Chapter 6 Dark Waters

Pier 45 at night was a different world. The tourist crowds were gone, leaving only the sound of water lapping against the dock and the distant hum of traffic. I arrived ten minutes early and positioned myself where I could see anyone approaching. Old habits from too many years of police work.

Alex emerged from the shadows at exactly eight PM, moving with the careful awareness of someone who'd spent months looking over his shoulder. He carried a large messenger bag and looked exhausted.

"Thanks for coming," he said, settling onto the bench beside me.

"Your brother thinks you're obsessed with conspiracy theories."

Alex laughed bitterly. "David always was the practical one. When we were kids, I saw monsters under the bed. He saw dust bunnies."

"Are you seeing monsters now, or dust bunnies?"

"You tell me." Alex opened his messenger bag and pulled out a thick folder. "This is everything I've compiled over the past three years. Forty-seven victims across twelve cities, all with the same MO, all positioned the same way."

I opened the folder and found myself looking at crime scene photos that made my stomach turn. Women in alleys, hands folded, legs straight. The same respectful positioning I'd seen in New York, repeated across the country.

"Chicago, Philadelphia, Boston, Atlanta, Denver, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Phoenix, Dallas, Miami," Alex recited. "He stays in each city for exactly eight weeks, kills between four and six women, then disappears."

"How do you know it's the same killer?"

"The signature." Alex pointed to close-up photos of the victims' hands. "Three fingers extended, two folded. Same positioning every time. Plus the geographic patterns—he always moves in a circle around each city, like he's mapping it out."

I studied the photos more carefully. The similarities were undeniable, but so was the question of how this had gone unnoticed by law enforcement.

"Why hasn't anyone else connected these cases?"

"Different jurisdictions, different timelines, different investigators. Each department thinks they're dealing with a local killer. Plus, he's smart about it—never stays long enough to establish a clear federal case."

"Until now."

"Right. New York is different. He's taking more risks, leaving notes, escalating faster than before." Alex's voice was grim. "I think this might be his endgame."

A chill ran down my spine. "What do you mean?"

"Look at the timeline." Alex showed me a chart tracking the killer's movements. "The gaps between cities are getting shorter. Three months between Chicago and Philadelphia, two months between Atlanta and Denver, six weeks between Phoenix and Dallas. He's accelerating."

"Maybe he's getting sloppy."

"Or maybe he's building to something bigger." Alex pulled out another photo, this one showing a map of the United States with all twelve cities marked. "Look at the pattern."

I studied the map and felt my blood turn cold. The cities formed a rough spiral pattern across the country, starting in the Pacific Northwest and moving gradually east and south. If the pattern continued...

"New York is the end point," I whispered.

"Exactly. After three years and forty-seven victims, he's reached his destination. The question is why."

A boat horn sounded in the distance, making us both jump. The pier suddenly felt very isolated, very vulnerable.

"There's something else," Alex said quietly. "Something I haven't told you about Lisa's death."

"What?"

"She wasn't random. Lisa was investigating a story about missing women when she was killed. Women who disappeared from cities across the country, always in the same demographic—young, creative, independent."

My mind raced. "You think she got too close?"

"I think she figured out the pattern before anyone else did. And I think the killer found out."

The implications were staggering. If Alex was right, we weren't just dealing with a serial killer—we were dealing with someone who killed to protect his secrets.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because of the note he left at the Rodriguez scene. 'You're getting closer.' He's not talking to the task force in general. He's talking to someone specific."

"You think he knows about your research?"

"I think he's known all along." Alex's voice was barely above a whisper. "I think he killed Lisa to stop her investigation, and now he's watching to see if anyone else will make the same connections."

A footstep echoed somewhere behind us. We both turned, but saw nothing except shadows and empty pier.

"We should go," I said.

"Wait." Alex grabbed my arm. "There's one more thing. I think I know how he chooses his victims."

"How?"

"Art galleries. Every woman was connected to the New York art scene—either as artists, gallery workers, or frequent attendees. He's hunting at gallery openings, networking events, places where creative women gather."

I thought about the victim profiles David had shown me. All five women had been photographed at various gallery events over the past few months. If Alex was right, the killer had been stalking them long before he struck.

"There's a major exhibition opening tomorrow night at the Whitney," Alex continued. "If I'm right about his pattern, that's where he'll find his next victim."

"Then we have to warn them, shut it down—"

"And prove what? That a journalist with no official standing has theories about a serial killer?" Alex shook his head. "The only way to stop him is to catch him in the act."

"That's insane. You're talking about using innocent women as bait."

"I'm talking about stopping a killer who's already claimed forty-seven lives and won't stop until he's caught."

Another footstep, closer this time. I stood up, my hand instinctively moving toward my weapon.

"Someone's watching us," I whispered.

Alex gathered his files quickly. "We need to leave. Separately. Can you get word to the task force about tomorrow night?"

"I'll try. But Alex—if you're wrong about this, if you're seeing patterns that aren't there..."

"Then more women die while we debate evidence." He handed me a business card. "That's my cell number. Call me after the task force meeting tomorrow."

As Alex disappeared into the shadows, I stood alone on the pier, trying to process everything I'd learned. A killer who'd crossed the country leaving a trail of bodies. A pattern that led directly to New York. A possible connection to the art world that could give us our first real break in the case.

But first, I had to convince Jameson and the task force to take the threat seriously. I had to find a way to share Alex's research without revealing my source.

And I had to figure out whether David Chen was right about his brother being obsessed with conspiracy theories, or whether Alex was the only one who truly understood what we were facing.

As I walked back to my car, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was still watching. In the darkness of the pier, any shadow could hide a killer who'd already proven he was willing to murder anyone who got too close to the truth.

The Whitney exhibition was tomorrow night. If Alex was right, we had less than twenty-four hours to stop the Alley Killer from claiming his next victim.

If Alex was wrong, I was about to destroy my career chasing ghosts.

Either way, there was no turning back now.