Page 5

Fiona stepped into the martial arts studio, the scent of clean sweat and polished wood filling her senses. Mid-morning light spilled across the array of mats that lay disciplined in rows on the floor. She could almost hear the echo of a class in session, the sharp kiai shouts punctuating the air. This was where Jamie Lin had honed her craft, where she had last been alive before the night turned murderous.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked, pulling Fiona from her thoughts.

"Agent Red, FBI," she introduced herself succinctly, flashing her badge. Beside her, Jake did the same, his movements certain and quick.

"Agent Tucker," he said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of urgency.

The young man behind the counter paled slightly. He nodded, eager to assist. "I heard about Jamie," he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "She was...one of our best." The words seemed inadequate, hanging heavy between them. “She was amazing as both a student and a teacher.”

"Did she teach here often?" Fiona asked, her mind cataloging every detail.

"Sometimes, the kids' classes" – the receptionist gestured vaguely toward the mats – "she was great with them."

Fiona absorbed the information, her gaze lingering on the open space where Jamie Lin's presence was now just a memory. The silence of the studio was a contrast to the violent end she met, alone in her home. Fiona thought of the orb-weaver spiders left behind, their webs an eerie testament to the killer's signature.

"Is there anything else you can tell us about her time here?" Jake inquired, his tone gentle yet probing.

The receptionist shook his head, his earnestness clear. "She was dedicated, always the first one in. It’s hard to believe she’s gone," he added, his voice dropping.

Fiona noted the slight tremor in his words, the way his eyes didn't quite meet theirs. Jamie Lin's death hadn't just taken a life; it had cast a shadow over this place of strength and discipline. The stark reality of mortality had breached these walls. And somewhere out there, a killer was weaving a web of violence that they had to unravel.

Fiona watched the receptionist, noting the way his hands fidgeted on the counter. "Can you describe Jamie? Her habits, her demeanor?" she asked.

"Sure." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Jamie was... intense. She took training seriously, and I mean beyond the physical stuff. It was like a philosophy for her," he said with a reverence that bordered on admiration. "Discipline, respect, all that. She lived it."

"Independent?" Jake chimed in, leaning closer.

"Absolutely. Handled everything herself, never asked for help unless she really needed it." The receptionist straightened a stack of flyers, avoiding their gaze. "She had this aura, y'know? Strong, unshakeable. A lot of us admired her for that."

Fiona nodded, picturing Jamie moving across the mats with purpose, the embodiment of controlled power. She could almost see her there—a specter of resilience—leaving imprints on the hearts and minds she'd touched.

"Did she have many friends here?" Fiona probed further, seeking connections, threads to follow in the tangled web of the investigation.

"Some," he replied. "Mostly just acquaintances, though. She was friendly but private. It was hard to really get close to her."

"Thank you," Fiona said, offering a small smile. She sensed the unease behind his words, the mix of respect and distance Jamie had commanded even in life.

Jake pulled out a photograph, its edges creased from handling. "Ever seen this woman around? Lara Chase," he asked, placing the photo on the counter.

The young man peered at the image, then shook his head. "Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry."

"Are you sure?" Fiona pressed, hoping for a flicker of recognition.

"Positive. I know most of the regulars by face, and she's not one of them."

"Okay, thanks." Jake retrieved the photo, tucking it back into his jacket. Lara's absence from the studio narrowed their scope, but it didn't close any doors—not yet.

Fiona shifted her weight, the soles of her boots gripping the polished floor of the martial arts studio. Her gaze lingered on the receptionist's face, seeking the truth in his eyes. "Did Jamie ever mention feeling like she was being watched or followed?" she asked, her voice steady.

The receptionist hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "No, nothing like that," he said, his words quick and certain. But then he paused, a crease forming between his brows as if he were sifting through his memories. "There was this guy though, came in a few weeks back. He was... off."

"Off how?" Fiona probed, leaning in slightly.

"Obsessed, kinda," the receptionist replied, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting the man to appear. "He wanted Jamie to train him specifically, but she didn't do private sessions with adults. Only kids." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "When we told him 'no,' he got all worked up about it. We had to ask him to leave and not come back."

"Sounds like he could be important," Jake interjected, his brow furrowing. "Who was this guy?"

"Let me pull up his membership details," the receptionist offered, turning to the desktop computer beside him. His fingers danced across the keyboard, the clicks echoing faintly in the quiet studio.

Fiona watched the screen flicker as the receptionist navigated through the system. A picture materialized—a man with a hard-set jaw and a gaze that didn't quite meet the camera's lens. Victor Harmon, read the bold letters beneath the photo. He appeared to be in his forties, his hair more salt than pepper.

"Victor Harmon," the receptionist announced, as if confirming the name for himself as well.

"Thank you," Fiona said, her mind already racing through the possibilities. She noted the lines etched around the man's eyes, the tightness of his lips—a visage that spoke of frustration and unyielding intent.

Jake leaned closer, his eyes scanning the image. "Can you print that out for us?"

"Sure thing," the receptionist replied, hitting a key. The printer hummed to life, disgorging a sheet with Victor Harmon's details into the physical world.

"Anything else you can tell us about this guy?" Jake asked, accepting the printout from the receptionist.

"Only that Jamie didn't seem scared, just annoyed. Like he was a fly buzzing too close to her food," he answered, offering a weak smile. "She was tough as nails, you know?"

Fiona nodded, taking one last glance over the room. She could imagine Jamie Lin moving among the young students, a force of intensity and dedication. Despite the violence of her end, in this studio, she was remembered as strong, disciplined. A figure to be admired.

"Thank you for your help," Jake said, folding up the printout and tucking it into his pocket. "We'll be in touch if we have any other questions."

"Of course," the receptionist replied, his gaze somber. "Anything to help find who did this to Jamie."

As they left the studio, Fiona and Jake shared a look. Victor Harmon was the closest thing they had to a lead so far—and they had to dig up everything they could on him.

***

Fiona tapped at the screen of her tablet, the glare from the morning sun reflecting off the glass and momentarily blinding her. She angled the device away, shading it with her body as she accessed the FBI database. Beside her, Jake sat motionless, his hands resting on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the martial arts studio's entrance across the parking lot.

"Got something?" he asked, not turning his head, but his tone was expectant, hopeful for a lead.

Fiona didn't respond immediately, her focus narrowing as she sifted through Victor Harmon's digital footprint. It wasn't long before her search yielded results, and what she found sent a jolt through her. "He's an entomologist," she murmured, more to herself than to Jake.

"Like you?" Jake's voice cracked with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

"Was," Fiona corrected without looking up, her fingers swiping across the screen. Her eyes widened behind her glasses as she read further. "He worked at the butterfly conservatory. But..." Her voice trailed off, a knot forming in her stomach.

"But what?" Jake prompted, concern etching his features as he finally glanced at her.

She hesitated, feeling a strange sense of betrayal. One of her own—a man devoted to the study of insects—had fallen so far from grace. "He was fired," she said, her voice tight. "For sexually harassing a coworker."

Jake's jaw clenched visibly, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "That could be our guy then." His voice was low, a growl of anger at the injustice. "Gets fixated on women, can't handle rejection."

"Seems like it," Fiona agreed, though she knew they needed more than just a troubled past to make a case. She kept scrolling, seeking any fact that could tie Victor Harmon to Jamie Lin beyond the walls of the martial arts studio. Each swipe felt heavier than the last, each detail adding weight to the shadow that now loomed over their investigation.

"Anything else?" Jake asked, reaching out to start the car. The engine hummed to life, a soft vibration under their seats.

"Nothing yet," Fiona replied, her determination hardening. She wouldn't rest until every piece of Victor Harmon's life was laid bare, until they had enough evidence to put him behind bars—or clear his name. She owed that much to Jamie Lin, to Lena Chase, and to the silent plea for justice that echoed from every corner of the morgue back home.

Fiona scrolled past the termination notice, her eyes scanning for any hints of Victor's interests that might be relevant.

"Did he have a thing for spiders, maybe?" Jake asked, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

"Let me check." She tapped and swiped, the soft glow of the tablet screen illuminating her focused expression. Every article, every publication she found only reinforced what they already knew; Victor was fixated on butterflies, not spiders. "Nope, just butterflies," Fiona finally said. "He even published a paper on the migration patterns of Monarchs."

"Too bad," Jake muttered. "Would've been a nice link to the orb-weavers at our crime scenes."

"Maybe too neat," Fiona considered. The complexity of human nature rarely fit into tidy boxes, especially when it came to the tangled web of a killer's mind.

"Where's he working now?" Jake's question pulled Fiona back to the task at hand.

"Here we go," Fiona murmured as she located the current employment section in Victor's file. "He's managing a smoothie bar, just up the road from Jamie's studio."

"Healthy drinks, huh?" Jake's tone was speculative. "Jamie was fit, probably liked to grab a smoothie after training."

"Could be," Fiona conceded. The proximity wasn't proof, but it was a connection, another thread that could draw them closer to their suspect. "Lena might have been a customer there, too."

"Let’s pay this butterfly enthusiast a visit then." Jake shifted the car into drive, the engine responding with a low purr.

"Agreed." Fiona powered down the tablet, her mind already racing ahead. They needed to tread carefully, to observe Victor Harmon in his natural habitat. It was time to see if the former entomologist still had a taste for the predatory.