Chapter 5

Emily's POV

"First, there were no struggle marks on his body. The electrical apparatus was carefully set up—not the work of someone forcing him. The modifications to the bathtub would have taken days."

I pointed to the crime scene photos. "Second, preparation. Look at the chart on the bathroom wall—it's a detailed guide showing electrical current strengths and corresponding physiological responses. Certain lethal values were highlighted. Why would a killer need that unless the victim was controlling the current himself?"

Everyone fell silent after hearing this.

"Most importantly, this case shares similarities with our previous two victims. Brad Thornton died of carbon monoxide poisoning in his basement, Christine Moore drowned in a pond. Different methods, but I see a pattern."

Michael crossed his arms. "You're suggesting all three were suicides?"

I nodded. "It's easy to verify my theory. You can check the surveillance footage and I'm certain you won't be able to identify any suspects."

"And these aren't conventional suicides," I continued. "These people didn't want to die, but they put themselves in lethal situations and then... didn't save themselves when they could have."

Daisy looked up from her tablet. "But Christine Moore's case seems different. She drowned in a pond, not in some elaborately designed environment."

Thomas cleared his throat. "Actually, there's a phenomenon in criminal psychology called 'suicide by proxy' or 'mimicked suicide' where the victim is manipulated into creating circumstances that lead to their own death."

Michael shook his head slightly. "That doesn't track. The locations and methods are completely different. And we haven't found any connections between the victims."

"Plus," Raymond added, "if someone's orchestrating these deaths remotely, how are they doing it? Mind control?"

Before I could respond, my stomach growled loudly, the sound echoing in the conference room. Everyone turned to look at me.

"Sorry," I muttered, embarrassed. "I skipped breakfast."

Michael glanced at his watch. "Let's take a break. We've been at this for hours."

"Already handled," Daisy announced cheerfully, holding up her phone. "I ordered food for everyone twenty minutes ago. Should be here any minute."

She reached into her bag and pulled out an energy bar. "Here, this should tide you over."

I examined the wrapper with suspicion. "Does it have chocolate chips?"

"No, it's a protein-packed, all-natural—"

"Then no thanks," I said, handing it back. "I don't eat energy bars without chocolate chips."

Olivia looked up from her notes with a cold stare. "You're not actually starving. You're just being picky."

I shrugged. "My hunger is selective."

Before the conversation could continue, a uniformed officer arrived with several bags of takeout. The smell of food instantly filled the room.

"Perfect timing!" Daisy jumped up to distribute the orders. "I got you seafood pasta, Emily."

I stared at the container she placed in front of me. "I actually hate seafood. The smell makes me nauseous."

Michael's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "You're impossibly picky for someone who was just complaining about starvation."

"Here." Olivia suddenly pushed her container toward me. "Take my BBQ ribs and salad. I'll eat the pasta."

I looked up, surprised by the gesture, but Olivia was already taking my container, deliberately avoiding my gaze.

"You actually still remember I like BBQ ribs? Why have you been so cold to me then?" I asked softly.

"Weren't you starving to death?" Olivia deflected, her tone cool. "Eat up."

I knew better than to press further. Now wasn't the time for catching up.

I took a bite of the ribs, savoring the smoky flavor. Part of me wanted to complain that the sauce wasn't exactly right—too sweet, not enough tang—but I held my tongue. This rare moment of kindness from Olivia felt significant, I should stop being so picky.

Michael's POV

I was about to eat my lunch when Daisy approached me.

"Michael, Chief Finch called and wants you to come to his office," she said.

"Alright," I replied, tucking the takeout container under my arm.

"Why don't you finish eating first? The Chief isn't in a hurry," Daisy suggested.

"I'll take it with me."

As I passed by Emily, she paused her eating and eyed my takeout.

"Is there anything you don't do while multitasking?" she asked.

"Sleep," I answered simply.

"He probably wants the Chief to see how dedicated he is, not even taking time to eat lunch," Daisy whispered to Emily with a teasing tone.

I didn't respond. People always overthink my actions. I just do what needs to be done.

---

I knocked on Chief Finch's door, entering when I heard his gruff "Come in."

Charles Finch sat behind his massive oak desk, his eyebrows rising dramatically at the sight of my takeout.

"Michael, I hope you're not planning to eat lunch in my office."

"Sorry, sir. But you know how busy we've been these past few days." I kept my voice steady, face neutral.

Charles waved dismissively. "Sit down. Let's talk about Emily Grey. How are things going with her?"

"Fine," I answered briefly.

"She can be a bit peculiar sometimes. Try to accommodate her."

"Is she a relative of yours?" I asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," he paused. "I just saved her once."

This caught my attention. "Saved her, sir?"

"Exactly what I said." He shifted in his seat, suddenly vague. "But that's not important."

I continued eating my lunch. Typical Charles—always dropping intriguing bits of information, then cutting off the conversation when you ask for more details.

I set my takeout on the edge of his desk. "Sir, I've been wondering. Why does she live at Woodvale Mental Health Center?"

I always felt there was something off about her, not quite like a normal person.

Finch's expression turned to shock. "Impossible. Why would Emily be living in a mental hospital?"

"You gave me the address yourself. Didn't you know what kind of place it was?" I asked.

"I just forwarded the address she gave me..." he paused, suddenly remembering something. "I know now. She's there for her mentor, Caitlin Weber. You familiar with the name?"

"The criminal psychologist?"

"That's her. Once a brilliant mind who helped police solve many cases. But she couldn't handle the shock of her husband's death and now she's mentally unstable, confined there."

"Would she really go insane just because her husband died? She was a psychology expert after all—shouldn't her mental resilience be stronger than that?" I voiced my doubts.