Detective Colhoun sat in his dimly lit office, the city humming faintly outside. His desk was a mess—case files scattered, notes half-written, a cup of coffee gone cold hours ago. The cassette tape lay beside the recorder, silent now, but its weight felt heavier than anything else in the room.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. He needed to think. Needed to pull everything together.
Michael Cornors.
For years, he had trusted the man. Worked alongside him. He had seen him crack cases, chase down leads, drink cheap coffee in the early hours of the morning like any other detective. And yet—beneath it all—he had been something else entirely.
A killer.
And not just any killer. A careful one. A patient one. Someone who had learned to play the system so well that even Colhoun couldn't find him. And that was the scariest part.
Colhoun reached for a notepad and flipped through his scribbled notes. The timeline. The victims. The inconsistencies. He had spent weeks chasing a shadow, and now, the shadow had a name.
Gregory Wallace—third victim. A silver coin shoved down his throat. Official time of death: Thursday. But Conors had been at the scene before the body was even discovered. That was the first crack in the story. The first time Colhoun had realized something was wrong.
Then there were the other two.
Elaine Carter—second victim. Strangled in her own home. No forced entry. No signs of struggle. The case had seemed clean—almost too clean. A few inconsistencies had lingered in the back of Colhoun's mind, but he had dismissed them.
But there was one detail that had always nagged at him—Elaine Carter had been identified as a woman, but she had been born a man. Had Conors known? Had it mattered? Or was that detail just another red herring in a case already filled with too many of them?
And then there was Raymond Lowe—the first. Beaten to death in an alleyway. At the time, it had seemed like a robbery gone wrong, but now? Now Colhoun saw it for what it was. The beginning of something bigger.
That was what made Conors dangerous. He didn't just kill—he controlled the investigation afterward. He positioned himself in just the right place, making sure the evidence never pointed too strongly in his direction.
The missing traffic camera footage. The canceled evidence requests. The tiny procedural errors that seemed like mistakes but had, in reality, been deliberate.
It was too clean. Too methodical.
And yet—something had gone wrong.
Conors had been taken. Knocked unconscious. Left alive.
By who?
And why?
Colhoun's eyes drifted back to the cassette. His fingers hovered over it.
He had listened to it three times already.
The details of the murders. The past crimes. The cold, matter-of-fact way Conors had spoken about them. But then, at the very end—something else.
"Be... beware of my s..."
Then a thud.
Then silence.
Colhoun leaned forward, staring at the tape as if it might offer him answers.
"Beware of my s...
What had Conors been trying to say?
And more importantly—who had silenced him before he could finish?
Colhoun sighed, running a hand down his face. The case wasn't over. If anything, this was only the beginning.
He needed to retrace his steps.
Because somewhere in all of this—in the bodies, the evidence, the confessions—there was something he was missing.
And he had a sinking feeling that whatever it was...
It was coming for him next.
The knock at his door pulled him out of his thoughts.
Eric stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, his usual easygoing smirk in place. "Got a minute?"
Colhoun gestured to the mess on his desk. "If you can find a clean spot, go for it."
Eric stepped inside, glancing around before finally perching on the edge of a chair. "Figured I should let you know before the paperwork makes it official—I'm heading back to the department."
Colhoun nodded, keeping his expression unreadable. "So the babysitting gig's finally over, huh?"
Eric chuckled. "Guess so. You gonna miss me?"
Colhoun sighed dramatically. "Well, I was getting used to having someone around to grab the bad coffee so I didn't have to." He leaned back, eyeing Eric. "And I suppose you weren't entirely useless."
Eric smirked. "High praise."
Truth was, Eric had been more than just an assistant. He'd been sharp, dependable—even when the case had gone sideways. He had a good head for details, a steady instinct. Colhoun had trusted him, and in this line of work, that wasn't something he gave lightly.
"Seriously," Colhoun said, voice softer now, "you were a damn good partner on this one. I appreciate it."
Eric gave a small nod. "Likewise."
Colhoun reached for his coffee mug, took a sip, grimaced. "Only downside is, I won't have to smell that godawful cologne of yours anymore."
Eric grinned. "You could've just told me if you didn't like it."
"Oh, I did," Colhoun said dryly. "You just kept wearing it out of spite."
Eric stood, giving him a mock salute. "I'll send you a bottle as a parting gift."
Colhoun smirked. "I'd rather you just forget my address."
As Eric headed for the door, Colhoun watched him go, feeling a rare flicker of something close to nostalgia.
The case was technically closed. The department would handle the rest. But the weight of it still sat heavy on Colhoun's chest.
Because something told him—this wasn't it.
Not yet.
---
The morning sun poured through the kitchen window as John and Jane packed the last of their picnic essentials.
The air was filled with the scent of fresh fruit and homemade cookies, and the soft giggles of their little daughter, July, who sat on the floor clutching her favorite stuffed bunny. She had only recently taken her first wobbly steps, and every day since had been an adventure—each movement filled with cautious excitement, her tiny hands reaching for balance, her parents' arms always open to catch her.
Jane fastened the lid on a container of pasta salad, glancing over at John, who was carefully securing the picnic basket. "You know," she mused, "I think I'm more excited than July for this picnic."
John grinned, reaching over to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. "I think you just love the new trolley."
Jane laughed, running a hand over the child trolley they had recently bought. It was sleek, sturdy, and—most importantly—perfect for taking July along on their outings. "Can you blame me? It's a game changer."
John knelt beside July, ruffling her soft curls. "Alright, little lady, ready for your first official picnic?"
July babbled happily, clapping her tiny hands as Jane scooped her up, settling her comfortably into the trolley.
The park was a golden-green expanse of soft grass and towering trees, the scent of fresh earth mingling with the distant aroma of barbecues and blooming flowers. They found a perfect spot beneath a large oak tree, its branches offering a generous shade. John spread out a thick checkered blanket, adding cushions for extra comfort. Jane settled down beside him, her eyes sparkling as she watched July, who was attempting to pull herself up using the side of the trolley.
"Look at her," Jane whispered, resting her head against John's shoulder. "She's so determined."
John chuckled. "She gets that from you."
Jane turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And what does she get from you?"
John pretended to think. "An excellent taste in sandwiches."
Jane rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, absolutely. Let's see if she agrees."
They laid out their food—fresh sandwiches stuffed with turkey and crisp vegetables, golden quiche slices, a refreshing pasta salad, and a bowl of colorful fruits. July's chubby fingers reached out excitedly when Jane held up a tiny strawberry.
"Here you go, sweetheart," Jane cooed, placing it in July's hand.
July examined the fruit with great seriousness before stuffing it into her mouth. Juice dribbled down her chin, and John laughed, wiping it away with a napkin. "Messy eater—definitely your side of the family."
Jane playfully swatted his arm. "Says the man who eats spaghetti like it's a contact sport."
After their meal, they turned to the games. July was still a bit unsteady on her feet, but that didn't stop her from eagerly reaching for the small, colorful ball John rolled her way. She clapped each time it bumped against her tiny hands, her eyes wide with delight.
"She's got potential," John mused. "Give her a few years, and she'll be outrunning us both."
Jane smiled, watching their daughter with a heart full of love. "As long as she always runs toward us, I'll be happy."
As the afternoon stretched on, they nestled together under the tree, flipping through July's favorite picture books. She babbled as if reading along, her small fingers tracing the images with fascination. John wrapped an arm around Jane, pulling her close as the gentle rustling of the leaves created a peaceful backdrop.
As the sun began to dip lower, Jane sighed contentedly. "This was perfect."
John kissed the top of her head. "It really was."
Jane glanced at the trolley, now holding a peacefully napping July. "Best purchase ever," she whispered.
John grinned. "You say that now, but wait till she figures out how to escape from it."
Jane chuckled, resting her head against his shoulder. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."