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Chapter 9 - CHAPTER 9 - WHERE THE SCARS BEGAN

INT. INTERROGATION ROOM – NIGHT – COLD FLUORESCENT LIGHTS BUZZING

Scott leaned back in his chair, arms folded, eyes narrowing on Allen, who sat slumped across the table, sweat dotting his temples. The air was thick with tension.

"Well," Stephanie said softly from the hallway, watching through the glass, "most parents tend to have a soft spot for their kids."

Allen's lips trembled as he finally broke down, his voice shaking. "I met Parker… weeks before the murder. I was losing my mind—watching my wife slip away. I... I followed her. Every night. For three days straight. And I told Parker everything."

"Jesus," Stephanie whispered, eyes wide with disbelief. "That evil jerk..."

Scott stepped out of the room, calm and composed, but there was steel in his gaze. "The guy's cracked, but that was a clean confession."

Ray gave a proud nod. "Ten years in the Violent Crimes Unit ain't for show. He's a profiler, remember?"

"Wait—Scott's a profiler?" Stephanie blinked. "Since when?"

Ray smirked. "Girl, you really don't pay attention, huh? Aren't you always with him out there?"

Scott's voice cut through the hallway. "His confession, paired with the CCTV footage and the hotel testimony, is enough. We're pushing for his arrest warrant."

"I'm on it," Frank said, already dialing his contact.

Scott glanced at the evidence board plastered with photos, timelines, and blood-red string. "We've got the accomplice, but the real nightmare's still walking."

Frank frowned. "Hope we catch that psycho soon."

Scott's jaw clenched. "He's not done. Parker's deranged, delusional—he sees himself as some righteous executioner. He goes into people's homes, murders them up close. No hesitation. That's bold."

Stephanie shifted uneasily. "He's still out there… somewhere."

"Mrs. Allen and Mr. Peter were murdered on February 9th," Scott said, scanning the timeline. "Smith was killed four days later. Ray—you see what I see?"

"Three-day cooling-off period," Ray replied grimly.

"Cooling what?" Stephanie asked, confused.

"Cooling-off period," Scott explained. "Serial killers take a break between kills. It's the calm before the next storm."

Scott pointed at the board. "We've got 24 hours, tops. If we don't stop him, someone else dies."

Scott turned to Frank. "David Parker was abused as a child. Now that he's on the run, he'll go back to a place that meant something to him."

"Like his childhood home?" Ray asked.

"Exactly. Frank—run Simon David's property history. See if anything stands out."

"Give me a sec..." Frank typed rapidly. "Bingo. He owns a building in Greenwich Village. Left it five years ago—place has been under redevelopment ever since."

Scott's eyes lit with cold fire. "That's the perfect hideout. No cameras. No cops. Total ghost zone."

Stephanie punched her fist into her palm. "We've got this scum cornered!"

 

INT. POLICE CHIEF'S OFFICE – MOMENTS LATER – WARM DESK LAMPS AND DARK WOOD PANELING

Scott stood across from the Chief, who smiled behind his cluttered desk.

"Oh, you're here. Just about to call you. How's the case going?"

"We've located the suspect's potential hideout. We're closing in."

The Chief grinned. "Knew you wouldn't let me down. Anything you need?"

"Backup," Scott said firmly.

"You got it. I'll coordinate with Missing Persons and Patrol—get you what you need."

 

INT. SVU HQ – NIGHT – WAR ROOM LIT BY SCREENS AND MAPS

Stephanie frowned, arms crossed as she leaned over a table. "We need to be sure Parker's actually there. Otherwise, we risk blowing the whole thing."

Scott stepped in, determined. "That's why I'm gonna confirm it."

Ray cocked a brow. "You gonna interrogate Simon David?"

"That old bastard won't crack," Frank muttered.

Scott looked over his shoulder. "He won't have to."

He turned to Ray. "Bring him in."

Ray nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

Frank stepped closer. "We've held Simon since yesterday, but without hard evidence, we'll have to let him go if Parker's not at that building."

"I'm aware," Scott said, rolling up his sleeves. "But we're not walking away empty-handed."

He stepped into the dim interrogation room, where a tired old man waited, handcuffed and silent—Simon David. His gray hair was slicked back, his face unreadable. Scott shut the door behind him.

The hunt was on.

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