Chapter 3 Chapter 3: Task Force Tensions

One Police Plaza at eight AM was exactly as intimidating as I remembered. Glass and steel reaching toward the sky, filled with federal agents, task force commanders, and enough political pressure to crush a career without trying. I clutched Alex's folder under my arm and tried to look like I belonged there.

The conference room on the fifteenth floor was already crowded when I arrived. Two dozen detectives from different precincts, three FBI agents in identical dark suits, and at the head of the table, Detective Jameson. He looked older than I remembered, gray threading through his dark hair, but his eyes were the same sharp blue that used to see right through my excuses.

"Detective Jenkins," he said as I found an empty chair. "Glad you could join us."

The sarcasm in his voice made it clear I wasn't as early as I'd hoped. Around the table, other detectives glanced at me with the mixture of curiosity and judgment that came with being the last to arrive at an important meeting.

"Now that we're all here," Jameson continued, "let's get started. We've got five victims across four boroughs, all killed within the past six weeks. The pattern is clear—we're dealing with a serial killer who's making New York his hunting ground."

He clicked a remote, and a large screen filled with crime scene photos. Sarah Walsh's face appeared alongside four other women, all young, all positioned the same way. The sight of them lined up like that made my stomach turn.

"Each victim was found in an alley, each showed defensive wounds consistent with a struggle, and each was positioned post-mortem in the same manner. Hands folded, legs straight, almost respectful treatment of the body."

FBI Agent Martinez raised her hand. "Any connection between victims besides age and gender?"

"Still working on that," Jameson replied. "Detective Chen from Manhattan South has been tracking potential connections." He nodded to a detective I didn't recognize. "Chen, what do you have?"

I felt my heart skip. Chen. Could be a coincidence, but in my experience, coincidences were rare in murder investigations.

Detective Chen stood up, consulting his notes. "All five victims were single, lived alone, worked in creative fields. Two artists, one gallery worker, one photographer, one jewelry designer. All frequented the same types of establishments—upscale coffee shops, art galleries, trendy restaurants."

"So we're looking at someone who moves in artistic circles," said Agent Rodriguez. "Someone who blends in at gallery openings and coffee shops."

"Exactly," Jameson said. "Which means our killer is organized, intelligent, and socially adept. This isn't some random predator—this is someone with a plan."

I thought about Alex's research, the map with pins across twelve cities. If he was right, the plan was much bigger than anyone in this room realized. I shifted in my seat, Alex's folder feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds.

"Detective Jenkins." Jameson's voice cut through my thoughts. "You caught the Walsh case. What's your assessment?"

All eyes turned to me. This was my chance to share Alex's research, to potentially break the case wide open. It was also my chance to destroy my career if I was wrong.

"The positioning of the body suggests someone with forensic knowledge or medical training," I said carefully. "The respectful treatment indicates possible remorse or a specific ritual significance. The choice of location—narrow alley with limited visibility—suggests someone familiar with the neighborhood."

"Good observations," Jameson said. "Anything else?"

I hesitated. The room was silent, waiting. Alex's voice echoed in my mind: Twelve cities, forty-seven victims, five years. If I was right, we could save lives. If I was wrong, I'd be off the task force by lunch.

"I think our killer might have more experience than we're giving him credit for," I said finally.

Agent Martinez leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"The MO is too polished for this to be his first time. I think we should expand our search beyond New York, look for similar cases in other cities."

Jameson's expression didn't change, but I caught something in his eyes. Suspicion, maybe. Or recognition. "That's an interesting theory, Jenkins. What makes you think that?"

My mouth went dry. I couldn't mention Alex without explaining how I knew him, and I couldn't explain that without revealing I'd shared case information with a reporter. "Just a hunch based on the sophistication of the crimes."

"Hunches don't solve cases," Agent Rodriguez said dismissively. "We need to focus on the evidence we have, not chase theories across state lines."

"Actually," Detective Chen spoke up, "I've been running preliminary searches through ViCAP. There are some interesting similarities to cases in Chicago and Philadelphia."

My heart jumped. ViCAP was the FBI's database of violent crimes. If Detective Chen had found connections, maybe Alex's research wasn't as far-fetched as it seemed.

"Interesting isn't evidence," Agent Martinez said. "We have five confirmed victims here in New York. That's where we focus our resources."

The meeting continued for another hour, covering assignments, jurisdictional issues, and media strategy. I listened with half attention, my mind spinning with possibilities. If Alex was right, the FBI was making a massive mistake by limiting their scope. But if I pushed too hard too fast, I'd be labeled a troublemaker and frozen out of the investigation.

As the meeting broke up, Jameson approached my chair. "Jenkins, a word."

I followed him to his makeshift office, a commandeered conference room filled with whiteboards, case files, and enough coffee cups to fuel a small army. He closed the door and turned to face me.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"You know something about this case that you're not sharing. I can see it in your eyes." He sat on the edge of his desk, studying my face. "We have history, Rachel, but this is bigger than whatever happened between us. Five women are dead, and more will die if we don't stop this killer."

The use of my first name surprised me. Jameson had always been formal, professional to a fault. The familiarity meant he was either more worried than he was letting on, or he was trying to manipulate me. Maybe both.

"I don't know anything concrete," I said. "Just instincts."

"Your instincts used to be pretty good. Before."

Before. The word hung in the air between us, loaded with three years of unspoken history. Before the case that went wrong, before the internal investigation, before I requested a transfer to get away from him.

"This isn't about before," I said. "This is about catching a killer."

"Then help me catch him. If you know something, anything, I need to hear it."

I thought about Alex's folder, still tucked under my arm. About his sister, about forty-seven victims across twelve cities. About the map with red pins that told a story no one wanted to hear.

"Give me twenty-four hours," I said. "Let me verify some information. If I'm right, I'll bring you everything I have."

Jameson studied me for a long moment. "Twenty-four hours. But Rachel? If you're holding back evidence that could save lives, I'll make sure you never work another case in this city."

As I left his office, I knew I was walking a tightrope with no net. Alex's research could be the key to solving the biggest case of my career, but trusting him could destroy everything I'd worked for.

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "Another victim found. Battery Park. Same signature. We need to talk. - Alex"

The killer wasn't waiting for us to figure out our jurisdictional issues or personal conflicts. He was hunting, and we were falling behind.

I had twenty-three hours to decide whether to trust Alex Chen with my career, and whether to trust Detective Jameson with the truth.

Either way, someone else was going to die while we figured it out.