Page 6

Jake could feel the palpable shift as he and Fiona crossed the threshold of the smoothie bar. He glanced at her, noting the steely resolve that tightened her features. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fruit and buzzing conversation, a veneer of normalcy that didn't quite reach his senses. Patrons in workout gear lounged on brightly colored stools, their laughter hanging in the air like confetti.

They moved through the space, each step deliberate, a silent communication passing between them. This was it—their chance to corner a suspect, to peel back the layers of deceit. Jake's gaze fell upon Harmon, who stood behind the counter, a model of efficiency and poise. His hands deftly blended and poured a dance of muscle memory and practiced charm. It was almost hypnotic, the way his calm presence commanded the space.

Harmon's facade gave nothing away, each smile measured, every gesture controlled. But Jake knew better. Beneath that polished exterior could lurk a darkness they had seen too often—violence masquerading as tranquility. The juxtaposition gnawed at him, a reminder of his mother's unsolved murder, the injustice that fueled his relentless pursuit of the truth.

The sight of Harmon, so serene amid his blenders and organic produce, grated against the images imprinted in Jake's mind: two women, their lives brutally snatched away, surrounded by the delicate webs of spiders. The creatures had been out of place in those domestic scenes, just as this man seemed out of place here, behind the counter of a health oasis.

A tension began to build in Jake's chest, coiling tight like a spring. He felt an instinctive urge to confront, to shatter the peace with hard questions and demands for answers. Yet, he held back, allowing Fiona to take point, trusting her keen eye and sharper mind to guide them through this precarious engagement.

Their presence hadn't gone unnoticed. Whispers swirled around them, curiosity piqued by their determined approach, looking out of place in their professional attire. Jake's focus remained undivided, locked on Harmon, waiting for the moment when the fa?ade would slip, when the suspect would reveal his true nature.

Jake watched as Fiona strode ahead, her red curls a fiery contrast to the sterile whites and greens of the smoothie bar. Her confidence was palpable, even from behind; she moved with an ease that belied her recent transition to fieldwork. He admired her for it—the way she could blend authority with a casual grace. It was a talent he recognized but had never quite mastered himself.

He followed, keeping his distance just enough to allow Fiona to command the space. His eyes remained fixed on Harmon, gauging the man's every twitch and turn. Jake's hand rested subtly near his badge, ready to present it at the right moment. The buzz of conversation around them began to quiet as they approached the counter.

"Victor Harmon?" Fiona's voice cut through the hum of blenders.

Harmon looked up, his professional smile faltering for just a second. "Yes, can I help you?"

"We're with the FBI," Fiona said, presenting her badge with a practiced flip.

Jake did the same, feeling the weight of the room shift. Eyes darted towards them, then quickly away, as if contact might draw unwanted attention.

"Perhaps we could talk in private?" Fiona suggested, her tone polite yet firm.

A flicker of surprise crossed Harmon's face—eyes widening, body stilling—as if the reality of the situation had only just hit him. Then, as though someone had pressed play again, he resumed motion, a smile returning to his lips. "Of course," he replied, though the strain was evident in his smile. "Please, follow me."

They moved toward the break room, leaving the colorful bustle of the bar behind. Fiona walked with purpose, each step measured and assured. Jake took one last glance over his shoulder at the patrons, now engrossed once more in their fruit blends and fitness conversations. The sharp scent of citrus and ginger lingered in the air as the door closed behind them, sealing off the outside world.

Jake watched as Fiona squared her shoulders, the lines of her face set in determination. They stood in the sterile light of the break room, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing off the lively chatter of the smoothie bar. The space was small, cramped with a single table and two chairs. Harmon perched on the edge of one seat, his posture rigid and alert.

"We need to ask you about Jamie Lin," Fiona said, her voice steady, but Jake could hear the undercurrent of steel.

Harmon's face twitched, the corners of his mouth tightening for a split second before he regained control. "Jamie?" he echoed, his hands betraying him as they gave a subtle tremble. "What about her?"

Fiona leaned forward slightly, her eyes never leaving Harmon's face. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Last... last week," Harmon stammered, the pulse visible at his throat. "She comes in sometimes, for a smoothie."

A jolt of adrenaline hit Jake. He remained silent, observing. He noted every shift in Harmon's demeanor, the nervous flicker in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched then released. It was like watching an insect caught in a jar – fluttering wings against glass, desperate for escape.

"Your interactions with Jamie," Fiona pressed on, "were they friendly?"

"Of course," Harmon snapped, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone. His shoulders tensed, and he folded his arms across his chest as if shielding himself from their scrutiny.

"Did she ever refuse you anything? Martial arts lessons, perhaps?" Her question was casual, yet it cut through the air like a blade.

"I don't see how that's relevant," Harmon retorted, his words clipped, his previous calm facade now fractured by irritation.

A silent exchange passed between Fiona and Jake, a shared recognition of truth amid lies. He admired Fiona's composure, the way she navigated the interrogation with precision, a testament to her recent training and innate understanding of human behavior.

"Are you sure there was nothing unusual about your last encounter?" Jake finally interjected, his voice low and controlled.

"Nothing," Harmon insisted, though his gaze darted away, unable to hold Jake's stare.

Jake reached for the laminated photograph in his coat pocket as Harmon's hands steadied on the countertop, the tremble now a distant memory. He slid the photo across the smooth surface towards him, and it skidded to a halt under Harmon's tentative grip.

"Ever seen this woman before?" Jake asked, his tone even, eyes locked onto Harmon's face for any telltale sign of recognition or deceit.

Harmon's eyes flickered down to the image—Lena Chase, muscles defined, her gaze strong and unwavering even in stillness. He hesitated, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "She's come in before, maybe," he said, his voice betraying nothing but a hint of uncertainty.

"Maybe?" Jake pressed, sensing the vagueness was a thin veil over something more substantial.

"Yeah, maybe," Harmon repeated, placing the photo back down with a careful indifference that felt rehearsed.

Jake's observation was cut short by Fiona's subtle shift in stance—a signal that she was taking the lead. She leaned in slightly, her eyes intent behind the reflective surface of her glasses. Her next line of questioning seemed to catch Harmon off guard, a tactic honed from their many cases together.

"Victor, let's talk about orb-weaver spiders," she began, her words weaving a web of curiosity around Harmon. "I understand you were an entomologist at one point?"

"Ah, yes," Harmon responded, his confusion evident as he adjusted his apron. "In a past life, I suppose."

"Did your work involve arachnids?" Fiona prodded gently, yet firmly, her knowledge as an entomologist lending authority to her questions.

"Arachnids?" Harmon echoed, almost laughing. "No, no, I never liked those creatures. Too many legs. My focus was on butterflies. Lepidoptera—their beauty, their metamorphosis." His hands, once trembling, now animatedly described the gentle flutter of wings, and for a moment, his passion shone through the veneer of calm.

"Interesting," Fiona mused, jotting down a note in her small, leather-bound pad. "So no interest in spiders, then? Not even the orb-weavers?"

"Definitely not," Harmon asserted, a shadow crossing his face. "I prefer my insects colorful and harmless."

Jake watched the exchange intently, his analytical mind cataloging Harmon's reactions—the way his nose wrinkled at the mention of spiders, the sincerity that seemed to infuse his words when he spoke of butterflies. The dissonance between the man who stood before them and the one suspected of harboring dark secrets was jarring.

“I understand you were let go from your job at the butterfly conservatory,” Jake said.

“It was a misunderstanding," Victor spat out, the words tight with anger. "They fired me over nothing, over some infatuation that wasn't even my doing!"

Jake watched him closely, noting the way Victor's hands clenched and unclenched, the agitation rippling through him like waves in a disturbed pool. The man was unraveling, the threads of his composure coming undone with each heated word.

"An ex-colleague, she...she made it seem like there was something more. I never initiated anything," Victor continued, a sneer twisting his lips. "She led me on, and when things didn't go her way, she turned it around on me."

Skeptical, Jake shifted his weight, feeling a familiar heat coil in his stomach. He knew this pattern all too well—the shifting of blame, the portrayal of oneself as the victim when it was convenient. It was a dance he'd seen before, one that left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Did you think Jamie Lin owed you something, too?" Jake cut in sharply, barely containing the edge in his voice. "Martial arts lessons—was she another person who led you on?"

"No, no," Victor stammered, his eyes darting to Fiona and then back to Jake, the anxiety returning to his features like unwelcome shadows at dusk. "I just wanted to learn from her, that's all. She was skilled, and I...I respected that."

"Respected," Jake echoed dryly, the word feeling hollow in his mouth. He could see the flicker of fear in Victor's eyes, the way his story stumbled over itself in an effort to avoid traps. Respect wasn't what Jake saw in those eyes; it was something hungrier, something that had little to do with admiration.

“What’s this all about, anyway?” Victor asked.

Jake watched the veneer of calm on Victor's face crack as Fiona delivered the news. "Jamie Lin has been found dead," she said, her voice steady but carrying an unmistakable gravity. "Left at the scene were orb-weaver spiders." She paused, letting that sink in. "As a fellow entomologist, you'd know those aren't common house spiders."

"Dead?" Victor's voice was a whisper, a mix of genuine shock and something else Jake couldn't quite place. "I had nothing to do with this. I swear."

"Can you tell us where you were last night, Victor?" Jake asked, his gaze fixed on the man before him.

"Last night?" Victor echoed, his eyes suddenly brightening as if a switch had been flipped. "I was at bingo with my coworkers. You can ask any of them."

"Let's do that," said Jake, nodding towards one of the younger employees milling around the counter, who had been watching their exchange with cautious curiosity.

"Hey, Marcus!" Victor called out, beckoning the young man over with a wave. "Tell these agents where we were last night."

The coworker sauntered over, his expression one of mild annoyance at being pulled into the conversation. "Yeah, we were at this bar up the street 'til like, two a.m.," he grumbled, his words clipped and brusque. "After that, we went back to my place for more drinks."

"Until what time?" Jake pressed.

"Pretty late," Marcus replied with a shrug. "Then we crashed at my place for a bit after."

Victor stood taller, almost proud, as if the alibi were a shield that could deflect any suspicion. But Jake wasn't convinced. Alibis could be faked, memories could falter under pressure. Yet, despite his reservations, he knew they needed more than just a gut feeling to tie Victor to the crimes. They needed evidence—and so far, all they had were spiders and coincidences.

Fiona's brow furrowed slightly in concentration, her eyes locked on Marcus as if searching for any hint of deception.

"Victor was zonked out on my couch when I woke up," Marcus continued, evidently peeved by the interruption to his workday. "Didn't even stir until what must've been nine in the morning."

Jake glanced over at Fiona, whose amber eyes met his own. They shared a silent conversation in that moment, both seasoned enough to recognize the frustration of chasing down false leads. The tension in Fiona's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, a subtle admission of the dead end they had hit.

Maybe it was a longshot, but Jake showed the photo of Lena to Marcus as well and asked, “Have you seen this woman in here before?”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah, she comes in here a lot. Haven’t seen her for a week or so, which is odd.”

“That’s because she’s dead,” Victor said, and Marcus went pale. “That’s why they’re here. But I never touched either of these people.”

“Did anyone ever come in who did?” Fiona asked. “Did you ever see them talking to any strange men?”

Marcus shrugged. Victor, however, had a perplexed look on his face.

“What is it, Victor?” Jake pressed.

“Well, you mentioned arachnids,” Victor said. “There’s this one guy who comes in here sometimes… stands out, because he has a bunch of spider tattoos. Webs, spiders, you name it. Weird guy.”

“Oh yeah, that guy,” Marcus said. “He does come in here a lot.”

“Do you have a name?” Jake asked. It wasn’t much, but a man obsessed with spiders, attending the same smoothie bar both Jamie and Lena went to, could be a lead.

“No,” Victor said, “but we’ve got security footage that’ll show him, I’m sure of it. You can’t miss him, with how many tats he has.”

Jake exchanged a glance with Fiona before nodding. "That's something we'd like to take a look at," he said, the edge of excitement flitting in his intense gaze.

Victor gestured towards the back office, a room dominated by monitors that showed various sections of the establishment. "The footage should be saved on the system," he explained, leading them towards a desk cluttered with papers and coffee cups.

Marcus followed them into the office, pulling up the footage from the past week. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he fast-forwarded through hours of customers coming and going from the smoothie bar.

"There," Victor pointed at one of the screens. A man covered in inked spiderwebs and spiders appeared in view, his cold eyes scanning the room before settling on a spot at the counter.

"Marcus, stop right there," Jake directed. He moved closer to the monitor, scrutinizing the man in question. He was tall, burly with a gruff demeanor that seemed out of place for such a vibrant establishment.

"Do you know anything else about this man?" Fiona asked Victor, her eyes locked on the screen as she took in every detail of their potential suspect.

"He ordered an unusual smoothie... beets, broccoli, and kelp or something," Victor shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "He came across as really tough. Sometimes, he just sits there and watches people."

Jake had a bad feeling about this. But without the man’s identity, they couldn’t do much. “Victor, we’re gonna need copies of this footage.”