"James," Isla said finally, voicing the concern that had been growing throughout their surveillance."What if I'm completely wrong about him?"
Sullivan lowered his own binoculars and turned to study her profile in the dim light from the dashboard instruments."Wrong how?"
"Wrong about everything.Wrong about his psychological profile, wrong about his connection to the murders, wrong about his motivations."She paused, organizing thoughts that felt increasingly uncertain as their suspect failed to provide evidence supporting their theory."What if David Kucharski really is just what he appears to be—a dedicated rescue worker who's had the terrible luck of responding to three murders in two days?"
The possibility was troubling in ways that went beyond the immediate investigation.If they were wrong about Kucharski, it meant their real killer was still operating freely, probably planning additional murders while federal resources were focused on surveillance of an innocent man.It also meant Isla's analytical abilities—already shaken by her failure in Miami—might be fundamentally compromised in ways that made her unsuitable for complex investigations.
"His reaction to your proposal was significant," Sullivan said, though his voice carried less conviction than it had earlier in the evening."That level of enthusiasm about patrolling together seemed beyond normal professional cooperation."
"Or it could have been genuine excitement about federal cooperation," Isla replied, playing devil's advocate against her own theory."Someone who's dedicated years to search and rescue work might reasonably be thrilled by the prospect of FBI resources helping him protect his patrol area."
The dashboard clock advanced another minute: 10:47 PM.Kucharski's apartment remained as dark and inactive as an abandoned building.Either he was sleeping off the effects of extreme cold exposure, or their entire surveillance operation was based on assumptions that had no basis in reality.
"Movement," Sullivan said suddenly, raising his binoculars toward the apartment building.
Isla focused her own optics on Kucharski's windows, her pulse quickening with anticipation that their long wait might finally yield results.But the movement Sullivan had detected was in a different unit entirely—an elderly woman closing curtains in a first-floor apartment that showed no connection to their investigation.
The false alarm left them both more frustrated than before, confirmation that their surveillance was becoming increasingly speculative as time passed without any evidence supporting their theory about Kucharski's nighttime activities.
"Maybe his pattern is different when he's injured," Isla suggested, though she was beginning to suspect their entire approach was flawed.
"Or maybe he's innocent, and we're sitting in a parking lot watching someone who's probably fast asleep after nearly dying in an attempt to save a stranger's life," Sullivan replied, his tone carrying the frustration of someone who'd invested significant time in surveillance that was producing no useful intelligence.
The criticism stung because Isla suspected it might be accurate.Her certainty about Kucharski's guilt had been building throughout the day based on circumstantial evidence and psychological analysis, but none of their observations had provided concrete proof of criminal activity.Sitting in a cold car watching dark windows was an uncomfortable reminder that federal investigations required more than theoretical profiles and behavioral speculation.
"Give it until midnight," she said, though her conviction was wavering with each passing minute."If he hasn't shown any sign of activity by then, we'll have to accept that either our timeline is wrong or our entire theory needs revision."
The suggestion felt like an admission of failure, but continued surveillance without evidence was becoming counterproductive.If they were wrong about Kucharski, valuable investigative time was being wasted while their real killer operated freely somewhere else in Duluth's frozen landscape.If they were right but his pattern was different than they'd anticipated, they might be conducting surveillance on the wrong night or at the wrong time.
"What's our approach tomorrow morning if he contacts you about the patrol?"Sullivan asked, forcing them to confront the practical implications of their surveillance operation regardless of its outcome.
Isla had been dreading that question throughout their watch.If Kucharski was innocent, accompanying him on his routine patrol might provide valuable insights into Lake Superior's winter dangers and potential killer methodology.But if he was guilty, accepting his invitation could put her in significant personal danger while providing him with opportunities to demonstrate his heroic capabilities through her death.
"We proceed carefully," she said, though the plan felt inadequate even as she articulated it."If he contacts me, I'll agree to meet him but ensure we have backup positioning and communication protocols.Either way, we maintain surveillance to see if our presence affects his behavior."
The approach was logical but unsatisfying, requiring them to continue their investigation based on theories that were proving difficult to support with concrete evidence.Isla found herself longing for the certainty she'd felt earlier in the day when Kucharski's enthusiasm about their patrol had seemed to confirm his suspicious nature.
11:15 PM.The apartment building had settled into the deep quiet that characterized residential neighborhoods after most occupants had retreated to their evening routines.Kucharski's windows remained dark, showing no signs of the activity they'd been hoping to observe.A few other units still showed lights, but the overall impression was of a community that had concluded its daily activities and was preparing for sleep.
"Isla," Sullivan said quietly, "I think we have to consider that our suspect is behaving exactly like someone who nearly died tonight and needs to recover."
The observation forced her to confront the possibility that her analytical abilities might be compromised in ways she hadn't fully acknowledged.Miami had taught her the dangers of trusting assumptions over evidence, but perhaps she hadn't learned that lesson as thoroughly as she'd believed.
"You think I'm wrong about him," she said, though it was more statement than question.
Sullivan was quiet for a moment, choosing his words with the care that characterized their partnership when they disagreed about case direction."I think you've built a compelling theory based on limited evidence.But theories need testing against reality, and so far reality isn't cooperating."
The gentle criticism was probably deserved, but it still stung in ways that connected to deeper insecurities about her professional competence.If she was wrong about Kucharski, it would represent another significant analytical failure, another investigation derailed by trusting psychological profiles over concrete evidence.
11:43 PM.Seventeen minutes until their arbitrary deadline, and still no activity from Kucharski's apartment.Isla found herself hoping their suspect would provide some sign of suspicious behavior, not just to validate her theory but to confirm that her investigative instincts remained functional after the trauma of Miami.
"Maybe we should call it," Sullivan said as the dashboard clock approached midnight.
“Can we stay a bit longer?”
Sullivan sighed.“Okay.We can stay all night if it’ll satisfy you.”
Isla nodded reluctantly, accepting that their surveillance had failed to produce the evidence she'd hoped would definitively connect Kucharski to the recent murders.She found herself staring at his dark windows with growing uncertainty about everything they thought they knew about their investigation.
