Isla couldn't identify the source of her unease as she watched Kucharski being helped toward an ambulance for treatment of his frostbite and hypothermia.Everything about his response seemed genuine—the tears, the exhaustion, the obvious physical trauma he'd sustained during the rescue attempt.His equipment was scattered around the scene in patterns consistent with desperate improvisation, and the witnesses all confirmed that he'd arrived shortly after Helen Rodriguez had gone through the ice.
But there was something nagging at her, some detail that didn't align with the narrative of tragic accident and heroic rescue attempt.Maybe it was the timing—two deaths in two days, both involving the same rescue worker, both following the same pattern of artificially weakened ice.Maybe it was the location, which seemed oddly convenient for someone conducting surveillance of the lake.Or maybe it was simply the investigator's instinct that had served her well in Miami, before her confidence had been shattered by misreading a killer's psychology.
"Agent Rivers?"One of the local police officers approached with a clipboard full of witness statements."We've got initial interviews from everyone who saw the rescue attempt.Consistent stories—Mr.Kucharski tried everything to save her.They heard a commotion and came running when Kucharski was trying to save her.”
"Did anyone see why she went onto the ice?"Isla asked, accepting the clipboard and scanning the abbreviated witness accounts.
"Couple people think they saw someone else out there earlier, maybe someone who looked like they needed help.But no one's sure, and the visibility wasn't great with the afternoon sun creating glare off the snow."
Someone who looked like they needed help.Isla felt a chill that had nothing to do with the January cold settling over Lake Superior.Helen Rodriguez had been an intelligent woman, a retired teacher with years of experience dealing with potentially dangerous situations.She wouldn't have ventured onto questionable ice without a compelling reason.
Unless someone had given her that reason.
"I need to talk to Mr.Kucharski again once the medics finish with him," she told the officer."And I want a full forensics team to examine the ice where Ms.Rodriguez fell through.Same protocols we used yesterday at the Quinn scene."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sullivan's arrival at the scene coincided with the coroner's team loading Helen Rodriguez's body into their transport van, the process efficient and practiced in the way that spoke to too much experience with Lake Superior's winter casualties.Isla watched her partner navigate through the crowd of emergency vehicles, his expression grim as he took in the familiar tableau of rescue equipment and yellow tape.
"How bad?"he asked as he reached her position near the forensics team's preliminary setup.
"Sixty-seven-year-old retired teacher named Helen Rodriguez," Isla replied, consulting her notebook."Daily walker, apparently, went onto the ice for reasons we're still trying to determine.David Kucharski found her and attempted rescue, but she'd been under too long."
Sullivan's eyebrows rose at the name."Same rescue worker from yesterday?"
"Same rescue worker from yesterday."Isla gestured toward the ambulance where Kucharski was being treated for frostbite and hypothermia."This time he didn't just work from the surface—he actually went into the water himself to pull her out."
They walked toward the extraction site, where Carol Stevens and her forensics team were already beginning their analysis of the ice conditions.Even from a distance, Isla could see the distinctive pattern of fracture lines that radiated outward from the opening where Helen Rodriguez had fallen through—too regular, too geometric to be entirely natural.
"Artificially weakened?"Sullivan asked, following her gaze.
"That's what it looks like.Carol's doing the detailed analysis now, but preliminary examination suggests the same methodology as Sarah Quinn's murder.Fine cuts made over multiple sessions, designed to compromise structural integrity while maintaining the appearance of solid ice."
Sullivan was quiet for a moment, processing the implications.Two murders in two days, both using identical methods, both involving the same rescue worker who'd happened to be in position to attempt dramatic but ultimately futile saves.The pattern was becoming too obvious to ignore, even as the larger questions multiplied.
"Agent Rivers?"Carol Stevens called from her position beside the hole in the ice."Could you take a look at this?"
They approached carefully, mindful of the potentially compromised ice surrounding the extraction site.Stevens had arranged her equipment in a precise grid around the opening, her digital cameras capturing every angle of the fracture patterns while specialized tools measured the depth and composition of the cuts that had weakened the surface.
"Same wire saw technique," Stevens confirmed, pointing to microscopic grooves visible along the edge of the break."Someone with considerable skill spent significant time preparing this trap.Based on the refreeze patterns, I'd estimate the cutting was done over at least two nights, possibly three."
Isla knelt carefully beside the opening, studying the way the ice had failed under Helen Rodriguez's weight.The engineering was impressive in its precision—cuts deep enough to compromise the surface's load-bearing capacity, but shallow enough to avoid detection by casual observation.Someone had calculated exactly how much weakening would be necessary to ensure failure when a person of average weight stepped onto the prepared area.
"This level of planning suggests our killer identified Helen Rodriguez as a target well in advance," Sullivan observed."Long enough to study her routines, map her walking route, and select the optimal location for an ambush."
The thought sent a chill through Isla that had nothing to do with the January air whipping across the frozen lake.Helen Rodriguez had been a retired teacher, someone whose daily walks represented the simple pleasure of staying active during the harsh Minnesota winter.The idea that someone had been watching her, studying her habits, preparing to murder her during what should have been a routine exercise in personal health—it spoke to a level of predatory calculation that was genuinely disturbing.
"Agent Rivers?"The voice came from behind them, and Isla turned to see David Kucharski approaching with careful steps, his hands wrapped in medical bandages and his face still showing the effects of hypothermic stress.The paramedics had apparently finished their initial treatment and released him, though he moved with the deliberate gait of someone whose body was still recovering from extreme cold exposure.
"Mr.Kucharski," Sullivan said, stepping forward to intercept the rescue worker before he could get too close to the active forensics scene."How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck," Kucharski replied with a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes."But I'm alive, which is more than I can say for Helen Rodriguez."His voice carried the flat exhaustion of someone who'd given everything and watched it prove insufficient for the second time in as many days.
Isla studied his face, noting the way his expression shifted between grief and what looked almost like professional frustration."The paramedics said you went into the water yourself to reach her."
Kucharski nodded, unconsciously flexing his bandaged hands."All my surface rescue equipment was useless.The ice kept breaking away every time I tried to get a pole or rope to her.Finally realized the only way to reach her was to go in myself."He paused, staring at the dark water visible through the opening he'd created."Twenty years of training, and it came down to a swimming rescue in January on Lake Superior.Not exactly textbook procedure."
"That was incredibly brave," Sullivan said, his voice carrying genuine admiration."Most people wouldn't even consider entering water that cold."
