
He moves closer. Then he brushes my cheek.
"You sure?"
I pull back.
"Yeah. Just tired."
"You're always tired."
"I know."
He studies me.
"Aria. Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"There's always something."
I don't answer.
He lets his hand fall.
"Alright. Dinner's almost ready."
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to eat."
"I said I'm not hungry."
I head to the bedroom. Then shut the door behind me.
Sit at the side of the bed.
Pull out my phone.
Check out the pictures from my shoot today.
James works for the publishing house.
The second car.
The envelope.
Something's happening.
One thing still puzzles me.
But I will.
I have to.