If David Kucharski wasn't their killer, then who was?And how were they going to identify someone sophisticated enough to use rescue worker methodology while avoiding the kind of behavioral patterns that had made Kucharski seem like such a viable suspect?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
David Kucharski pulled the heavy quilt up to his chin, the familiar weight of the down filling providing comfort against the bone-deep cold that had settled into his body during tonight's work on the lake.The digital clock beside his bed glowed 11:17 PM, but exhaustion made the late hour feel insignificant compared to the satisfaction warming his chest like aged whiskey.
Tomorrow would be perfect.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to replay the conversation with Agent Isla Rivers, savoring each word she'd spoken with genuine admiration.The way her amber eyes had brightened when he'd agreed to patrol with her.The professional respect in her voice when she'd called his rescue attempts "incredibly brave."Most importantly, the trust implicit in her willingness to venture onto the ice with someone she regarded as a dedicated public servant.
Federal law enforcement.After thirty years of local recognition, he would finally have the validation that truly mattered.
The ice section he'd prepared during the pre-dawn hours, like he always did, was a masterpiece of engineering and psychological manipulation.Located in a scenic area that tourists and photographers favored, positioned where the morning sun would create optimal lighting for the dramatic rescue attempt that would follow.The wire saw cuts were deeper than his previous work—not just weakened, but actively compromised to ensure rapid failure under minimal pressure.
Agent Rivers would step onto ice that had been transformed into an elaborate trap, her confidence in his expertise leading her directly into the scenario that would crown his career with federal recognition.The water beneath was deep enough to be immediately lethal, shallow enough that recovery would be possible with sufficient determination and heroic effort.
And this time, he wouldn't make the mistake he'd made with Dr.Hayes.This time, he would allow the cold to complete its work before beginning his rescue performance.Agent Rivers would be beyond saving when he pulled her from Lake Superior's killing embrace, but the attempt would be documented by every news outlet in the region.
The weather forecast had provided an unexpected gift—unseasonably warm temperatures expected overnight, rising to nearly thirty-five degrees by morning.Warm enough to further compromise ice that was already structurally unsound, creating conditions where even experienced law enforcement might misjudge surface stability.The perfect explanation for why someone with federal training had ventured onto dangerous ice.
David shifted beneath the quilts, his body finally beginning to relax as the fantasy played out in exquisite detail.The moment when Agent Rivers realized the ice was failing beneath her feet.The splash as she broke through into water that would steal her breath and consciousness within minutes.His own dramatic entry into the lake—not too quickly this time, but with precisely the right timing to maximize both heroic impact and media documentation.
The interviews afterward would be unlike anything he'd experienced in thirty years of rescue work.Federal agents didn't die every day, and when they did, the coverage was extensive and respectful.Network television, national newspapers, possibly even documentary crews interested in the hero who'd risked everything trying to save a fellow law enforcement officer.
Agent Rivers had no idea that tomorrow morning would transform her from federal investigator into the most meaningful victim of his career.Her death would provide validation that transcended anything he'd achieved through three decades of manufacturing tragedies for local consumption.
The thought should have troubled him—Agent Rivers was intelligent, dedicated, someone whose work served important purposes beyond his personal gratification.But the hunger for recognition had grown beyond moral considerations.Thirty years of being praised for failing to save lives had created needs that could only be satisfied through increasingly significant demonstrations of his heroic nature.
Besides, her investigation was becoming dangerously close to patterns that might eventually connect to his life's work.Better to transform her from threat into opportunity, to use her death as the foundation for recognition that would sustain him through whatever years remained of his career.
The apartment settled around him with the familiar creaks and sighs of aging construction adjusting to winter temperatures.Outside his windows, Duluth slept under another layer of fresh snow, its citizens unaware that tomorrow would bring tragedy to the federal law enforcement community.
David's breathing deepened as sleep approached, his mind already shifting toward the dreams that would carry him through the night.Tomorrow, Agent Isla Rivers would see him as the hero he'd always known himself to be.Her final moments would validate thirty years of dedication to rescue work that served purposes far beyond simple public service.
The ice was ready.The weather would cooperate.The most meaningful performance of his career awaited with the morning light.
In his dreams, David Kucharski was exactly the hero everyone believed him to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The January darkness pressed against Isla's apartment windows like a living thing, transforming the familiar street view into an alien landscape of shadow and drifted snow.She sat on the edge of her bed at 5:15 AM, already dressed in the layers of thermal clothing that had become second nature during her year in Duluth, but her hands shook as she laced her boots—not from cold, but from the possibilities that awaited her on Lake Superior's frozen surface.
The surveillance of Kucharski's apartment had yielded nothing.After maintaining watch until nearly 2 AM, she and Sullivan had been forced to conclude that either their suspect was genuinely recovering from hypothermic trauma or his preparation methods were more sophisticated than they'd anticipated.The apartment had remained dark throughout their observation, showing no signs of the nocturnal activity that would have confirmed their theory about his involvement in recent murders.
Now, as dawn approached with the pale reluctance that characterized Minnesota winter mornings, Isla faced the prospect of meeting Kucharski for their agreed patrol.Every instinct screamed that she was walking into a trap, but federal procedure required evidence before action, and their surveillance had provided nothing that would justify canceling what appeared to be legitimate cooperation with a respected rescue worker.
Her reflection in the bedroom mirror looked back with eyes that had seen too much over the past two days—the amber gaze that had once been her professional asset now carrying shadows that spoke to sleepless nights and mounting pressure.The face was thinner than it had been in Miami, cheekbones more pronounced from the stress-eating habits that had developed since Alicia Mendez's death.The scar near her right eyebrow seemed more visible in the harsh morning light, a reminder of childhood accidents that seemed innocent compared to the possibilities awaiting her on the lake.
She needed to be ready.If David was the killer, he would probably try to weaken the ice and kill her too.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand—Sullivan's name illuminating the screen.She answered immediately.
"Second thoughts?"His voice carried the careful neutrality he used when he wanted to give her room to change her mind without applying pressure.
"About a hundred of them," Isla admitted, checking her service weapon's magazine for the third time that morning."But we need to do this, James.If we cancel now without evidence, we'll never get another chance to observe him in his element."
"The backup team is in position," Sullivan said."Three vehicles staged at different points along the shore, all equipped with ice rescue gear.I'll be maintaining visual surveillance from the southern access point.If anything goes wrong—"
"You'll have help there in minutes," Isla finished, though they both knew that minutes could be an eternity in Lake Superior's January waters."I know.We've been over this."
