Just as in Rachel Bennett’s home, paper creations populated nearly every surface—delicate birds perched on bookshelves, geometric shapes hung from light fixtures, intricate flowers bloomed from coffee tables and windowsills.The rigor and abundance spoke of countless hours of patient folding.
“This is...”Ann Marie began, her voice trailing off as she took in the paper menagerie.
“Identical to what we saw in the Bennett house,” Riley finished for her.She moved deeper into the apartment, noting the desk in the corner with dual monitors and an ergonomic chair—Brittany’s workspace.A laptop sat closed beside a coffee mug with dried residue at the bottom.“Detective, what do you know about these origami figures?”
Brookman rubbed the back of his neck.“Not much, honestly.We’ve been asking around, but nobody seems to know when she started making them.She was a data analyst, worked remotely for various companies.Kept to herself.Super said she was here about two years, but he didn’t know much about her personal life.”
Riley carefully examined a complex geometric shape on the bookshelf, its dozens of precisely folded triangles forming a perfect sphere.“This level of skill takes practice, dedication.It’s not something you pick up overnight.”
“When we tried to reach out to her next of kin,” Brookman continued, “we found out that her father was dead, so we contacted her mother in Maine by phone.She said been estranged from Brittany for years.Said she hadn’t spoken to her daughter in over a decade and couldn’t tell us anything useful.She said there were no other family members.”
“No friends?Colleagues?”Ann Marie asked, jotting notes in her small notebook.
“None that we’ve found locally,” Brookman replied.“Her phone records show minimal outgoing calls.She did have regular Zoom meetings scheduled, but we’re still working on accessing her computer to figure out who with.”
Riley’s attention was drawn to a corkboard mounted above the desk.Unlike the rest of the apartment, which was well organized, the board displayed a chaotic collection of sticky notes, business cards, and what appeared to be prescription reminders.One phrase, scrawled in urgent capitals across a yellow Post-it, caught her eye: “REMEMBER: BREATHE FIRST, ACT SECOND.”
“Let me show you the bedroom,” Brookman said, gesturing toward a doorway on the right.“That’s where we found her.”
The bedroom was smaller than Riley had expected, dominated by a double bed with a plain navy comforter.Here too, origami figures had colonized the space—dragons with scaled wings guarded the dresser, tiny stars were strung across the window like paper constellations.
Brookman pulled out his phone, swiping through to find a specific image.“This is how we found her.”
Riley studied the same photo Brookman had shown them earlier.Brittany Hall lay on her back in the center of the bed, arms at her sides, eyes open and vacant.The position mirrored Rachel Bennett’s perfectly.Placed over her heart was what appeared to be a folded paper fan.The similarity was undeniable, down to the serene positioning of the body.
“No signs of struggle,” Brookman continued, scrolling to another image that showed a close-up of Brittany’s upper arm with a small, reddened puncture mark.“M.E.confirmed succinylcholine injection, the same as we think killed Bennett.The drug would have paralyzed her almost instantly, but she’d have been fully conscious as her respiratory system shut down.”
The thought sent a chill through Riley—to be fully aware while your body betrayed you, unable to fight or even scream.Both women had experienced that final, terrible helplessness.
“And the fan?”she asked, though she already knew what Brookman would say.
He showed her another familiar photo—the paper fan opened to reveal the message written along its interior pleats: “Do Not Unfold.”
“No prints on it,” Brookman added.“Not a trace of DNA.Whoever this killer is, they’re careful.”
Riley glanced around the room once more, her mind working to assemble the pieces.Two women, both creating origami as some form of therapy or control, both killed with the same method, both left with paper figures bearing cryptic messages.
“I’d like to speak with the building superintendent,” she said.“The person who found her.”
Brookman nodded.“Sure.Lester Pike’s office is in the basement.He’s been cooperative, if not particularly helpful.”
They made their way back through the apartment, then headed down to the building’s basement.The basement was dimly lit and smelled of laundry detergent and damp concrete.Lester Pike’s office was little more than a glorified closet, with a metal desk, a filing cabinet, and walls covered in building schematics and maintenance schedules.
Pike himself was a thin man in his sixties with wispy white hair and permanently oil-stained hands.He stood as they entered, wiping those hands on a rag that seemed to make them dirtier rather than cleaner.
“Agents,” he acknowledged them.“Detective Brookman said you might want to talk to me.”
“Mr.Pike,” Riley began, “we understand you were the one who found Ms.Hall’s body.”
Pike grimaced, the memory clearly unpleasant.“Yeah, that’s right.Wish I hadn’t.”
“Could you walk us through what happened that morning?”Riley asked, noting the way Pike’s eyes darted nervously around the room, never quite settling on any of them.
“It was around ten, I think.Mrs.Levinson from 5C called down to the office, said Brittany’s door had been standing open since early morning.”Pike rubbed at a spot on his knuckle.“Said she’d knocked, but no one answered.I figured maybe Brittany had run out for something and forgot to close it properly, but when Mrs.Levinson called again an hour later, saying it was still open, I went up to check.”
“And what did you find?”Ann Marie prompted gently when Pike fell silent.
“Door was ajar, like they said.I knocked loud, called out her name.When nobody answered, I pushed it open wider and went in.”He swallowed hard.“She was just lying there on the bed, staring at nothing.I knew right away she was...”He trailed off, then continued, “I backed out and called 911 right away.Didn’t touch nothing.”
