Pocho didn't go home that night.
He stayed at the station.
Not pacing.
Not yelling.
Just working.
His wife was stable. Wrist set. Bruising treated. No internal bleeding.
She would recover.
That wasn't the point.
The point was that the killer chose not to destroy her.
He controlled the damage.
That meant control.
And control meant calculation.
---
At 2:18 a.m., Pocho sat alone in the interview room.
Vincent Kowalski's file was on the table.
Large build. Former mechanic. Assault charge five years ago. Case dismissed.
Lived inside the seven-mile radius.
Owned a dark truck.
Worked night shifts.
He wasn't new to the board.
He just wasn't strong enough evidence yet.
Harris stepped inside.
"You're reaching," Harris said.
"No."
"We don't have enough."
"We have proximity. Physical match. Work background."
"We don't have proof."
Pocho leaned back.
"We'll get it."
"How?"
Pocho didn't answer directly.
He looked at the clock.
3:04 a.m.
"Bring him in," he said.
"For what?"
"Questioning."
"We already questioned him last week."
"We question him again."
"That's harassment."
"It's pressure."
Harris stared at him.
"You think he'll slip."
"Yes."
"Or you just want someone to hit."
Pocho didn't respond.
That silence answered enough.
---
By 9:40 a.m., Vincent was in the interview room.
He looked annoyed more than scared.
"This is the second time," Vincent said. "You got something or you just bored?"
Pocho sat across from him.
No file on the table this time.
Just eye contact.
"You were near Maple Street last night," Pocho said.
"No."
"We have a witness."
"No, you don't."
"You work nights."
"Yes."
"You handle metal tools."
"Yes."
"You fit the physical description."
"So do half the city."
Pocho leaned forward slightly.
"You ever been inside my house?"
Vincent blinked.
"What?"
"You ever been inside my house?"
"No."
"Think carefully."
Vincent shifted in his seat.
"You're out of line," he said.
"Answer the question."
"No."
Pocho stared at him for a long time.
Long enough to make it uncomfortable.
Vincent broke eye contact first.
"Look," Vincent said, "I didn't hurt anyone. I fix engines. That's it."
Pocho stood up suddenly.
Chair scraped across the floor.
"You think this is a game?" Pocho said quietly.
Vincent leaned back slightly.
"I didn't do anything."
Pocho walked to the door.
Paused.
Turned back.
"You're not as smart as you think," he said.
Then he left the room.
---
Harris caught up with him in the hallway.
"What was that?" Harris asked.
"Testing him."
"That wasn't testing. That was intimidation."
"He didn't crack."
"Because he might not be the guy."
Pocho stopped walking.
"He is."
"You don't know that."
Pocho didn't argue.
He just kept walking.
---
By afternoon, Pocho made another decision.
He authorized surveillance on Vincent without full clearance.
Two patrol units.
Unmarked.
Shift rotations.
Morrison wasn't informed immediately.
That was deliberate.
Harris noticed.
"You didn't run this up," Harris said.
"No."
"You're stepping outside procedure."
"Yes."
"This is how mistakes happen."
"No," Pocho replied calmly. "This is how pressure works."
Harris shook his head.
"You're not thinking straight."
"I am."
But the truth was different.
He wasn't thinking straight.
He was thinking narrow.
Focused.
Locked in.
---
That night, surveillance reported nothing unusual.
Vincent went to work.
Came home.
Watched TV.
Slept.
No late-night movement.
No suspicious behavior.
At 1:22 a.m., Pocho received a call.
Unknown number.
He answered immediately.
"You look tired," the killer said.
Pocho didn't speak.
"You're chasing the wrong man."
Silence.
"You want to punish someone," the voice continued. "You want control back."
"You hurt my wife," Pocho said.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you don't stop."
Pocho didn't raise his voice.
"You think this changes anything?" he asked.
"It already did."
Pause.
"You're cutting corners," the killer said.
Pocho felt something cold settle in his chest.
"You're watching the wrong door."
Click.
The line went dead.
Pocho lowered the phone slowly.
He didn't yell.
He didn't slam it down.
He just understood something.
The killer knew about the surveillance.
Which meant one of two things:
He was watching Vincent too.
Or Vincent wasn't him.
And Pocho had just shown his hand.
For the first time, doubt slipped in.
But instead of pulling back —
He doubled down.