The patrol car hummed lowly, headlights casting their steady glow on the damp city streets. Brendon leaned back in the passenger seat, fingers absently drumming against the cool steel of his sidearm. Beside him, Judith gripped the wheel, navigating them through the familiar lanes of Ravensfield. They had just wrapped up a brief field visit, Brendon intending to return to the station for a night of paperwork and silent reflection.
His phone buzzed.
Brendon glanced down, lifting the device to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Brendon," came Robert's voice—low, serious. "Can you to swing by Red Birch Lane? Something's come up."
Brendon frowned. "Red Birch Lane? That's where you went to settle the issue right? What happened?"
"A disturbance, turned… something more. Just get here."
The call ended.
Judith shot him a sideways glance. "Change of plan?"
Brendon nodded. "Red Birch. Robert asks for a little help."
Judith didn't say anything more, just pulled the wheel hard left at the next intersection, flicking on the lights briefly to carve a path through late-evening traffic.
---
The air shifted as they neared Red Birch Lane. Brendon felt it — something off, something heavier than a domestic squabble.
Red Birch was a tightly packed neighborhood nestled between two commercial districts. Rows of apartment buildings leaned into each other like tired sentinels, their paint peeling, balconies cluttered with old bicycles and hanging laundry. The buildings, no more than three stories high, were too close together. The kind of place where secrets echoed through thin walls, and grudges fermented.
They pulled up to a curb outside a gray-and-amber apartment block with a rusted fire escape zigzagging down the side.
Robert was already waiting outside, hands on his hips, eyes scanning the upper floors. He turned when he heard the car, lifting a hand.
Brendon stepped out. "You called me over for a neighbor quarrel?"
Robert offered a grim smile. "I knew that'd be your first line."
Judith leaned against the car, arms crossed but alert.
Robert gestured to the building. "The apartment owner called. Two guys in Unit 2B and 2C were shouting each other's heads off. Well it started over a missing package."
Brendon raised an eyebrow. "Missing package?"
"Guy in 2C ordered something. Delivery guy left it at his door. He wasn't home, came back twenty minutes later, and it was gone. He figures the guy in 2B took it. Apparently, they've had issues before — petty vandalism, loud music, stuff going missing. Bad blood."
Brendon folded his arms. "So again… you needed me here for this?"
Robert shook his head and motioned toward the side entrance of the building. "That's not why I called. Follow me."
They entered a narrow hallway, the floor creaking beneath their steps. The scent of mildew and oil filled the air. The overhead light flickered uncertainly. Robert led them to a metal door at the end of the hallway — unmarked, dented. A mop leaned against the wall beside it, long forgotten.
Robert pulled a key out of his pocket. "Manager gave me access to the building's storage. Figured I'd do a quick sweep before talking to either tenant."
He opened the door, revealing a narrow staircase descending into the basement.
Brendon felt it the moment he stepped in — cold, stale air pressing against his skin.
They descended.
The basement was cluttered: broken chairs, old mattresses, cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly. One flickering bulb swung from the ceiling. Rats, or perhaps just echoes, rustled behind the walls.
Robert led them to the back corner. A row of dusty lockers stood against the wall, most of them ajar, some locked with old, rusted padlocks. On top of one, wrapped in a crumpled plastic sheet, was a knife.
Brendon stepped closer. The blade was eight inches long, double-edged, stained dark red near the hilt.
"Was it... like this when you found it?" he asked.
Robert nodded. "Didn't touch it. Figured it could be important."
Brendon turned to Judith. "Secure the perimeter. Don't let anyone leave the building."
Judith gave a sharp nod and headed back upstairs.
Brendon took out his phone, snapped a photo of the blade, and sent it to the RTPD Homicide Core team group. Then he called.
"Sofie."
"Brendon," came her calm voice, slightly distant — probably still in the archives or IT lab.
"Need a cross-reference. A knife, found at Red Birch. Sending you a photo now. See if you can match it to the one from the 'TRIAL_ONE.MP4' footage."
There was a pause.
"I'll get on it," she replied.
Before Brendon could hang up, a buzz echoed from Robert's phone. He pulled it out, frowned. "Message from Sofie."
Brendon's phone lit up with the same notification.
[Attachment: IMG_4027.JPG]
Sofie: Whiteboard from our department. I have found out about that weird symbol, through Whitney's social media. But omething's bothering me about the annotations though. I am keep getting a name constantly. You'll see.
Brendon opened the image. The whiteboard was cluttered — handwritten notes, bullet points, connections drawn in red and green marker. Near the corner, a name was written — Kelvin Richardson.
"Damn," Brendon muttered. "She's already chasing the lead I gave."
Robert looked at the board, "Huh? What lead?"
"I and Judith found an interesting carving in the Ashwood Pines. It's about that." Brendon replied without paying much attention.
He turned to Robert. "Get the Homicide Forensics team here, immediately. Full sweep. That means Paul, Leigh, even Darnell. We're treating this as a crime scene."
Robert nodded and walked off to make the calls.
---
While waiting, Brendon checked in with the building's manager, a wiry man in his sixties who looked more interested in TV dinners than tenant drama.
"You seen anything odd lately?" Brendon asked him.
The man shrugged. "Odd's relative around here. Loud folks, broken stuff, complaints about stolen deliveries, yeah. But murder? Nah. Though… that guy in 2B? He's been twitchier than usual lately."
Brendon made a note of that.
Back at the scene, the Homicide Forensics team began arriving. Paul nodded in quiet understanding the moment he saw the blade. Leigh knelt to photograph and mark the scene, her gloved hands moving with precision. Darnell began a floor-to-ceiling dusting and UV sweep.
Judith rejoined them.
"Spoke with the two men," she said. "2C — Brandon Vell — was furious. Claims he knows the guy next door took it. 2B — Jeremiah Kane—denies it. Said he was in the lobby when the package went missing, even waved to the mail guy."
"And his alibi?" Brendon asked.
"Lobby cam's busted. So we'll have to go with door-to-door interviews."
Brendon looked around the basement again. A weapon dumped in a shared storage space didn't scream "calculated." It screamed panic. Impulse. Someone hiding something fast and stupid.
But something else gnawed at him.
"Robert," Brendon said suddenly. "You said the package was the source of the fight, right?"
"Yeah."
"Did we check what the package was?"
Robert blinked. "No… I didn't think to — wait. That's a good point."
Brendon motioned for Judith. "See if we can get the delivery info. Brandon Vell's order records—what he was expecting."
While she got on the phone with the delivery service, Brendon paced the basement again. Why it was here? Someone left it here. Why not throw it in the dumpster? In the sewer? Why keep it within the building?
Unless…
Unless they needed to retrieve it later.
---
Ten minutes later, Judith returned.
"It was a book," she said, frowning.
"A... book?" Brendon repeated.
She nodded. "A rare out-of-print psychology book. Dissecting the Shadow Mind. Academic stuff. Was shipped from an independent seller in Larchwood."
Robert tilted his head. "That's oddly specific. Is he a book collector?"
Judith denied, "Doesn't seem like one."
Brendon narrowed his eyes.
"So what?" Judith asked. "This guy... Brandon just ordered an old rare listing that somehow feels suspicious?"
"Maybe," Brendon said, slowly. "Or maybe someone was looking for it… and Brandon just happened to buy it."
Robert exhaled. "So the package theft might've been a cover. An excuse to retrieve the knife or plant it."
"Or both," Brendon muttered.
The basement door creaked behind them as Darnell re-entered. "We found faint traces of blood leading to Locker #9."
He handed Brendon a swab report.
Blood type: B-negative.
Brendon looked to Paul. "That matches?"
Paul nodded. "Yes indeed."
"And now," Brendon said slowly, "we might have the blade that killed her."
---
As they sealed off the basement and began lifting forensic samples, Brendon felt the noose tightening. Not around their own case — no, that was expanding — but around the killer. Their moves were becoming clumsy. Desperate.
Robert leaned over and whispered, "We're getting close after a long time, huh?"
Brendon stared at the bloodied blade, then the dim exit that led to the outside alley. "Close enough to smell the smoke," he said. "But the fire's still hiding."