"Mr.Kucharski," she said, settling back into the folding chair beside him."I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about this killer escalating their timeline because of pressure from our investigation."
His attention sharpened immediately, confirming her assessment that he was genuinely interested in discussing the case from a theoretical perspective.Whether that interest stemmed from helpful cooperation or intimate knowledge remained to be determined.
"If you're right about the psychological pressure," she continued, "then we need to change our approach.Instead of just reacting to incidents after they happen, we need to get ahead of this killer somehow."
Kucharski nodded, his expression suggesting he was following her logic toward some conclusion he found intriguing."What are you thinking?"
"I want to patrol with you tomorrow morning," Isla said, watching his reaction carefully."Two sets of eyes, federal resources combined with your local expertise.Maybe we can catch this person in the act, or at least prevent another death by maintaining a more visible presence."
The effect on Kucharski was immediate and unmistakable.His posture straightened, his eyes brightened with something that looked almost like excitement, and his voice carried an enthusiasm that went far beyond normal professional cooperation.
"That's an excellent idea, Agent Rivers," he said, his words coming faster than his previous exhausted responses."My patrol typically begins at dawn—five-thirty AM this time of year.I know all the high-risk areas, all the locations where someone might try to set traps."
His eagerness struck Isla as significant in ways that confirmed her growing suspicions.A normal rescue worker might be pleased by federal cooperation, but Kucharski's reaction suggested something deeper—anticipation that went beyond professional collaboration and entered territory that felt almost predatory.
"Perfect," she replied, maintaining the professional enthusiasm that seemed to feed whatever psychological need drove his behavior."I'll meet you at your usual starting point.Together, maybe we can finally put an end to this."
The phrase seemed to resonate with Kucharski in ways that sent chills through Isla despite the layers of thermal clothing protecting her from the January cold.His expression carried satisfaction that looked almost hungry, as if her proposal had provided exactly what he'd been hoping to hear.
After exchanging contact information and confirming their meeting time, Isla rejoined Sullivan near the forensics team's equipment.The crime scene was winding down as the coroner's team prepared Jennifer Hayes's body for transport, but she needed to communicate her actual plan before they returned to their respective vehicles.
"Tell me you're not seriously planning to patrol with him alone," Sullivan said in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Of course not," Isla replied, though she was impressed by how genuinely enthusiastic she'd managed to sound while making the proposal."But I think his reaction confirms our suspicions.Normal cooperation wouldn't generate that level of excitement."
She outlined her actual plan in fragments, speaking quietly while maintaining the appearance of casual conversation about general case details.If Kucharski was their killer, his pattern suggested he prepared his traps in advance—probably during night hours when the risk of observation was minimal.Instead of accompanying him on a morning patrol that might put her in danger, she intended to conduct surveillance of his activities during the preparation phase.
"Tonight," she continued, "we stake out his apartment.If he's planning another murder to demonstrate his heroic capabilities for my benefit tomorrow morning, he'll need to weaken ice somewhere tonight."
Sullivan's expression suggested he found the plan both logical and deeply concerning."And if we're wrong about him?If he really is just a dedicated rescue worker trying to help us catch a killer?"
The question haunted Isla more than she wanted to admit.Their entire theory was built on circumstantial evidence and psychological analysis that could be interpreted multiple ways.If they were wrong about Kucharski, they'd be wasting investigative time while a real killer continued operating somewhere else in Duluth's frozen landscape.
But if they were right, tonight might provide their only opportunity to observe him committing the preparatory crimes that made his morning rescues possible.Physical evidence of Kucharski weakening ice would be enough to support arrest and prosecution, regardless of whether they could prove he'd murdered specific victims.
"We'll know soon enough," Isla said, though uncertainty clouded her voice."Either he stays home like any normal person would after nearly dying in Lake Superior tonight, or he demonstrates that his dedication to rescue work goes beyond anything reasonable."
As they prepared to leave the scene, Isla found herself hoping their surveillance would prove uneventful—that Kucharski would remain safely in his apartment, recovering from genuine trauma sustained during a legitimate rescue attempt.The alternative was too disturbing to contemplate, though it seemed increasingly likely as the pieces of their investigation assembled themselves into a picture of sophisticated psychological manipulation disguised as public service.
The evening light was fading rapidly toward another harsh winter night, and somewhere in Duluth's frozen landscape, either a killer was planning his next performance or a genuine hero was recovering from another failed attempt to save a stranger's life.
Within hours, they would know which reality they were facing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The parking lot across from David Kucharski's apartment complex was poorly lit and partially concealed by snow-covered pine trees that had been planted decades earlier as part of some municipal beautification project.Isla adjusted the passenger seat of Sullivan's unmarked vehicle, trying to find a position that would allow sustainable surveillance while maintaining clear sight lines to Kucharski's second-floor unit.The red numbers on the dashboard clock read 10:23 PM, and they'd been watching for nearly an hour without observing any activity that suggested their suspect was preparing for nocturnal ice manipulation.
"Maybe he's just exhausted," Sullivan said quietly, his voice carrying the doubt that had been building in both of them as the evening progressed without incident.
Isla pulled her winter coat tighter against the cold that was seeping through the vehicle's insulation despite the engine running intermittently to maintain heat.The apartment building before them was typical of Duluth's working-class housing stock—functional but unremarkable, the kind of place where someone could live quietly for decades without attracting attention from neighbors or community officials.Most of the units showed warm light through curtained windows, suggesting residents were settled in for another harsh winter night.
Kucharski's apartment remained dark.
"That's what a normal person would do," she agreed, though her investigative instincts continued to whisper that nothing about their suspect qualified as normal."But if our theory is correct, he's not operating from normal motivations.He's driven by psychological needs that might override physical limitations."
Through the binoculars she'd borrowed from the FBI's surveillance equipment, Isla could see Kucharski's windows clearly enough to detect movement if he turned on lights or passed in front of the glass.But for the past forty minutes, the apartment had remained as dark and still as if no one lived there at all.
The silence stretched between them, filled with the ambient sounds of a Minnesota winter—wind rattling through bare tree branches, the distant hum of heating systems working overtime, occasional traffic on the main road that connected Duluth's residential districts to the harbor area.Normal sounds of a community settling into evening routines that had nothing to do with federal investigations or suspected serial killers.
