Chapter 23 THE BLACK CRANE
\[ARIA POV\]
The call comes in at midnight.
I'm still up. Perched on the sofa. Glancing at my screen.
James is on my mind. His place, too. That wall - full of pictures stuck all over it.
About Captain Ford.
The phone rings.
Marcus.
I answer.
"Yeah?"
"Aria. We got another one."
My blood runs cold.
"Where?"
"Captain Ford's house."
I can't breathe.
"What?"
"Captain Ford. She's dead. Same MO. You need to get here now."
He hands me the location.
I'm already moving.
I speed down the road - hit a red, then another one right after.
My hands tremble while gripping the steering wheel.
Ford.
There's no way she’s gone.
James mentioned it tonight - reckoned we’d put a halt to his plans.
Where was he?
I get to her place. There are three cop cars parked outside - lights spinning. One officer stands near the door, talking into his radio while another checks the backyard.
Yellow tape blocks the entrance - stretched tight, warning folks to stay back.
I park. Then I step out.
Keep going till the end.
A soldier halts my path.
"Crime scene, ma'am—"
I show my badge quickly.
"I'm the lead investigator."
He waves me past.
Marcus stands by the door entrance.
He notices me. Yet his expression looks dark.
"Aria—"
"Where is she?"
"Kitchen. But—"
I shove my way by him.
Walk inside.
The house is tiny. Neat though. Pictures are hanging around. Mostly family snapshots.
I head toward the kitchen.
Stop.
She’s lying down there.
Palms pressed together. Neck sliced open.
A violet paper crane resting by her heart.
I can't move.
Can't breathe.
Marcus shows up right behind me.
"I'm sorry."
I drop to my knees beside her.
Check out her face.
She seems calm. Almost as if she’s just resting.
Yet blood’s everywhere - spilled on tiles, smeared across her top.
"When?" I ask.
"Medical examiner puts it around eleven last night."
Eleven.
James reckoned we’d put a halt to his plans.
Where was he?
"Any witnesses?"
"None. Neighbors didn't hear anything. No cameras on this street."
"Forced entry?"
"Basement window. Looks like he came in that way."
I stand up.
Look around.
Things are tidy. In order. Ford stayed this way all along - no matter what.
That’s when I spot it.
Shattered glass on the floor. Beside the small table.
A vase.
She struggled," I tell you.
"Yeah. Looks like it."
I head over - check out the glass.
A bit of blood’s stuck to a broken piece.
"Bag this," I tell the tech. "Run it. See if we get lucky."
He nods.
I head back toward Ford.
Look hard at the violet bird.
Number eight.
One more.
Who's next?
I step out. Because I want a fresh breeze.
Standing out on the grass. My hands rest there, right on my legs.
Try to breathe.
Ford's dead.
She led me through tough times. Yet, she taught me everything I know.
She trusted me, even though others didn't.
Then again, she’s left.
I hear a car pulling into the driveway.
Look up.
A black car. Just like the one Ethan drives.
James gets out.
He’s got on the black jacket - also, the cap.
He notices me - moves my way.
Pauses right by the tape.
I move toward him.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"I was following Ethan."
"Where were you last night?"
"Tracking him. He left his apartment around ten. I followed him here. But by the time I got here, he was already leaving."
"You were here?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't stop him?"
"I couldn't. He was already done. If I'd gone in, I'd have contaminated the scene. Or he would've seen me."
I step closer.
"You said we'd stop him. You said we'd catch him before this happened."
"I tried—"
"You didn't try hard enough."
"Aria—"
"She's dead because of you. Because you were too busy documenting instead of stopping him."
He just freezes. Doesn’t move a muscle.
Cold. Emotionless.
I’m sorry,” he mutters.
Yet his voice shows no regret.
He comes off like he’s just reciting lines.
I look at him.
"How do you always know?" I ask.
"What?"
"You're always here. Always one step behind. Or one step ahead. How?"
"I told you. I've been following him."
"For how long?"
"Six weeks."
"And in six weeks, you've never stopped him. Never called the police. Never done anything except watch."
"I needed proof—"
"You keep saying that. But what if you're lying? What if you're the one killing people and framing Ethan?"
He doesn't blink.
"I'm not."
"How do I know that?"
"Because I'm showing you everything. The photos. The videos. The timeline. If I were the killer, why would I do that?"
"To throw me off. To make me think it's him."
"That doesn't make sense."
"None of this makes sense."
I step back.
"Stay away from me. Stay away from this case. If I see you again, I'm bringing you in."
He stares my way - quite a while.
After that, he spins back.
He returns to his vehicle.
Drives away.
I stand there.
Watching him go.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Ethan.
Just caught the update - hope you're doing alright.
I look at it.
He’s up. Over at his place. Keeps an eye on the TV updates.
As if it’s got zero connection to him.
I write: Where’d you go last night?
Three dots appear.
Home. Writing. Why?
When did you head to sleep?
Around midnight. Hey Aria - what’s happening?
I don't respond.
Lock my phone.
Go back inside.
Marcus started chatting with Sarah Chen. Since she showed up late by ten minutes, they began catching up right away.
She spots me - moves my way.
"You okay?"
"No."
"This is personal. You should step back."
"I'm not stepping back."
"Aria—"
"I said I'm not."
She studies me.
"You think you know who did this."
There’s no doubt about it.
I don't answer.
"If you know something, you need to tell us. We can't work this case if you're hiding information."
"I'm not hiding anything."
"Then why do you look like you're about to fall apart?"
I step back from where she stands.
Head back to the kitchen.
Check out Ford again.
The purple bird.
Perfect folds.
Same as everyone else.
I grab my phone. Then I snap a picture.
Focus closely on the folds.
Same flaw. On the left side. Hardly seen.
Ethan's signature.
Or James's.
I'm just not sure now.
I step away from the spot at three in the morning.
Drive home.
Ethan’s already snoozing by the time I show up.
I'm standing at the door. Just looking at him.
He looks peaceful.
Innocent.
I head toward his office.
The door's open.
I go inside.
Check out his workspace.
The journals. Also, the handwritten pages.
The locked drawer.
I try it.
Still locked.
I glance nearby. Spot a small tool for slicing envelopes.
Slide it in to pop the lock open.
It breaks.
The drawer opens.
Inside, you’ll find a small container.
I yank it free.
Open it.
Nine origami birds.
Different colors.
White. Blue. Yellow. Red. Green. Pink. Orange. Purple. Black.
I count them.
Nine.
Eight victims.
One left.
I grab the dark piece instead.
Stare at it.
Who's this for?
Me?
I hear something making noise.
Turn around.
Ethan’s just there by the door.
Looking at me.
Staring at the container I’m holding.
"What are you doing?" he asks.