When she opened her eyes again, they fixed on the swan.Without speaking, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a pair of latex gloves, sliding them on.Brookman, who had been conversing with another officer nearby, noticed her movement and approached quickly.
“What are you doing, Agent Paige?”His question carried a note of caution.
“I need to examine the swan,” Riley replied, her decision already made.
Brookman stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.“We should wait for forensics.If it’s like the crane from Bennett’s scene, it’s been treated with some kind of acrylic that makes it fragile.One wrong touch and it disintegrates, along with whatever message it might contain.”
Riley remained still, her gaze fixed on the paper creation.“That’s exactly what the killer wants us to believe,” she said softly.“That each figure contains a message we can’t access without destroying it.But I don’t think that’s what it’s about this time.”
“And you’re willing to risk losing evidence on a hunch?”Brookman’s skepticism was strong.
Ann Marie approached, having concluded her initial interview with Mrs.Brogden.She sensed the tension immediately, her gaze moving between Riley and the detective.
“What’s happening?”she asked quietly.
“Agent Paige wants to handle potential evidence without proper forensic protocol,” Brookman said, his frustration evident.
Riley ignored him, her focus narrowing to the swan.As she leaned closer, something in the quality of the paper held her attention.The one that disintegrated had a slightly roughened surface that spoke of chemical treatment.This swan, though just as precisely folded, looked different—the paper smoother, more supple.
The three origami pieces were not made exactly the same way.Why would the killer do that?The first had contained a warning about the second, and the second has crumbled when unfolded.But this was the third…
“It hasn’t been treated,” Riley said with sudden certainty.
“You can’t possibly know that,” Brookman objected.
Riley reached forward, her gloved fingers hovering just above the swan.“The killer’s tactics are evolving.The first figure contained a warning not to unfold it.The second disintegrated when handled, reinforcing that warning.But this...”She gestured to the swan.“This is meant to be unfolded.The message isn’t in the destruction this time; it’s in what’s written inside.”
“Riley,” Ann Marie’s voice carried concern rather than objection.“Are you sure about this?”
Without answering, Riley carefully lifted the swan from Patricia Walsh’s hands.The paper actually felt slightly flexible.She felt the edge of one wing bend very slightly, suggesting that the paper hasn’t been treated at all.She turned it gently, examining each fold, the deliberate crafting of wing and neck and tail.
“I’m going to unfold it,” she announced, her decision made.
“Agent Paige, I must strongly object,” Brookman’s voice rose in frustration.“This is a breach of protocol.If you destroy potential evidence—”
“If I’m wrong, I’ll take full responsibility,” Riley interrupted, already working at the first fold of the swan’s wing.
The paper yielded beneath her touch, confirming her suspicion.There was none of the brittle resistance she would have expected from a treated surface, none of the threatening crackling that had preceded the crane’s disintegration.Instead, the swan was transforming back into a flat sheet smoothly, without protest.
Riley was vaguely aware of Brookman’s continued objections, of Ann Marie’s tense silence, of the ME team watching with professional interest.But her focus remained on the paper as it gradually revealed its secret—dark ink becoming visible as the final folds were carefully undone.
Five words, written in the same precise hand as the first message, now lay exposed on the pristine white paper:
“You don’t know, do you?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The five words stared back at Riley from the unfolded paper, stark black ink against pristine white: “You don’t know, do you?”The tension that had built during her unfolding of the swan dissolved into a confused silence.As she held the message, Riley felt the killer’s presence more strongly than ever before—not physically, but the mind that was mocking their uncertainty.
“What the hell does that mean?”Brookman demanded.
Riley kept her eyes on the paper, turning it carefully to examine both sides, making sure she hadn’t missed anything.“It means exactly what it says, Detective.The killer is taunting us because we don’t know who they are or what they’ll do next.”She raised her gaze to meet his.“And because we were looking in the wrong direction.”
Ann Marie stepped closer.“Mae Simmons.”
“Exactly,” Riley said, carefully refolding the paper along its original creases.“We focused our resources on protecting Simmons, believing she was the next logical target.Meanwhile, the killer chose Patricia Walsh—someone we didn’t even know was connected to the case.”
Brookman’s scowl darkened.“So what, we’re always going to be a step behind?”
