The shadowy night clung to Victoria city like a damp shroud, the smell of rain heavy on concrete and the acrid bite of exhaust fumes. The Franklin Sterling park had been close for nearly a year- budget cuts, the city council claimed, though everyone who knew the neighbourhood knew it was really because it had become a magnet for crime after dark. The swings rattled weakly in the night wind. Rusted benches were countless, all stained with graffiti. The once bright playground slides were scabbed with peeling paint. The yellow police tape cordoned off the northern half of the park, fluttering in the weak light of the street lamps. Blue and red strobes bounced across the trees, casting fractured shadows across the asphalt paths.
Detective Jesse White ducked under the tape, tugging his coat tighter, it was a night of wind and rain. It was pretty late into the night, but homicide didn't wait for daybreak. Kennedy was beside him, the look on his face was grim beneath the harsh glow of portable floodlights. A number of uniforms were already moving in methodical patterns, securing the scene and canvassing witnesses who lived in the surrounding apartments. The hum of police radios filled the air, clipped and urgent. The night was evidently shrouded in mystery.
Jesse's gaze landed on the victim. A girl- no more than twenty, probably younger- lay sprawled on the wet grass near the cracked fountain. Her clothes were torn in most areas, dirt streaked her pale cold arms and her dark long hair spread in tangles around her head like a broken halo. The sight hit Jesse way harder than he expected, this girl was only a teenager, she was too young. She did look awfully familiar, like someone he must have passed by on a college campus, she looked like someone who must have been full of life and expectation. Now she was just another body, added to a list, waiting to be reduced to evidence.
Kennedy took a glance at Jesse and read the storm gradually building on his face. "Don't carry it already, kid. Let the evidence speak before you rage out."
Jesse exhaled though his nose and massaged his temples. "She's very young, Kennedy. Somebody's daughter. Maybe she just came here to clear her head or something, now she's a headline."
Kennedy didn't disagree. He rarely did when Jesse's heart bled like this, but his voice stayed steady. "We don't know her story yet. That's why we're here, to get to the bottom of this."
Beside the pale body, crouched in her gloves, was someone Jesse did not recognize. A young woman, probably in the same age range as himself, her blonde hair tied in a tight bun and her eyes sharp with professional focus. Her poise as she bent over the victim indicated someone who knew what she was doing but hadn't yet completely hardened to the reality of it. It was well obvious that she was a medical examiner.
Jesse's face creased into a slight frown. "Where's Dr. Halperin?" he muttered.
Kennedy glanced at him. "Retired. He put in his papers a week ago. Earlier than he's supposed to. Guess it finally caught up with him."
Jesse blinked. The old coroner had worked a lot of cases even before Jesse thought about becoming a cop. "Retired? Just like that?"
Kennedy shrugged heavily. "That's what they're saying."
As though she's just realised their eyes on her, Evelyn stood up and peeled off her gloves. She was definitely young, though she had a very steady gaze. "Preliminary assessment," Her voice was calm but brisk, "indicates a drug overdose. But-" she crouched again and pointed at the girl's wrists and ankles. "Rope marks. They're deep. Suggests she was restrained."
Jesse squatted for a closer look. The ligature marks were angry red, distinct ridges burned deep into her skin. He'd seen lots of overdoses before- some intentional, many not- but nothing like this really. "Someone tied her up. Why tie her up if not to force her take something?"
"That's why it's classified as a homicide. She didn't just die of an overdose, she was murdered with an overdose of drugs." Evelyn said. She and Jesse stood up at the same time.
"Her torn clothes could mean there was a struggle, or someone staged it. We'll know more after tox screens though."
Another girl chewed up and spit out by Victoria City's underworld. Another reason he couldn't stop this job, couldn't stop himself from pushing for justice.
Behind him, a ripple passed through the line of uniforms. Someone had arrived. Jesse turned and almost swore aloud. Only one man he knew could command such movements from uniformed officers.
Deuce Black.
The billionaire-turned-pariah stood just beyond the floodlights, his face wasn't really visible but his aura spoke his presence, he was like a ghost in the shadows. He wore dark clothes, he was almost unrecognisable but Jesse would've recognised that posture anywhere. Somehow his eyes were visible in the dim light. He was calm and distant, he didn't announce himself, didn't push past officers. He just watched silently, a phantom presence at a crime scene.
Jesse's face lit up with silent anger. "You've got to be kidding me."
Kennedy put a firm hand on Jesse's arm. "Jesse, keep an open mind. Don't make a scene."
"Open mind?" Jesse hissed. "He's not a cop, who called him here. He doesn't belong here."
Kennedy's voice was low but stern. "He's not a cop but he's a consultant, your consultant. He does belong here."
Jesse bit down a curse.
Jesse and Kennedy went to talk to some uniforms. Deuce moved, he didn't go near the body. Instead, his gaze drifted outward, scanning the scene like a hawk scanning a field. He walked towards the other end of the park, towards the exit gate. A patch of grass near the fence caught his attention- flattened, pressed in ways that stood out to someone looking for anomalies. He crouched, gloved hand brushing the dirt and then he followed the faint trail into the shadows.
Deuce told an officer to get Jesse.
"Detective," the officer called out, gesturing Jesse over.
Jesse stalked toward them, Kennedy close behind. When he reached the edge of the path, Deuce was waiting in silence, he held something small and rectangular in his hand.
A student ID card.
Deuce handed it over without a word. The picture on the ID showed the victim-a alive, smiling, wearing a university hoodie. Her name was Maya Torres.
Jesse's stomach turned. He snatched it from Deuce refusing to thank him.
The crime scene stretched deep into the night. Statements were taken, evidence bagged, footprints were photographed. By the time Jesse finally returned to his apartment, dawn was already pushing past the horizon.
The morgue was cold. Stainless steel gleamed under florescent bulbs. Jesse hated morgues- the stillness, silence, the secrets that lay with the dead waiting to be discovered- but he had no choice.
They walked into a lab, Evelyn Cross was there adorned in her white coat, scribbling away on his notepad. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw the person who walked in with Jesse. Deuce Black. She hadn't seen him at the scene- she'd left with the ambulance. Now, in person, his presence filled the room. The room suddenly felt stiff, two men with tough auras and gloomy faces.
"You're....." Evelyn stammered before catching herself. She cleared her throat, opting for a professional tone. "Detective White. Mr. Black."
Deuce nodded politely, as though he were any other consultant. They walked towards the slab where the body lay.
"What did you find?" Jesse asked.
Evelyn turned to the body on the table. Maya Torres looked even smaller now, fragile under the white sheet. "I've been able to narrow down time of death, she died between midnight and 12:45 this morning."
"So she didn't die at the park?" Jesse asked.
"No. She was dumped there after she died. And toxicology came back. She overdosed, but the substance isn't on record. Not heroin, not fentanyl, not anything i've seen or heard of before. Something synthetic, probably an experimental substance. I'm guessing, a new drug in circulation, unregulated."
"Must be in testing phase." Deuce said.
"Yes, that's my guess." Evelyn said.
"Testing phase?" Jesse repeated.
Deuce spoke again. His voice still low and smooth. "It's probably not a street drug. A product, someone is running trials, using kids." The quiet fury was audible in his voice.
Evelyn swallowed hard. "The rope marks too- they're unusual. I noticed the fibers embedded in her skin are not from regular nylon, It's dyneema. High-strength, lightweight. Used in specialized industries. Only four companies source it in Victoria City."
Jesse felt his pulse quicken. She was abducted. Dyneema meant money, it wasn't cheap. Whoever engineered this wasn't just some dealer in an alley.
An hour later, Deuce sat in his workshop, lit only by the glow of a dozen screens. Surveillance feeds flickered on some screen, codes scrolled on others. He dug deeper into the data he'd stolen- the payroll, the files, the trails Kruger's network left behind.
One folder caught his eye. Kruger had recently updated it, this drive was still connected to another one that Kruger
was using. The folder was labeled in bold: MINOR THREATS.
He clicked on it.
Images filled the screen- dozens of faces. Teenagers. Students. Journalists. Their names and details were encrypted, but Deuce's algorithms peeled them apart easily. Each profile came with notes, where they studied or worked. Where they lived. What they'd written or said. Who they'd spoken against.
He was scrolling through when he saw her.
Maya Torres.
He clicked on it. Her profile flagged her as a student activist. She'd written a paper exposing a growing drug movement at her university. Most of the papers she wrote about drug trafficking, the name Sean Smith kept popping up.
Sean Smith. The name was well associated with a drug ring. Most people rumoured that it was Kruger's real name but Kruger was a ghost, even the name couldn't identify him.
His teeth clenched. Another death traced back to the same monster. Fury built up inside him. He clenched his fist, ready to punch something when an alarm rang on his phone. He picked it up, it was a reminder, he was supposed to spend the day with his daughter. The anger, the fury and everything slowly dissipated. He took a deep breath before he stood up to leave the workshop.
At the precinct, Jesse pushed through the lobby doors, exhaustion dragging at him. He had just returned for VCU, the university where Maya schooled. He spoke with her professors, room mates, classmates, friends. She was seen the previous morning and that was the last sighting of her. None of them had anything useful to say except that she was hell bent on uncovering the drug movement happening at VCU. Right now, he just wanted to bury himself in reports, but a voice cut through the air.
"Detective White."
He stopped. Victoria Kane.
The reporter leaned against the front desk, notebook in hand with eyes as sharp as knives. There was a smile plastered on her face but it was far from soft or sweet. "Two cases in as many weeks, and now a third. You're getting quite the reputation."
Jesse stiffened. "No comment." He made to walk away but she stepped closer, preventing him from walking past her.
She lowered her voice. "I want to know what's really going on. And don't pretend there isn't more than what the public knows. People are whispering, and there's the new vigilante too. What do you think of him? Also, is it true that Deuce Black is now a consultant for the 21st precinct homicide?"
Jesse brushed past her and walked away with furious speed. Her relentlessness gnawed at him. She wasn't just chasing headlines- she was digging, really digging for the truth and if she kept pressing, sooner or later, she'd uncover something the police department wasn't ready to explain.
Somewhere else in the city, far from the precinct's buzzing florescent lights, a warehouse hummed with shadows.
Men stood in uneasy silence while a figure paced in the gloom. His face never caught the light, but his voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"You're slipping," Kruger hissed. "Too many eyes on us. Too many accidents, you all are becoming really careless. The Torres girl should've been handled clean, she could've been handled clean. Now the whole city's sniffing."
None of the men dared reply.
Kruger slammed a fist on the table furiously. "Set up a meet with our contact in the D.A.'s office. If Vance can't control his cops, then we control the ones who control them."
The order echoed in the cavernous dark space.
Back at the precinct, Jesse demanded full records from the four Dyneema companies. "I want every employee with access to materials. Every shipment, delivery. Every discrepancy. If nothing is missing, then someone's got to be lying."
The managers of the four companies agreed. Files would be sent tomorrow.
But the night had plans of it's own.
Jesse was home, exhaustion finally pressing him towards sleep, when his phone buzzed. He picked it up, unknown number. He hesitated, then answered.
"Detective White?" He recognized the voice immediately, it was Evelyn. Her voice was tight, rushed and hushed. "It's me-Evelyn Cross, I just found something in Maya's body you need to see. I'm at the morgue. You have to-"
A click.
The line went dead.
Jesse frowned, tied redialling. Went to voicemail. Again. Busy. Again. Disconnected. Something was wrong.
He immediately grabbed his keys, bolting from the apartment.
Across the city, in his dark workshop, Deuce's speakers crackled with the intercepted call. He'd bugged Jesse's phone days ago, a precaution he justified to himself as necessary. Now, Evelyn's panicked words echoed in his ears.
Deuce didn't hesitate. He suited up, pulled his hood low and slid into the night.
The hunt was far from over.
It had only just begun.