Chapter 12: On The Trail

Anya sat at her desk, tapping her pen on the pile of papers she didn't want to fill out. Paperwork was, hands down, the worst part of her job. The case was a drunken brawl that ended with one man almost being stabbed to death. The one responsible admitted to the deed after sobering up the following morning. George was just in the interrogation room getting a signed confession.

It still didn't stop her fellow detectives from making jokes all morning about making sure a magician hadn't swapped bodies at the last second or making sure the whole thing wasn't the result of alien experimentation. Word had gotten out about her third-party theory with the Peers' case and how she had nothing to show for it. Now she was the laughing stock of the whole precinct. She didn't care; the point of her job was to catch murderers, not make friends. The jokes didn't stop her from feeling there was a third-party involved in her other cases as well—even if she couldn't prove it.

Unfortunately, she still had nothing backing her theory. The Peers' case was at a dead end, and the Samson Thomas murder wasn't much better. She was no closer to finding Samson's murderer than when the man was found dead on his apartment floor. Digging into his past got them nowhere. Samson wasn't a saint, but he had no record and no known enemies. Friends and family were non-existent. The neighbors didn't tell them much beyond Samson being a quiet man who kept to himself. Their only hope was to look at his clients. No one stood out; none of his clients had a record nor a motive to kill him. Luther Creed was the only one she could think of, but he mysteriously vanished following his “anonymous" tip. They checked, and so far as they could tell, he hadn't left the city. Unfortunately, her C.O. told her and her partner to hold off on tracking him down until they had something concrete to hold on him. “Your case is thin enough without you showing your hand too soon," he said. Anya tried to argue that they should at least confirm the man was still alive, but the captain wasn't having it.

Anya also mentioned looking at the files of the Price case. Given the reason Luther hired Samson and the pictures of David, there had to be a connection. She received a very credible threat to her employment if she went anywhere near it. Thanks to her third-party theory, Pepper Peers' lawyer was forming a stable defense by claiming Pepper was coerced. No one wanted Anya blowing open their cases with loose theories, so Anya was forced to work with what little evidence they did have, which she was certain was planted.

Someone wanted them to find those pictures in the briefcase, and she had to find out why. Thinking about it made her line the pictures up on her desk and look over them again. “Fuck it," she muttered before clearing space on her desk for the photos. The paperwork wasn't going anywhere; it could be done of later. She carefully examined each one and cross-referenced its time stamp with the information they had. She had already viewed the photos a half-dozen times, but she was determined to find something. There was something in these photos. They were purposely left behind to tell them something, but that could also inadvertently reveal the killer's true intentions. Samson was just a pawn in a much larger game; his death was meant to keep him from complicating matters. All she needed was one clue, one inconsistency, to blow everything wide open.

She eventually came to the photo of David and Pepper holding hands. It was sitting next to another picture showing David holding hands with Lori. Seeing them next to each other, something about the two photos seemed off. She picked up the two pictures and compared them side-by-side.

Except for the female David was holding hands with, the pictures were identical right down to the leaves blowing in the background. She would have the photos scanned to be certain, but what were the odds Samson managed to take two different pictures on two different occasions from the exact same place at the same time of day? Now that she noticed it, even David's outfit was the same. Her jaw dropped and she swore under her breath. She was so focused on the husky's social life, she ignored everything else.

The only question now was: which picture was the real one?

“Hey, Anya, whatcha doing?"

Anya whirled around to see Paul Jareau standing over her, flashing a friendly smile.

“Oh, hey. I was just going over these pictures from a case. What are you up to?"

Jareau shrugged. “Just stretching my legs for a bit. You seemed pretty distracted, so I figured I'd check on you. Anyway, you look busy, so I'll get out of  your hair."

Anya grabbed his arm. She needed a question answered and Jareau was the only one available. George was currently questioning a suspect, and she didn't want to wait until he came back. “Wait, Jareau, quick question: If you wanted to frame someone for a murder, how would you do it?"

The wolf chuckled and smiled, but his ears had dropped. There was an uneasy look in his eyes. “Wow, Corázon, you really need to work on your jokes. Good effort though."

“I'm not joking. If you wanted to frame someone, how would you do it?"

Jareau checked over his shoulder before pulling up a chair. He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “What's going on? You think there's a crooked cop in the precinct?"

“No," Anya said quickly. The thought had crossed her mind, but she knew exactly what would happen if she started screaming “crooked cop" without solid evidence. “I just have a feeling about a case I'm working right now. I think someone's being framed for a murder they didn't commit."

The look in Jareau's eyes showed he wasn't buying it, but he nodded and said, “You know the only way we can make the charge stick is when we have motive and opportunity. If it were me, I'd make sure the evidence was undeniable. As long as they have a reason and no alibi, it's hard to prove innocence."

“Okay. But what if that's not enough? What would you do then?"

He scratched the back of his head, his tail ducking underneath his seat. “These questions are making me a little uncomfortable, Anya. What's this about? I don't wanna be 'that guy,' but I'd rather not help you dig yourself into a deeper hole."

“I already told you what this is about: Someone is trying to set someone else up, but I need to figure out how they're doing it before I can say anything. And don't worry about me. I just need someone to bounce ideas off of. If anything, I hope I'm wrong."

He sighed and passed a hand over his face. He checked to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them before saying, “All right. The best way to do it is to pin it on someone no one would doubt. If people already think the perp's a scumbag, they wouldn't be surprised to hear they killed someone. The evidence will always be a little shoddy, so the real trick is making sure no one questions it."

“Okay, in that sense, you would dig into that person's life and uproot their dirtiest secrets. But what if that isn't enough?" Anya asked. “No one's a saint, but if you don't have a record, it's hard to be painted as the bad guy."

“True. If there's not enough dirt, you'll have to make some up."

“That could work, but we're not talking about passing rumors in the halls. You can make shit up all day long, but you'll need some kind of physical evidence or someone else backing it, right?"

Jareau's ears dropped further. “This is starting to sound like some kind of crazy conspiracy."

“I know, I know. Just humor me a little longer."

“Fuck me. What have I gotten into?" he mumbled. Anya's brow rose. Seeing the look on her face, the wolf quickly cleared his throat and said, “I-I guess if you really had to prove something, it would be small stuff. Little things that aren't necessarily against the law, but could make people see you differently."

“Like messing around on your girlfriend," Anya said more to herself than the wolf. Noticing he was still sitting there, she quickly added, “Thanks, Jareau, you've been a big help."

Jareau didn't hesitate to get away from her. She wasn't put off by it. He probably didn't want anyone thinking he was getting ideas from her. It didn't matter what the wolf thought anyway; she'd got what she wanted.

David was being set up after all. It all made sense; the witness statements, the pictures, it was all to make David look like a violent asshole so no one would think twice to hear he was being charged with murder. It wouldn't surprise her to learn he had nothing to do with Lori's death either. She and her partner had come to the same conclusion the day they questioned David. Back then it felt like a leap because they only had a hunch backing it, but with these fabricated photos, that was no longer the case. It had to be Luther Creed who was behind it all. He told them about Samson, and had been pushing David at her since they met, but why? Why go through all this trouble to frame one anthro? Did it have something to do with the Price case? Luther did mention that David was being accused of murdering his girlfriend, but what's pinning another body on David supposed to prove? Then there was Oliver Peers. Luther was convinced David was involved despite it being an airtight case. Something was missing. There was a crucial piece of the puzzle she didn't have.

Without access to the case files, questioning Luther was the only way to get answers. But Luther wouldn't say anything to incriminate himself, and there was nothing actually proving his involvement. There was nothing proving he had knowledge of the fake photos, and he had no reason to kill Samson Thomas.

With a loud groan, she dropped her head onto her desk. This whole thing was making her head hurt. Solving this case felt like solving a rubix cube. Every time she lined up the colors on one side, the other sides were all jumbled up. She loved puzzles as a child, but just once she wished everything could be simple and straightforward.

Anya's cell started vibrating across the desk. Her first instinct was to ignore it, but she had a strong feeling that she had to answer that phone. “Detective Corázon."

“Detective? It's David."

Anya sat up in her seat. David Somerson? What was he calling her for? It didn't matter, so long as she could get information out of him. “What's going on, David?"

David took a deep breath on the other line. “I-I need to talk to you. I need to warn you. Someone is going to kill Brent Caldwell."

Brent Caldwell? If Anya remembered correctly, Luther Creed had also mentioned a Brent Caldwell. “How do you know that?"

There was no answer.

“David? David, are you still there?" Anya asked.

“Y-yeah. I'm still here. Listen, I know this sounds crazy—even I can't believe it. But I know what I'm talking about."

“It's okay, David. I believe you, but I do need more to go on. Do you know who's going to kill him?" She only half-believed him, but she wasn't about to write him off. She couldn't roll the dice with someone's life, but she was still trying to clean up the mess from the last “anonymous" tip. David had no reason to reach out to her; he could have called anyone else.

“I can't tell you right now. Just know that someone is going after him. You need to—"

“Mr. Somerson, I don't take orders from you," Anya interjected, her voice rising. “And I'm getting tired of people telling me how to do my job. Now you still haven't told me how you know about—"

“Dammit, there's no time!"

Anya froze. Even over the phone, she could hear the desperation in his voice. There would be no persuading him, and the last thing she needed was him playing vigilante. She sighed and chewed on the end of her pen. She was crazy to buy into this—even knowing David was being set up, she couldn't fully trust him. But her gut was telling her it was the right thing to do. Besides, if Luther Creed also mentioned Brent Caldwell, he was someone they needed to question. “All right, David. Where is he?" she asked, running through her mind ways to explain this to her partner.

“I don't know where he lives, but he owns the department store near the corner of Belmont and 14^th street."

“We'll check it out, but afterwards I want to—"

“Thanks, Detective. Look, I'll explain everything later, but right now you have to focus on stopping Brent's murder."

“Wait, hold on. David!"

It was too late. The distinct click she heard said David was no longer on the phone. She slammed the phone on her desk and massaged her temples. This was a mess. Someone they liked for a homicide just called in a tip about someone being threatened. Her mind said David helped plan the murder but now had cold feet. Her hunch told a different story. It said David was just another piece in a deadly game.

Ignoring her headache, she snatched her jacket off the back of her seat and made for her car. She could call George on the way there and tell him where she had gone. She almost ran into her partner in the hall. “Oh, good. Now I don't have to call you. I just got a strange call from David Somerson. He claims someone named Brent Caldwell is going to die."

George's ears rose. “Brent Caldwell? Why does that name sound familiar?"

“Luther Creed," Anya said as she headed for the door. “And that's not even half of what I've learned. I'll fill you in on the way. I'm not sure what's going on, but after we find Brent, I want to have a long talk with David."

****

Anya had never visited Belmont street before, but upon arriving, she knew why. All of the stores there she could easily access from another location closer to her place. The store Brent Caldwell was supposed to own was the largest store, the only other buildings were a convenience store and gas station, a supermarket, and a laundromat. She looked up at the store front as George pulled into the store's parking lot. The large windows were covered in various colorful advertisements, and the front of the building had the words Caldwell Appliances over the front of the store. The store name said “appliances", but just from the entrance it was easy to see they sold a little bit of everything.

“So you think Luther Creed has cooked up something with Brent Caldwell and that's why he's next on the list?" George asked.

“It's the only explanation that makes sense," Anya replied. “Oliver Peers, Samson Thomas, Brent Caldwell, they all have a connection to David Somerson and Luther Creed. Now two of the three are dead, and third apparently has a hit out on him. That can't be a coincidence." She looked at the store again. “This reminds me I need to look for a new microwave. Think the owner'll give us a discount for saving his life?"

George nudged her. “Is now really the time for jokes?"

“Who told you I was joking?" Anya replied with a smirk. She was joking, but it was to calm her nerves. She could see from the way George's ears were raised and how stiffly he held his tail that he was on edge too. All they had to go on was that someone was going to try and kill a person they'd never met. David didn't tell them when or how. Tense was an understatement.

The moment they entered the store, they were greeted by a male squirrel standing by the front door. He wore a brightly-colored name tag that read “Bill" and stood out against his dark clothes and rust-colored fur. He stood slightly hunched over as if trying to make himself appear smaller and conceal his presence. If Anya had to guess, Bill didn't care much for his job.

“Hello, and welcome to Caldwell Appliances," the squirrel said in a chipper voice. “We are having a sale today on—"

“I don't mean to interrupt," George said, flashing his badge. The squirrel stiffened at the sight of the badge bringing Anya's radar up. “But I'm Detective George Watson, this is my partner, Detective Anya Corázon. We need to speak to the store owner, Brent Caldwell. Is he here?"

The squirrel's face brightened, but he still held his tail stiffly behind him. “Oh…Well, Brent's in the back. I can take you to him." As he led the two detectives toward the back of the store, he repeatedly glanced over his shoulder.

“You do know we're not here for you," Anya finally said. The squirrel's nervous attitude was beginning to make her paranoid. She was already on edge due to the threat of an unknown assailant. The last thing she needed was him doing something stupid. She would've marked him as a potential suspect except he wasn't the least bit conspicuous. She couldn't explain it, but she knew whoever they were looking for had much stronger nerves. “And for future reference, if you do something illegal, you shouldn't act nervous around the cops."

“Oh, right. Sorry. It's just my girlfriend threatened to call the cops on me—"

“Bill, you really should just shut up," George said.

Bill quickly fell silent, and Anya gave her partner an appreciative look.

Just as they reached the end of the aisle, someone yelled, “You're sorry? I don't give a shit if you're sorry!"

Anya and George's hands flew to their sides as they turned to see a few aisles down, a white-furred fennec yelling at a human woman with pale skin and dark hair. The fennec didn't appear much older than Anya, and he had the look of an uptight business person. The woman appeared old enough to be the fennec's mother, yet she cowered under the fennec's rage like a child being scolded by an angry parent. At their feet lay a broken lamp and likely the source of the fennec's anger. Both Detectives relaxed and lowered their hands.

“Um…that's Brent," Bill said, pointing. He wore an expression on his face that screamed he didn't want to get any closer and invite his boss' wrath.

“Thanks, Bill. We'll take it from here," George said.

The squirrel looked all too happy to get away either to avoid his boss or because of whatever crimes he committed. Anya assumed it was a mixture of both.

She tapped her partner on the shoulder and whispered, “Why don't you talk to Brent, and I'll speak to the woman. We might get more if we talk to his employees."

George nodded and approached the pair while Anya hung back to avoid suspicion, pretending to examine a box of light bulbs.

Anya caught an earful of Brent's talking to. The woman was called every form of clumsy in the book, and a few things Anya hadn't even heard of.

“If this is how he treats his employees, we'll have our work cut out for us," she thought.

Brent Caldwell finished his verbal assault by the time George reached them. Anya couldn't hear what was being said, but the fennec's attitude was noticeably different from before. The woman just stood there with her head bowed. Eventually George was led away toward the back of the store.

After being left alone, the woman walked away wiping her face on her sleeve. Anya quickly approached her. The woman wore a nametag similar to Bill's that read “Rose." Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were wet from crying. She jumped a little when Anya tapped her on the shoulder.

Rose quickly wiped her face again and straightened her posture. It did little to hide how upset she was. “I-I'm sorry, but I really have to clean up—" Rose began.

Anya flashed her badge, and the woman fell silent. “This will just take a moment. We can talk why you clean up if you want. My name is Detective Corázon, I'd like to ask you a few questions. Is your boss always that angry?"

Rose seemed to relax when Anya mentioned she didn't need to put her work on hold. She nodded and started walking again. “Mr. Caldwell? Oh, no. He only gets upset when we mess up."

“It still doesn't give him the right to yell at you like that."

“Well, it was my fault. It's not the first time I've broken something, and he's warned me before to be more careful. He's normally pretty understanding, but patience only goes so far," she added with a weak chuckle.

“You're awfully quick to defend him," Anya said in what she hoped wasn't a judgmental tone. “I promise you, if your worried you'll get fired for saying something, don't be. I won't tell anyone."

“Yeah? Stephanie spoke against Mr. Caldwell, and look where it got her."

This Stephanie sounded like someone Anya should pay attention to. Now she just needed to keep Rose talking without tipping her off. “What happened with Stephanie?"

“She said something about Mr. Caldwell being a sneaky asshole. He never said anything, but there were rumors going around that she was gonna be demoted. She quit after that. I guess she thought being eye candy made her indispensable,"  she finished with a condescending smile. They reached a door at the back of the store which turned out to be a maintenance closet. Rose grabbed the cleaning cart and wheeled it back to the broken lamp.

“Sounds like you don't like Stephanie much," Anya said. “Was she that bad?"

The smile dropped from Rose's face. “Oh, no, no. It's not that she was hard to work with or anything. She was good at her job even though we know she got by more on her looks than her skills. It's just she was always hitting on David even though she knew he had a girlfriend. Anyone who tries to make a guy cheat is not okay in my book."

Anya's brow rose. Rose couldn't mean that David. “You mean, David Somerson? He works here?"

“No, Mr. Caldwell fired him a while ago. I'm surprised it took so long after David attacked him with a stapler."

“Hold on. David attacked Brent?"

Rose took a broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the broken glass. Someone walked by and she became quiet. Once the person was out of earshot she spoke again in a low voice. “Mr. Caldwell was saying all kinds of nasty things about David's girlfriend after she died. David eventually got sick of it and jumped on him. The doctors had to pull six staples out of his head."

Anya whistled. “Sounds like David was pretty pissed off."

“I would be, too, if someone spoke about my husband like that after he died. I still can't believe Mr. Caldwell said those things. Normally, Mr. Caldwell doesn't care about our personal lives. He always says he doesn't care so long as we don't bring our drama to work."

Anya nodded and wrote everything down in her notepad. David never mentioned he used to work for the guy he's trying to save nor that he attacked Brent before. It was Rose's explanation that really got her wondering, though. What made Brent suddenly take an interest in David's social life? What if Brent was in on the conspiracy? It seemed like a stretch, though. What could Brent possibly gain from selling out one of his employees? Whether the fennec was in on it or not, it bothered her that he purposely provoked someone accused of murder.

“What about David's relationship with Stephanie?" Anya asked. “Did those two hang out a lot?"

Rose leaned against the cart and shrugged. “I've don't meet with co-workers outside of work, so I don't know. There were rumors saying they hooked up in secret, but I don't buy it. David never struck me as the cheating type; Stephanie all but threw herself at him, but he never flirted back."

“I see. Thank you for your time."

“Sure thing. Can I ask: What's this about?"

“Oh, nothing. Just following up on an investigation."

Rose nodded and left Anya to her devices.

What Anya had learned was definitely surprising. Jareau had called it. This was turning into a conspiracy. Was she overthinking things, or was the situation really as outrageous as it seemed? Anya wasn't sure what was true anymore, but she intended to find out.

First she needed to confirm Rose's story. The woman struck Anya as a bit of a gossip, and it was easy for rumors to be blown out of proportion. She went around the store, questioning other employees. All of them corroborated Rose's story with a few twists. Brent was always labeled as a fair boss until an employee did something wrong. No one in particular hated him or wanted to harm him except for David Somerson. Brent provoked David into attacking him, yet no one had anything bad to say about David before the incident. Many of them also claimed David and Stephanie were an item although no one had ever caught them together.

The whole thing was looking more and more like a crazy conspiracy. It bothered her every time she heard the story re-told. No one said the exact same thing, but it still sounded rehearsed. If Brent was in on it, he could make his employees spread the rumors. After David was fired and another employee had to quit, everyone saw where defiance would lead. No one would question it if they wanted to keep their jobs. The only way to get the truth was to talk to Stephanie and hope she wasn't too disgruntled to fudge the story just to make her boss look bad.

“Why do you care so much about this guy?" her mind asked.

“Someone's gotta stand up for him." She told herself. “I just don't feel like he's the kind of guy everyone says he is. It's a shame that anyone who isn't against him doesn't seem to give a damn."

“Well, someone out there gives a damn. These bodies aren't piling up by accident."

That was the crucial clue that seemed to elude her. Even after talking to everyone, she still had no idea who the mystery third-party could be. Stephanie was the only suspect, yet Anya didn't feel she was behind it all. If Stephanie truly wanted to get Brent, she would've done it before she was fired when she had better access to him.

Anya went back to the car and found her partner already sitting in the passenger seat. She was grateful not to be alone with her thoughts as she climbed in next to him.

“I learned some pretty interesting things on my end," she said as she started the engine and began to drive out of the parking lot. “None of the employees seem to want their boss dead although it turns out David and Mr. Caldwell don't get along. There was only one person who stood up for David, an ex-employee named Stephanie Lodes. I think we should pay her a visit."

“I agree. Brent mentioned that she made threats before quitting her job. Even gave me her last known address. He also told me how Somerson attacked him."

“Did he tell you how he provoked him?" Anya asked. “I asked around, and apparently Brent doesn't like to know his employee's personal business, but David's life suddenly became fair game. Makes you wonder what made him take a sudden interest in David." She drove the SUV across the street to the laundromat's parking lot and shut off the engine.

“Anya, what are you doing?" George asked.

“I wanna watch Brent for a while and see what happens because something's off. David is convinced someone is going to kill Brent Caldwell, but no one except David seems to have a grudge against the guy."

“Which tells us David probably orchestrated the whole thing, and now he wants to bow out. What about Stephanie Lodes?"

“If she really wanted Brent dead, she would've done it by now. Besides, I'm starting to get the feeling everyone's pointing fingers because they don't know what else to say."

“Anya, this is starting to sound like when Luther Creed came in with his 'anonymous' tip," George said. “Are you sure David isn't trying the same stunt?"

Anya stared across the street and didn't respond. She had thought of that, but somehow she knew that wasn't the case. Another gut feeling. It was beginning to get on her nerves. She trusted her instincts just fine, but she also preferred hard facts to theories. Anyone could make up a story without anything backing it.

George sighed and leaned back in his seat. “I don't like this, partner. This'll go a lot faster if we make Somerson tell us where he's getting his information. We don't know if the threat on Brent's life is credible, and David didn't give us anything more specific. If he really wanted to save his former boss, he'd have given us more to go on."

Anya was again quiet. Her mind was flooding with theories. George didn't say it, but Anya was certain he believed the husky was guilty. Which meant his judgment in the matter was compromised.

It didn't take long before Brent walked out of the store with a large smile on his face and a skip to his step. He climbed into a navy sedan parked near the front of the store and drove down the street.

“That's odd. Where's he going so early in the afternoon?" Anya asked.

“Probably to lunch."

“Well, let's make sure he comes back," Anya said as she started the SUV's engine.

****

Anya parked several car lengths behind Brent once he stopped his vehicle. The fennec didn't seem to realize he had been followed. If he had noticed, he hid it well. He drove straight to his destination, never stopping. He climbed out of the car and crossed the street. Anya and George followed his path from the relative secrecy of the SUV.

It seemed he had driven to a residential neighborhood. There were nothing but brick houses lining both sides of the street. Brent waltzed right up the stairs of the house directly across from where he parked. He checked over his shoulder as he fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the front door, disappearing inside the house.

“I guess he wanted to have a really private lunch," Anya said. “It's likely he forgot something at home and came to pick it up."

George leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “I don't know. That smile on his face wasn't the look of someone who had forgotten something. You take first shift and wake me if anything changes."

They sat there until the sun went down and the streetlights came on. Several cars came by and dropped off passengers who went to every other house but the one the detectives were watching. During that time, Anya sat patiently, giving her undivided attention to Brent's place. Not once had a window been opened, anyone came or left, or a curtain moved. George woke from his nap a few times and offered to take over, but Anya refused. This whole thing was her idea and they were going to catch hell from their C.O. once he found out; it wouldn't be fair to make her partner do any of the work. Both of their cells rang in irregular intervals. Anya didn't dare check to see who it was—already knowing it was likely the captain demanding to know why she and her partner were AWOL. A few times George answered his phone and it turned out to be his wife, Jill.

At least George wanted her to believe that. Anya never mentioned it, but she could hear a male's voice on the phone although she had no idea what was being said.

The sun had set, street lamps had turned on, and many cars came through to drop off tired people coming home from work. The house Brent disappeared into still showed no signs of movement. More time passed, and still nothing. After noticing yet another family come home to settle in for the night, Anya sighed and stretched as best she could within the confines of her car. Stakeouts were the second worst part of her job. It was no different to her than watching paint dry. She took one last glance at the dark windows of the house they had been watching, her imagination beginning to take over to alleviate her boredom.

Maybe Brent knew he was being followed and was watching them from the dark confines of his house, or maybe he slipped out the back. Either way, he had to be up to something, there hadn't been any signs of movement since they parked outside his house.

Anya sat up in her seat as her last thought replayed in her mind. She looked at her watch. It was a little after 10 P.M.

“Something wrong?" George asked.

“Yeah, there is. The street lamps came on hours ago, but the lights in the house are still off."

“You're right. We should've seen some signs of movement by now. Think we should check it out?"

Anya nodded and followed her partner to the front of the house. They watched carefully for any signs of movement as they approached, but the house remained still. The front door was, unsurprisingly, locked. George pressed his ear against the door and said he couldn't hear anything. Anya trusted his judgment and the pair went around the side to check the rest of the house. The curtains were drawn on all of the windows and none of them had been broken or left open. The back door was the same way. Anya decided to act on a hunch and tried the door to see if it was locked. The door swung open silently as soon as Anya turned the knob.  

Anya's stomach tightened. The lights were off, the back door was unlocked, and the house was dead silent. Brent either slipped out the back or something went wrong. The tense look on George's face and the way his ears had risen said he thought the same thing. Holding one hand on her pistol, Anya pulled out her flashlight and stepped over the threshold.

The first thing they saw was a large human male laying on the floor in a pool of blood with a kitchen knife sticking out of his chest. A pair of bloody scissors were clenched in his bloody fist, his dull green eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling, and his face covered in blood spatter. Something about the man's eyes were unsettling. Anya could swear she saw traces of deep-seated rage which was odd. Of all the bodies she'd seen, no one ever died with anger in their eyes. Anya drew the pistol from its holster and swept the beam around the kitchen. Blood was all over the counters, kitchen-ware cluttered the floor, the freezer was left open, and a trail of blood led into the next room. Whatever happened, the man didn't go quietly. George stepped around the corpse, following the blood trail on the floor. Ignoring the questions threatening to flood her mind, she continued to examine the grisly scene in the kitchen.

“Anya," George said, his voice laden with worry.

Anya quickly joined her partner in the living room and found Brent Caldwell laying behind the sofa, face-down in another pool of blood wearing nothing but his underwear and a single sock. He held a phone in his hand, the dial tone barely audible in the darkness. There were two wounds in his side and one of his ears had a large, bloody hole in it. George quickly checked the fennec for a pulse. He turned back to Anya and shook his head.

She swore under her breath. “I'm gonna check the rest of the house." She walked away before George could reply.

The kitchen wasn't the only part of the house that was a mess. The hall looked like something out of a house of horrors. There were bloody handprints and streaks on the walls, blood droplets on the floor, pictures were knocked down, and the floor was cluttered with loose mail. As Anya made her way to the front of the house, she checked each room she passed, two bedrooms and one-and-a-half bathroom's total. Every room was clear, but she noticed a trail of discarded clothing on the floor leading to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Anya tightened her grip on her pistol, and approached the final door. She prayed that the murders were recent and whoever was responsible was still in the house. Her gut told her that wouldn't be the case. How she hoped this would be one of those times her gut was wrong.

The large bedroom had enough space for two dressers and a queen sized bed while still providing plenty of space to move around. More clothes and rose petals covered the floor. Unlit candles had been placed around the room. Laying in the middle of the bed, covered in blood, was an older woman. If Anya had to guess, she would say middle-aged. The woman's eyes and mouth were wide open in shock as she stared at the ceiling. The woman was wearing lingerie and laying in what would have been a provocative pose if not for the blood and the stab wounds in her chest.

George appeared at Anya's side, took one look at the woman in the middle of the bed and swore. “Guess that explains why there were no signs of movement all day," he said with a tired sigh. “I can't believe we were sitting right across the street while this happened. The captain's gonna have a field day with this."

Anya was too occupied to respond. David's warning only mentioned one body, not three. Who were the other two people and what did they have to do with Brent Caldwell? The woman and Brent were both nearly naked while the large man in the kitchen was fully clothed. Perhaps the man interrupted Brent and the woman, so they fought and wound up killing each other.

“If that's true, then when did the woman die?" she asked herself. “No matter what went down, the woman had to die first. Brent ran, but he didn't try to leave. If he had just went outside to get help…"

“You have got to be fucking kidding me," George said.

“Huh? What's wrong?" She steeled herself for the possibility her partner found another body as she found him standing in the closet.

George spun around holding a very large sweater in his hands. “The guy in the kitchen lives here."

“What?" She snatched the sweater from him and examined it. There was no doubt; the human in the kitchen was the only one large enough to fit the sweater. “So what does this mean?"

“I think it's obvious," George said grimly. “This woman and Brent Caldwell were having an affair and got caught. The husband saw them in the act—or getting ready to, and he snapped. Killed them both."

Anya shook her head vigorously as if trying to convince herself more than her partner. It couldn't be how it happened. Since David called in the tip, there were too many holes in George's theory. “That can't be true. Why wouldn't Brent call 911 while the woman was being butchered? Look at her, George—Brent had time to call for help. Help that was right outside and could've saved everyone in here!" She hurled the sweater at the wall as hard as she could. It struck the wall with a soft thud and slid harmlessly to the floor.

This was beyond frustrating. It was Samson Thomas all over again only this time it wasn't a bad setup. They sat right there while a triple homicide took place, and they didn't lift a finger to help. Her conscious told her it wasn't her fault, there was nothing they could do, but the whole reason they were there was to save Brent Caldwell.

They failed. They may as well have ignored the tip for all the good they did.

George shrugged. “I don't know. If there was a third person involved, I don't see how he overpowered three people with a knife. It was pretty obvious there was a struggle—"

“Which we didn't hear," she added harshly.

“Don't beat yourself up over this. There's no way we could've heard what was happening from inside a car across the street."

George's words set off a light in Anya's mind. Maybe it wasn't too late.

“Maybe not us, but maybe the neighbors did." She ran out the door again without waiting for a response from her partner.

She went to every house adjacent to them, and knocked on the door, asking the neighbors if they saw or heard anything. Everyone of them said the same thing, they were out of the house for most of the day and they had just gotten home within the last hour. It was possible some of them were lying to avoid getting some sort of trouble, but what troubled Anya most was they all had the same excuse. Normally, it was “I didn't see or hear anything." But they all said they were out of the house for one reason or another.

Every house that possibly contained a witness was empty all day, giving the killer free reign to do what he or she wanted. Was it planned that way or were they dealing with the luckiest criminal on the planet? Just like that she felt like a puppet again. If George's theory was correct, it meant David knew Brent's affair was going to be discovered and he was going to be killed. But there was no way David could know that unless he helped plan it, and even that theory was thin. There had to be someone else involved.

The thought reminded Anya of what George said about an ex-employee of Brent's who made threats. She ran back into the house, almost running into her partner on his way outside.

“I just called it in and spoke to the captain," George said as he stopped her from colliding with him. Given their size difference, she would've been knocked flat. “He's pissed, but he said he'll deal with us later since we are first on the scene. We have to sit tight until—Hey are you all right?"

“That employee you said Brent told you about, what's her name again?"

George's ears rose. He clearly had no idea why she was asking, but he still flipped through his notes until he found the page he was looking for. “Stephanie Lodes. Lives in an apartment building on 3948 Clearview, apartment 202."

“We need to have her picked up, and send someone to get David, too." Anya sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You okay, partner?"

“No. But thanks for asking." She fell back against the railing. It felt as if all her energy had been drained. She went over everything she learned today in her mind, hoping to find something, anything that could've been done differently. Nothing came to mind. Any actions she thought of lead into a tangled web of what-ifs and maybes. It was almost as if Brent Caldwell's death were destined.

But Anya wasn't willing to accept defeat. She continued to pour over her thoughts and notes for a lead until the Crime Scene Unit arrived. She tried to help them examine the house until they told her she was being more of a hinderance than a help. Unwilling to go back to the precinct until the call came in that David and Stephanie had been picked up, she paced around outside until someone mentioned they found something in the kitchen.

Anya and George hurried back inside. Everyone they passed was dead silent and avoided looking at them. Anya knew why. Her third-party theory was no longer the butt of every joke. There was no denying it now. This wasn't how she wanted to be proven right. When they reached the kitchen, they found the M.E. Donovan kneeling next to the human on the floor.

Anya rushed to the skunk, eager for news. “Was there anything we could've done?"

The skunk looked at her with a solemn expression. “You and I both know that won't make you feel better. But to answer your question, everyone in this house has been dead for hours. I can't tell exactly for certain right now, but it looks like they were all killed within minutes of each other."

Anya didn't reply. Her eyes retraced the blood trail from the kitchen to the pair of white-furred legs just visible in the next room, her stomach roiling. Don's answer just confirmed her worst theory: Brent died the moment he set foot in the house. She wasted hours sitting on her ass directly across from a crime scene.

 “Don't do that to yourself, Anya," Don said.

“Huh? Do what?"

“Thinking this is your fault," Don replied. “I know you think you could've made a difference—"

“No, Don. We were right there! Right across the street while someone was in here butchering people!" The entire room became dead silent as if everyone was too afraid to so much as breathe. Anya stared at Donovan, daring him to say something else to try and cheer her up. She fucked up, and she was willing to accept that. But she wasn't going to brush it off and treat it like it was no big deal.

“Don't try to make me feel better," she continued, struggling to keep her voice even. It wasn't his fault and taking her anger out on him wasn't going to get her the answers she needed. “It's not working. I'll feel better when we catch the twisted bastard responsible for this. You said you had something; what is it?"

“Well, first, this is Richard Sloane. The woman in the bedroom is his wife, Miriam which confirms what you said earlier about this being an affair gone horribly wrong." He held up a wrinkled piece of paper. “I found this in his pocket. I think it'll help."

Anya examined the paper. One side was frayed as if it had been torn out of a book. Judging from the style of writing, it had to be a journal entry. The entire page was badly worn as if it had been folded and unfolded multiple times.

I tried to end things with Brent yesterday, but I can't bring myself to do it. He's so different from Richard it's not even funny, and I don't mean their appearance. Brent is so sweet and charming, and he's like a wild, feral beast in bed. Richard is rude, selfish, and a total prude. If I didn't want to go through a messy divorce, I would serve him papers.

But so long as I have my furry love-machine, I'll be just fine. Why just last week, we took a shower together, and Brent—

Anya quickly skipped down to the next paragraph. She had enough keeping her awake at night without details of Brent Caldwell's sexual adventures with a woman twice his age invading her dreams.

Richard is so clueless it's not even funny. He still thinks I smile every day because of him. It doesn't matter. He can think whatever he wants if it makes him happy. Richard is leaving next week on a business trip. He'll be gone the whole weekend! Brent promised to come every day.  I  think I'll be very busy this weekend.

“Wow. No wonder he snapped," Anya said. “I'm guessing he came home early from his business trip, or he never intended to leave. Still doesn't explain how David knew."

“Maybe Richard told him about it," George offered. “But this pretty much clears everything up. Richard came in and killed his wife. Brent comes in, finds her dead, and tries to make a run for it. Richard corners him, so he makes a final stand. Brent manages to kill Richard, but bleeds out before he can dial 911."

“That doesn't make any sense," Anya said flatly.

George and Donovan stared.

“How did David know what was going to happen?" Anya asked, her voice rising. “Why didn't he mention the other two victims? Or warn Brent? I don't like this. There had to be someone else involved." She stopped a man walking past. “Did you find any evidence of a fourth person yet?"

The human shook his head.

She grabbed the man by his shirt collar. “Then look harder! And check the area around the house, too. There has to be a fingerprint, a hair, a cigarette butt, a skin cell, something that was left behind."

The human started looking around like a cornered animal searching for an exit. Everyone else turned their backs, pretending to be too occupied with their own work. George stepped between Anya and the human. “Anya, it's not their fault. I don't like how this looks either, but we can ask David once he's been picked up." As if on cue, George's cell vibrated. The bulldog checked the screen and smiled. “Looks like you get your wish. David is down at the precinct, now."