Page 24 of Outside the Room (Isla Rivers #1)

The emotion in his voice seemed genuine, but Isla had learned long ago not to trust appearances. The most skilled manipulators often presented the most convincing facades.

"Did she mention seeing anything unusual during her patrol?" she asked. "Any concerns or observations that stood out?"

O'Connor frowned, considering. "Nothing specific. Though she did mention planning to check the western storage area later in her shift. Said something about movement she'd noticed there on previous nights."

The western storage area—nowhere near the eastern dock where her body had been found. Another puzzling detail in an increasingly confusing case.

"Mr. O'Connor, can you account for your whereabouts between nine and ten p.m. tonight?" Sullivan asked, his tone carefully neutral.

If O'Connor was offended by the implied suspicion, he didn't show it. "Right here," he answered simply. "I've been working on updated security protocols since six this evening. Haven't left the building."

"Can anyone verify that?" Isla pressed.

"The night receptionist, Maria, brought me coffee around nine-thirty," O'Connor said. "And I've been on several phone calls with the port authority board, discussing emergency measures following the previous murders."

Easily verifiable alibis—not the response of someone trying to hide their movements during a critical timeframe.

Isla moved to the window overlooking the port. The crime scene was visible in the distance, emergency lights still flashing as technicians processed evidence.

Three murders, each with distinctive characteristics. Two victims were found in locked containers, killed with blunt force trauma. A third disposed of in the harbor. All are connected to the port but with methodologies different enough to suggest either an evolving killer or multiple perpetrators.

And somewhere in this complex web of shipping operations, corporate interests, and port security lay the truth they sought—a truth someone was willing to kill repeatedly to protect. The question now was whether that someone was Raymond O'Connor, Gregory Nash, or someone else entirely.

Isla turned back to where Sullivan was concluding his questions. O'Connor looked broken, a man watching his professional world collapse around him as his employees were systematically murdered. Either he was genuinely devastated, or he was giving the performance of a lifetime.

"We'll need to verify your calls and the receptionist's statement," Sullivan was saying, his tone making it clear this was standard procedure rather than targeted suspicion.

O'Connor nodded wearily. "Of course. Whatever you need. Just find out who did this to Sarah. And to Marcus and Diana."

As they prepared to leave, Isla took one last look at the security feeds displayed on O'Connor's wall monitor.

Something about the eastern dock area where Sanchez had been found caught her attention—a shadow moving between warehouse buildings, there and gone so quickly she couldn't be certain she'd seen it at all.

"Mr. O'Connor," she said suddenly, "who else has access to the security camera controls for the eastern dock?"

He looked up, momentarily confused by the shift in questioning. "Security center personnel, maintenance supervisors, and senior port administrators. Maybe fifteen people total. Why?"

"Someone disabled those cameras shortly before Sanchez was killed," Sullivan explained. "Someone who knew the system."

O'Connor's face paled further. "You think it was an inside job? Someone who works for me?"

"We're considering all possibilities," Isla replied diplomatically, though increasingly she suspected this was precisely the case.

Someone with intimate knowledge of port operations, security protocols, and container management—someone positioned to monitor the investigation while simultaneously countering it.

As they left O'Connor's office, Sullivan walked close beside her. "You don't think it's him," he said quietly, not a question but an observation.

"He has access and knowledge," Isla replied, unwilling to eliminate any suspects prematurely. "But his reaction seems genuine, and his alibi appears solid."

Sullivan nodded thoughtfully as they exited the building. "So, we're looking for someone else connected to the port. Someone strong enough to subdue Sanchez, knowledgeable enough to disable security systems, with access to restricted areas."

"And someone linked to whatever Whitman and Pearce discovered in those shipping manifests," Isla added. "That remains the key to everything."

They paused at their vehicle, looking out over the vast industrial complex of Duluth's port. Somewhere among the massive vessels, towering cranes, and endless rows of containers was a killer—perhaps watching them at this very moment, plotting their next move as the investigation intensified.

"We need to reexamine everyone with connections to both Nash and the port operations," Isla decided. "Particularly anyone who might serve as Nash's enforcer if he's behind this."

Sullivan checked his watch—nearly one in the morning now. "First thing tomorrow," he agreed. "For now, let's make sure the crime scene processing is thorough. Sanchez might have left us something that points to her killer."

As they drove back toward the eastern dock, Isla couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial.

The inconsistencies in Sanchez's murder compared to the previous victims nagged at her analytical mind.

Either the killer was changing tactics dramatically, or someone new had entered the equation—someone potentially more dangerous because their motives remained unclear.

Lake Superior stretched endless and frozen beyond the port, its surface deceptively calm under the moonlight.

Like the case itself, Isla thought—what appeared solid might actually be riddled with cracks, and stepping carelessly could plunge you into deadly cold waters from which there was no escape.