Arriving in the unkempt backyard, Tim tossed Jack a shovel and pointed at several patches of darker soil, covered in weeds.
"Carefully dig it up," Jack said, already suspecting what lay beneath.
He dug less than half a meter before the stench hit. Beneath the loosened soil lay a decomposing body.
"Fuck you," Jack muttered in Chinese, halting for a moment.
Tim had also unearthed another grave nearby—this one reduced to bones.
"There are at least four bodies buried here," Tim said grimly. "Forensics will have their work cut out."
His face stayed as flat as stone, but the fury burning in his eyes betrayed his composure.
"Jack," Tim asked suddenly, switching off the body camera on his chest, "can I trust you?"
Jack let out a slow breath. Finally—the kind of American TV world I'm familiar with.
"Actually, I was about to ask you the same thing."
"I don't believe in that cliché about him rotting in jail," Tim said coldly. "I only believe in God's judgment."
Jack nodded. "Then let's send him to see God. This bastard's tarnished the Marines' reputation."
Tim's fists clenched. As a Marine veteran, his rage ran deep.
"Take John with us," Jack suggested. "He's not a saint—just too kind for his own good. He needs to face reality, or kindness will get him killed one day."
Tim hesitated. "Does he know when to shut up? I've got fifteen years left until pension."
"We'll find out soon enough," Jack shrugged.
Back inside, the others were huddled around a photograph Hannah had found. Jack cleared his throat.
"We dug up at least four unidentified bodies in the backyard."
Angela swore loudly, unleashing a storm of expletives.
Tim gestured for everyone to switch off their body cams. "Listen—if we bring this bastard in alive, the DA will cut a deal. He'll trade names of the victims for reduced charges. That's how it works."
John's eyes widened in disbelief. "You mean… he could walk free?"
Angela explained bitterly, "The Green River Killer made the same deal. Even California's 'death penalty' is just words. The Grim Sleeper? Died of old age in prison. Ramirez? Married a fan and lived out decades behind bars."
Hannah's hands shook as she threw the photo at Tim. "I won't let him walk away alive."
Jack caught her wrist, steadying her anger before it consumed her.
Tim studied the photo. It showed a small cabin against the backdrop of a hill.
"What did you find?" he asked.
John stepped forward. "That's Baldwin Mountain, edge of Kenneth Hahn State Park. I've been there before—with Lucy. It's deserted. He could be using it as a hideout."
Angela checked with command. "Confirmed. Angus Lucius owns a cabin up there."
Tim pocketed the photo. "That conversation just now never happened. Jack, Hannah—come with me. Angela, Lucy—hold position and wait for Forensics."
Angela bristled. "What, you don't trust me?"
"You'll be a detective soon," Tim said firmly. "Don't risk it."
Lucy looked ready to argue, but Tim's stern gaze silenced her. Even in care, his tone was iron.
John, after a moment's thought, stepped forward. "Take me. I know the area—and I know what I'm doing."
Tim nodded. "Then let's go."
Two police cars rumbled up a rough forest road toward Kenneth Hahn State Park.
Before they got out, Jack glanced at Hannah. Her fury still burned like wildfire.
"Hannah," he said seriously, "if you can't calm down, I'll ask Tim to leave you in the car."
Her pale blue eyes locked on his, blazing. If looks could kill, Jack would already be ashes.
Then she leaned forward suddenly, burying her face in his chest. She breathed deeply, steadied herself, and finally pulled back.
"I'm fine," she muttered. "Tim won't let me do anything anyway. Just… keep him safe. Don't let anything happen."
Jack nodded, tightening his grip on the shotgun. The serial killer must die.
(End of this chapter)