Page 23

The Wyler County Police Department was a small and unassuming precinct, typically handling nothing more exciting than the occasional drunk driver or petty theft. But as Rachel and Novak entered with Dr. Marcus Kent between them, the building was now a hive of activity. Officers darted between desks, phones rang incessantly, and the air crackled with an energy that seemed foreign to the dated wood-paneled walls and yellowing ceiling tiles. The usual smell of stale coffee and printer toner was overwhelmed by the charged atmosphere of urgency.

Rachel stood in the lobby while Kent was being processed. Her legs still felt unsteady from the high-speed chase, though she'd never admit it to anyone, least of all her new partner. The adrenaline crash was starting to hit, leaving her with that familiar hollow feeling in her stomach. She'd been through enough of these moments to know it would pass, but that didn't make it any easier. She also knew the fact that she’d had no sleep in about thirty hours was responsible for part of this feeling.

Kent's distinguished features remained a mask of resigned calm as officers took his fingerprints. His hands didn't shake, his expression didn't waver – not the typical behavior of someone who'd just been arrested after a high-speed pursuit. Rachel had seen enough guilty men to know their tells, but Kent's composure was throwing her usually reliable instincts into confusion.

The booking officer's voice droned in the background, reading Kent his rights for the second time. Rachel could still see the sleek, deadly suicide pod in the storage unit—where Kent had tried to keep his secret, deadly work hidden. How many more of these machines were out there? How many more lives hung in the balance while they stood here, processing paperwork?

"Hell of a catch," a familiar voice said from beside her. She turned and spotted Detective Wheeler looking around at the controlled chaos of the moment. His weathered face broke into a smile as he clapped Novak on the shoulder. "Both of you. Damn fine work."

Rachel noticed how Novak straightened slightly at the praise. Despite their occasional tensions, she had to admit he'd performed brilliantly during the chase. Maybe Jack had been right about him after all – a thought that brought both comfort and a twinge of something like guilt. She hadn’t even thought to check in with her family this morning.

As the paperwork was finished up, a portly-looking man came walking over. The lapel over his breast read brIGGS. His salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled, suggesting he'd been running his hands through it a lot recently.

“Agents, I’m Sergeant Briggs,” he said. "Just wanted you to know that we have an interrogation room ready whenever you need it. Just say the word if you need anything else."

“Thanks so much,” Novak said. “And wherever Office Matthews is, let him know we appreciate the assist. He played a big part in this arrest.”

“Okay,” the booking officer finally said. “He’s all yours.”

Novak gave Kent a little nudge as Briggs led them around a small bullpen area and toward a narrow corridor. Rachel studied Kent as they walked – his measured steps, his straight posture, the way his eyes darted around taking in every detail. She'd learned long ago that monsters came in all forms, but something about Kent's demeanor wasn't fitting the profile she'd constructed in her mind.

The interrogation room was small, barely large enough for the metal table and two chairs it contained. The walls were a pale, institutional green that had probably been intended to be soothing but instead created an atmosphere of subtle unease. A large mirror dominated one wall – the observation window, behind which Rachel suspected Wheeler and Briggs would be watching every move.

Kent sat without being asked, folding his hands on the table in front of him. The overhead light cast harsh shadows across his face, emphasizing the lines of fatigue around his eyes. Now, sitting in an interrogation room, the man started to look nervous again. Rachel took the seat across from him while Novak positioned himself against the wall, arms crossed. The pose was meant to be intimidating, and Rachel had to admit he pulled it off well.

She took a moment to arrange her thoughts, letting the silence build. It was an old technique, one she'd learned early in her career – sometimes the weight of silence could crack a suspect faster than any question. But Kent seemed unaffected, his breathing steady, his gaze direct.

"Let's not waste time," Rachel said finally, her voice steady. "Two people are dead, Dr. Kent. Two people who survived suicide attempts, killed in pods identical to the one we found in your storage unit. And we’re assuming that it would take someone with a great deal of knowledge on how to build those pods to pull this off. Care to explain?"

Kent's laugh was hollow, empty of humor. The sound bounced off the bare walls, making it seem larger than it was. "I knew this was coming. From the moment you two knocked on my door that first time, I knew exactly what you were thinking." He leaned forward, his eyes meeting Rachel's. "And I understand completely why you'd think so."

The fluorescent light flickered momentarily, creating a strobe-like effect that made Rachel blink. When her vision cleared, Kent's expression had softened slightly, showing something that looked remarkably like compassion. She was shocked to see the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

"If you understand our line of reason and are trying to state that you’re innocent, then you better start explaining why you have a stolen EndLight pod in a storage unit in the middle of nowhere," Rachel countered, her words sharp and precise. She could feel Novak shift behind her, picking up on the tension in her voice.

Kent's shoulders slumped slightly, the first crack in his composed facade. "I stole it during transit in Woodbridge yesterday. I found the shipping route easily enough because I still have backdoor ways of getting into EndLight’s files and data systems. But I didn’t steal it for the reasons you’re assuming." He ran a hand through his graying hair, the gesture making him look suddenly older, more vulnerable. "EndLight was cutting corners. Dangerous corners. I tried to warn them, tried to go through proper channels. No one would listen. But…you already know all of this."

"So you decided to steal company property?" Novak pushed off from the wall, his voice heavy with skepticism. He moved to stand beside Rachel, a subtle show of partnership that didn't go unnoticed.

"I needed proof," Kent insisted, his voice rising slightly. "Concrete evidence of how easily their technology could be replicated, how dangerous it was to rush these pods into production. But I never killed anyone." His hand slammed down on the table, the sound sharp and sudden in the small room. “I was so stubborn about trying to prove my point with those people because I wanted to save lives…to make sure these designs were never replicated. And…lo and behold, it appears somehow has done it. Just like I was afraid of!”

Rachel studied his face, looking for the telltale signs of deception she'd learned to spot over years of interrogations. His eyes remained steady, his breathing even. Either he was telling the truth, or he was one of the most accomplished liars she'd ever encountered. The problem was, in her experience, the truly dangerous ones were often the best at appearing sincere.

"Give us a minute, would you, Dr. Kent?" she said abruptly, standing. Her chair scraped against the floor, the sound harsh and metallic. She nodded to the door as she locked eyes with Novak. He followed her out into the hallway, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

The corridor felt cooler than the interrogation room, and Rachel took a deep breath, trying to clear her head. The case was starting to feel like a puzzle where the pieces kept changing shape just as she thought she had them figured out.

"He's lying," Novak said immediately, keeping his voice low. His face was set in lines of certainty, but Rachel could see the question in his eyes. "We've got him dead to rights on the pod—not to mention the blueprints you found in his house. “

Rachel shook her head slowly, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on her. "Something's not adding up. My gut is telling me he's being straight with us." She could see the skepticism in Novak's expression and pressed on. "Look, I know how this sounds. But I've been doing this long enough to know when something feels off."

"Your gut?" Novak's eyebrows rose. "Rachel, we've got physical evidence. The pod—"

"Proves he stole from EndLight, yes. But murder?" She met his gaze, willing him to understand. "Look, I know we're still finding our rhythm as partners. And I know how this sounds. The last thing I want is to come off sounding condescending. But I've learned to trust my instincts on these things."

The moment stretched between them, heavy with implications. This wasn't just about Dr. Kent anymore – it was about trust, about whether their partnership could withstand disagreement. Rachel could see Novak wrestling with it, his jaw working as he thought. The distant sound of phones ringing and officers talking seemed to fade away, leaving them in a bubble of tension.

Finally, he nodded. "Okay. Fine. We’ll go with your gut…for now. But we verify his alibis first. But if they don't check out..."

"Then we nail him to the wall," Rachel finished. "Deal."

They returned to the interrogation room, where Kent sat exactly as they'd left him, though his fingers were now drumming a silent pattern on the table. Rachel took her seat again, laying her notepad on the table with deliberate precision.

"Alright, Dr. Kent. Let's talk about where you were the night Sandra Mitchell was killed."

Kent's response was immediate and detailed, as if he'd been waiting for this question. "I was in Greensboro, North Carolina. I stayed overnight at a hotel following a job interview with Campbell and Shook – they're a medical supply manufacturer. Stayed overnight at the Hampton Inn on West Market Street. I've got the digital receipt in my phone…email. You can call the hotel, check the security cameras. Hell, just call Campbell and Shook – I had dinner with their hiring manager that night."

Rachel felt her heart sink slightly as she verified the information. The timeline matched perfectly, and Kent's eagerness to provide verifiable details wasn't typical of someone trying to construct a false alibi.

As for his availability in killing Timothy Walsh, she wasn’t sure how hard it would be to get the timeline to match up, but she assumed that if he’d been busy heading to Woodbridge to steal the peaceful passage pod, there was very little chance he’d also managed to be in the Shenandoah Valley, tracking a victim.

Rachel exchanged a glance with Novak. Kent’s alibi, if proven correct, made it next to impossible for him to have killed Sandra. Which meant...

"You're still under arrest for the theft and transport of the EndLight pod," Rachel said, standing. "And for now, we’ll still check your phone. I assume it’s back at the storage unit with the stolen pod?"

As she made this statement, as a thought struck her with the force of a physical blow. The fluorescent light seemed to buzz louder in her ears as the pieces began to rearrange themselves in her mind. What if they'd been looking at this all wrong? What if EndLight wasn't the source of the killer's motivation? What if it was the commonality between the victims?

It was a theory she’d already given some consideration to…that the killer was selecting his victims because they’d all attempted suicide in the past. And now, having dealt with Kent and seen how possible it truly was to replicate the pods…maybe there was another avenue to pursue here.

"Novak," she said urgently. "We need to make a call."

She again exited the interrogation room. Novak followed her out, playing catch up. “Call who?” he asked as he rushed up beside her.

“Diana Tatum.”

They found an empty office down the hall, closing the door behind them. The room was small and cluttered with old case files, but it offered privacy. Rachel pulled her cell phone from her pocket and ran a quick Google search for the EndLight offices again. She found the number and called it, certain that it would take a lot of connections and transfers, given how dead the building had been earlier in the day.

"What are you thinking?" Novak asked as the phone rang in her ear. He'd closed the door behind them, leaning against it as if to physically block out any interruptions.

"We've been focusing on the wrong connection," Rachel explained, her words coming faster as the theory solidified in her mind. "These victims weren't killed because of their connection to EndLight – they were killed because they survived suicide attempts. EndLight is just where the killer found them. Maybe where he was…I don’t know…where he was hunting. "

An automated system picked up and she selected the option that stated: "If you need to speak to someone right away after hours." The phone rang a few times, and she began the dance of transfers. After several transfers and holds—and identifying herself as Special Agent Rachel Gift a grand total of four times—Diana Tatum's voice filled the line.

Rachel placed the call on speaker mode, setting it on the desk so Novak could also hear.

“Agent Gift,” she said, sounding a bit scared. “Have you found something else?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe a new theory. But I need to ask you a strange question.”

“Okay…”

“Mrs. Tatum, can you think of any employees, past or present, who might have lost someone to suicide?"

The silence that followed was long enough that Rachel thought they might have lost the connection. Then Diana spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of painful memories.

"Only one name comes to mind... Christopher Bradley. He was with us for two years. Brilliant engineer, really. Until..." She paused, and Rachel could hear her taking a steadying breath. "Until his wife committed suicide. It destroyed him. He left the company shortly after. He just became a completely different man after that."

Rachel's pulse quickened. "Do you keep in touch with him?"

"I've tried. Several employees have. But..." Diana's voice grew troubled. "No one has been able to reach him for about six months now. It's like he just... disappeared."

Rachel's eyes met Novak's, and she saw her own certainty reflected there. The pieces were falling into place, forming a picture that was both crystal clear and deeply disturbing. The energy in the small office seemed to shift, charged with the electricity of revelation.

Christopher Bradley had just become their prime suspect.

“Thank you, Mrs. Tatum.” She ended the call before Diana Tatum could give any arguments that certainly none of her employees were capable of such a thing.

As Rachel ended the call, she felt the familiar surge of energy that came with a breakthrough. But mixed with it was something else – a creeping dread that settled in her stomach like ice. Because now they weren't just looking for a killer. They were looking for someone who had intimate knowledge of EndLight's technology, engineering expertise, and a deeply personal motivation for seeking out suicide survivors.

"We need to move fast," she said to Novak, already reaching for the door. "If Bradley's been off the grid for six months..."

"He could be anywhere," Novak finished, his face grim. "And he could have several of those pods scattered around the area.”

Rachel nodded, her mind already racing ahead to the next steps. They had a name now, but time was still against them. And somewhere out there, Christopher Bradley was watching, waiting, planning his next victim. The race to find him before he could strike again was on.

As they exited the office, Rachel caught sight of Sergeant Briggs, speaking with Officer Matthews and a few others. She hurried over to him, and when he saw her approaching, he instantly stepped away from his group.

“Something I can do for you?” Briggs asked.

“Yes, actually. Two things. First…can you get someone to look up any sort of criminal record for a man by the name of Christopher Bradley? And second…what sort of drone capabilities does Wyler County have?”

Briggs looked excited and eager to help when he answered. “In terms of drones, the department has just two. But we also work with a local photographer that has three…he does freelance work for commercials, documentaries, things like that.”

“We need as many drones as you can get in the air as soon as possible,” she said. She looked to Wheeler and added, “Can you get to work on the same thing in your county? If there are more pods hidden away on back roads or in the woods, we need to find them now. ”

“Got it,” Briggs said. “And as for the records for Bradley, we can—”

“Already on it, sir,” Matthews said, marching to a slightly cluttered desk in the bullpen.

All the pieces were in motion and for just a split second, Rachel allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of progress—as chaotic as it might be. Then, with a shared look to Novak, she walked over to the desk Matthews had commandeered and waited patiently for criminal record results, an address…anything they could find on their new suspect.