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The question remained: who was she? What agency?

Why Santiago Heights? The tattoos suggested an unusual background for law enforcement, something that didn't fit the typical profile of federal agents or local police.

Her confidence in moving through these dangerous streets at night indicated experience, perhaps personal familiarity with environments similar to Santiago Heights.

She navigated the neighborhood not with the cautious inexperience of someone on unfamiliar ground, but with the assured movements of someone who understood the geography of danger.

As she approached a sedan parked several blocks from where she had fired the shots, he noted the vehicle's unremarkable appearance—neither too expensive nor too shabby for the neighborhood, but clearly not belonging to a resident.

The model and neutral color suggested government issue, chosen specifically to blend in while remaining functional for law enforcement purposes.

She checked her surroundings once more before unlocking the driver's door, her movements efficient rather than hurried.

That wouldn't stop him from finding out exactly who she was.

Her deliberate interference in his territory, her calculated attempt to disrupt the careful justice he administered, demanded investigation.

She had inserted herself into the ecosystem of Santiago Heights, attempting to change its dynamics, perhaps even targeting him specifically given the timing of her appearance after his three executions.

He memorized the license plate number as she started the engine, filing away this information for later investigation.

His decades working within the courthouse had provided access to various systems and contacts that could yield information about this woman, this vehicle, this operation that had interrupted his planned judgment of Carolyn Henderson.

Justice required complete information, thorough understanding, before decisions could be rendered.

As the sedan pulled away from the curb, he remained in the shadows, considering the implications of this development.

The timing suggested connection to his activities—three executions had drawn attention, created response, triggered this apparent attempt to locate him.

Law enforcement had progressed from mere investigation to active measures, setting traps, attempting to draw him into revealing himself.

The realization didn't concern him unduly.

He had anticipated this eventual escalation, had prepared accordingly.

Twenty-three years in courtrooms had taught him how investigations proceeded, how evidence was gathered, how cases were built.

He had designed his methodology specifically to counter these approaches, to leave no traces that could connect his everyday identity to his role as justice's instrument in Santiago Heights.

He would need to be more cautious now, more vigilant in his preparation and execution.

The Carolyn Henderson judgment would be delayed but not abandoned—her hypocrisy still demanded accountability.

But first, he needed to understand this new presence in his territory, this tattooed woman who fired shots into brick walls in the middle of the night, attempting to manipulate the delicate balance of Santiago Heights to serve her purposes.

The game had evolved, the players had multiplied, but the fundamental purpose remained unchanged.

Justice would continue to be delivered to those the system failed to hold accountable.

The mission would proceed, perhaps with additional precautions, perhaps with modified timelines, but with absolute certainty of its righteous necessity.

As he melted back into the darkness of Santiago Heights, returning to his unassuming apartment where newspaper clippings documented decades of systemic failure, he felt neither fear nor anxiety—only the calm determination that had carried him through three judgments already.

The woman with the tattoos represented a complication, not a deterrent.

She would be studied, understood, and ultimately rendered irrelevant to his continued administration of the justice Santiago Heights had been denied for too long.

His average features, unremarkable build, and forgettable presence had protected him for decades in a neighborhood where observation often meant danger.

These same qualities would continue to shield him as he maintained his mission, methodically removing those who preyed upon a community the system had essentially abandoned.

Not even this tattooed woman, with her deliberate shots and careful observation, would disrupt the fundamental truth he had embraced: in Santiago Heights, justice came not from courtrooms or official channels, but from the shadows where he moved unnoticed, invisible despite his presence, unremarkable yet essential.

He picked his way back through the darkened streets, a ghost among shadows, thinking of the confession letter that would eventually be placed before Carolyn Henderson.

Her judgment was merely postponed, not canceled.

The woman with the tattoos had inadvertently granted Henderson a temporary reprieve, but justice—his justice—was as inevitable as the sunrise that would soon push back Santiago Heights' protective darkness.

He would wait. He would watch. He would learn.

And then, when circumstances allowed, he would resume his mission with the same methodical precision that had defined his first three judgments.

Santiago Heights required his service too desperately for him to abandon his purpose because of this unexpected complication.

Justice would continue, regardless of who might stand in its path.