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Officer Cantu ended the press conference ten minutes later.

Jessie, relieved, stepped away from the podium, without taking her eyes off the crowd. Ryan took her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. She fought the urge to respond with a hug. They were still in front of the press, after all. Instead, she leaned in and whispered in his ear.

“Be casual when you look,” she said, “But there’s a guy in the second row—black hair parted to the right, purple paisley shirt, crazy eyes. You see him?”

“I do,” Ryan whispered back, “he can’t stop looking at you.”

“I noticed that too,” she said. “he’s not a reporter. He never took any notes, and he doesn’t have a press credential.”

“Could he just be a superfan?” Ryan wondered.

“Possible,” Jessie conceded, “but once folks clear out, I thought that maybe we could approach him for a chat.”

“That might be a challenge,” Ryan said. “It looks like he’s starting to leave.”

“Good job, Hunt,” Captain Decker said, startling her. She’d been so focused on the guy that she hadn’t noticed him sidle up to her. “Now we just have to catch the bastard.”

“Yes, Chief,” she said distractedly.

“Well, keep me updated,” he said, speaking more to Parker than her. “I have to be back upstairs in less than ten minutes for that meeting, but I want to know what’s going on.”

“Yes, Chief,” Parker said.

Decker, as usual, left without saying goodbye. Parker turned to Jessie and Ryan.

“Well done, Hunt,” she said. “Let’s get back to the station and see if your research team has come across anything new in our absence.”

"Actually, Captain," Ryan said, "Jessie and I want to follow up on a lead before we head back. Do you mind if we meet you there?"

I suppose not,” Parker said, though she looked a little put out.

Jessie couldn’t worry about the captain’s feelings right now. Her energy was focused on keeping the paisley guy in her sights.

“Great, we’ll see you back there soon,” Ryan said, before turning to Jessie. “Do you want to go for a walk with me?”

“That sounds good,” she said, joining him as he started down the stairs, making sure to move at an unhurried pace so as not to make the paisley man jumpy.

A reporter stepped up to her and shoved a microphone in her face.

“Don’t you think you owe it to the community to offer more specifics on the suspect?” he demanded.

Jessie had learned not to engage in this kind of informal back and forth. She kept walking. Ryan, close beside her, simply said, “please direct any additional questions to the Media Relations Division.”

Once past the remaining press stragglers, they moved onto the sidewalk and wandered hand in hand, as if they were on a casual midday stroll. But both of them kept their attention on the paisley man, who was on the other side of the street, walking briskly away from them.

“At what point are we going to engage with this guy?” Jessie asked.

“Hopefully not yet,” Ryan said. “If he starts running now, we may have to also, and that means we’ll have a collection of reporters on our heels. Let’s hope our guy keeps his cool until we get a little further away.”

The young man seemed willing to do what Ryan wanted. He continued walking at a quick pace that was only mildly suspicious. It was only when he glanced back over his shoulder and saw the woman he’d just watched give a briefing walking on the same path as him, that he amped up his speed. He reminded Jessie of a second grader who really had to get to the potty but was hesitant to break into a run because it would look suspicious.

The paisley man was approaching the entrance of the Civic Center/Grand Park metro station, which had a giant escalator that went deep underground. As he got closer, he glanced back at them a second time. He was clearly nervous.

Jessie reminded herself that this could just be an unusual-looking fella who was understandably thrown by having two members of law enforcement trail him for several minutes. Or he could be something much worse.

As he disappeared down the escalator into the bowels of the station, Jessie broke into a jog, as did Ryan. When they reached the entrance, she looked down. To her astonishment, their target was on his back, sliding down the extremely narrow metal railing along the edge of the down escalator. He was already two-thirds of the way down.

“That doesn’t reflect well on his innocence,” Ryan noted.

Jessie started to climb onto the railing, but he put his hand on her shoulder.

“No way,” he said. “You had brain surgery last fall. I don’t want you taking any unnecessary chances. I’ll do the rail surfing. You’re a runner. Do that.”

She hadn’t even opened her mouth to reply before he’d hopped on the railing and started down himself. Rather than take the escalator, which was filled with scattered riders, Jessie started down the stairs between the up and down escalators, taking them as fast as she could without losing her balance and toppling the rest of the way. She was only halfway down when Ryan reached the bottom and ran off to the left in the direction the paisley man had gone.

She got to the bottom twenty seconds later and dashed around the corner, alert for any surprises. Ryan was ahead of her by about fifty yards, down a long, curved tunnel hallway. She sprinted after him as he briefly left her sight.

She rounded the corner just in time to see him another thirty yards ahead, leaping over a turnstile, after which he continued down the stairs to one of the platforms. He must have seen the paisley man go down there.

She charged after him and was about to clamber over the turnstile herself when she paused and glanced back in the direction from which she'd come. It occurred to her that Ryan had been out of her view for a good ten seconds before she saw him again near the turnstile.

The paisley man had even more of a head start on Ryan. How much time had he had before Ryan rounded that corner? Fifteen seconds? Twenty? And had Ryan actually seen the guy go down to the platform or did he just assume that’s where he went?

She looked around, scanning for any spot where the man could have hidden before Ryan came barreling around that corner. There were no obvious alternative exits. Nor were there any shops to hole up in. That’s when she saw the restrooms off to the left.

If the paisley man knew this station well, he could have darted straight to the men's room without having to stop to think about it. There was no door to open. She guessed that he would have been able to get there in the time he had before Ryan rounded the corner.

She jogged over in that direction, debating how best to proceed. Did she want to ask someone coming out if they saw anyone meeting their suspect’s description? Did she want to hunt down a metro worker? Or call Ryan? If she was wrong and he was currently chasing the guy down on the platform, a call from her could be dangerously distracting.

Of course, she could always just walk into the men’s room. It would be an unconventional choice, but this was an unconventional situation. She decided to proceed and deal with the fallout later.

As she approached the entrance, she saw a familiar head poke out from around the corner. It was their guy. He saw her too and shot back inside. Without pausing to think, she followed him.

Once she rounded the barrier wall, she scanned the restroom. There were two men at urinals and one washing his hands at a sink. None of them were the paisley man. She stepped over to the other side of the restroom just in time to see the man dart into the last stall at the far end.

She dashed after him. The stall was handicapped accessible and had a larger door than the others, which was just slamming shut as she got to it. Without hesitation, she kicked it, hoping she’d arrived before he could lock it. She had.

The thing shot inward. She heard a thump as it clearly collided with the man before bouncing back toward her. A second sound was harder to identify. She unholstered her weapon and then kicked at the door a second time. Once she did, she understood the nature of the mysterious sound.

The man was lying on his back in the corner of the stall adjacent to the toilet. He must have slammed back into it, lost his balance, and fallen to the floor, where he was now. He had just started to scramble to his feet when she pointed the gun at him.

“Stop!” she shouted. “Stay where you are!”

Even though the safety was on, she felt her finger inching toward the trigger. Anger and adrenaline had her breathing heavy and grinding her teeth. She realized that some part of her was hoping he’d make a move.

He froze in his current position, which was on his knees beside the toilet. His black hair, previously so severely parted, was now plastered to his forehead. His eyes had the same intensity as at the press conference, but now had an extra dose of frenzy to them.

“Show me your hands,” Jessie instructed as she moved into the stall, reminding herself not to do anything rash, “and explain why you ran from us.”

“What’s going on in here?” demanded one of the men who’d been at the urinals. “Why are you in the men’s room?”

“Police business,” Jessie snapped, keeping her eyes on the paisley man. “If you want to be helpful, you can look around the mezzanine for an officer and let them know I could use some assistance.”

“How do I know that you’re who you say you are?” the guy asked.

Jessie snuck a quick glimpse at the speaker. He was in his forties, heavyset, with longish gray-brown hair, blue jeans, and a t-shirt for the band, Primus.

"Listen, man, this isn't chit-chat time," she instructed, "you can help or not, but either way, I need you to exit the restroom."

The man loitered where he was, so Jessie gave him a little incentive.

“Now!” she barked, briefly holding the gun to her chest so the onlooker could see it. That was enough for him, and he scurried out. She returned her attention—and her pointed gun—to the paisley man, who was still on his knees with his hands up.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she reminded him. “Who are you?”

The man made no attempt to get up or act in any aggressive way. But he also didn’t speak. Instead, all he did was slowly shake his head.

“Wonderful,” she muttered. “I guess we’re going to have to have this conversation down at the station. Shuffle out from next to that toilet, turn around, and place your hands behind your head. Do you understand?”

The man nodded silently and began to do as she asked, sliding on his knees out into the open space and maneuvering around to face away from her. He interlocked his fingers behind the back of his head and waited. She was about to get out her handcuffs when she heard a familiar voice.

“Jessie, are you in there?” Ryan called out.

“I am,” she shouted back, “and I’ve made a new friend. I’d love for you to meet him too.”

“Okay, coming in,” he announced.

She waited for him, happy to have the help, unsure if their hunt for the killer was finally over.