Elaine thought for a moment, then her eyes widened slightly.“Think about what origami represents—the transformation of chaos into order through precise, controlled folds.For someone who lost everything because of a moment’s decision, the symbolism would be powerful.These women had found a way to master their impulses, to impose order on their chaos.”
“While Sarah couldn’t do that,” Riley concluded.“She made an impulsive choice that destroyed her career and indirectly led to a woman’s death.These victims represent what she lost—the ability to fold reality into the shape she wanted.”
Riley turned back to Elaine.“Did Sarah ever contact you again after that phone call?Did you try to help her?”
Elaine shook her head, regret evident in the tightening of her mouth.“I offered to meet with her, to help her process what had happened.But she refused.Said she was ‘beyond help now.’That was the last time I ever spoke to her.”She sighed.“I tried to find her a few months later—I was worried about her mental state—but she’d already disappeared.Changed her name, moved away.The Bureau doesn’t exactly keep tabs on disgraced former employees.”
“So she’s probably been living under various aliases for the past decade,” Ann Marie said.“Building a new identity, perhaps several.”
“And nursing her resentment, her trauma,” Riley added.“We need to find her right away.With each murder, she’s escalating, becoming more sophisticated in her methodology.”
The sudden, sharp vibration of Riley’s phone interrupted their planning.She glanced at the screen to see Brookman’s name and answered immediately.“Hello, Brookman, what’s happening?”
The detective’s voice came through tense and clipped.“We just received an anonymous tip about a murder in progress at an abandoned warehouse on Eastlake Industrial Drive.Caller specifically mentioned the Origami Killer.”
Riley’s pulse quickened.“Could be a hoax—we’ve had plenty of false reports since the press started using that name.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Brookman replied, “until the caller described details about the previous murders that haven’t been released to the public.Specific information about the origami figures, the positioning of the bodies.”
“Sarah Mitchell,” Riley said, meeting Ann Marie’s alert gaze across the table.“It has to be.”
“Who?”Brookman’s confusion carried clearly over the phone.
“I’ll explain when we get there.But this killer is a woman, so be on the watch for that.Text me the exact address.”
Brookman told her the address, then added, “But there’s one more thing.When we tried to find Olga Swinson, we found out that she didn’t show up to work at the community center.Nobody knows where she is.”
Riley shuddered at the realization that Olga was the next intended victim.
“We’re on our way,” Riley said.
Riley ended the call and turned to Elaine.“We have to go.There might be another victim.”
Elaine rose swiftly, remarkably agile for her age.“Be careful, Riley.If this is Sarah, remember what she’s trying to do—force impossible choices, recreate her own trauma.This tip, this warehouse...it could be a trap.”
“Or a confession,” Riley countered, already moving toward the door with Ann Marie close behind.“Either way, we have to respond.”
As they hurried out to their car.Riley turned back to Elaine, who stood framed in her doorway.
“Thank you,” Riley said.“For helping us identify her.”
Elaine nodded gravely.“Find her, Riley.Not just to stop the killings, but because beneath the monster she’s become is someone who was once dedicated to justice.Someone who got lost in an impossible choice.”
As Riley drove back toward DC, Ann Marie asked, “What do you think we’re walking into?”
“I don’t know.But whatever Sarah Mitchell has planned, it won’t be simple, and it won’t be easy.”She accelerated as they merged onto the highway.“She’s spent ten years living with the consequences of one difficult choice.Now she’s going to make us face the same kind of situation.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Sarah Mitchell carefully refolded the paper swan in her hands, the precise movements bringing a momentary stillness to her turbulent thoughts.The apartment was sparsely furnished but meticulously arranged, everything in its proper place despite the temporary nature of her residence.She glanced up from the completed origami figure to meet her captive’s terrified eyes.
Olga Swinson’s fear was understandable but unnecessary; Sarah wasn’t a monster.She considered herself an instrument, a much-needed demonstration of the impossible choices that broke people like glass figures under unbearable pressure.And she’d thought it only fair to tell Olga the whole story about her fall from grace at the FBI.
“So that’s what happened,” Sarah concluded, placing the swan on the coffee table beside three others—representations of Brittany, Rachel, and Patricia.“The Bureau fired me.The prosecutor’s case collapsed.Aaron Bishop walked free.”Her tone was clinical, as though reciting facts from an old case file rather than the events that had destroyed her life.“And three months later, Bishop beat his new girlfriend to death in a jealous rage.Just as I knew he would.”
Olga’s muffled whimper behind the gag brought Sarah’s focus back to the present.The woman’s dark hair fell across her face, damp with sweat and tears.Her wrists strained against the strong zip ties Sarah had used.
“I’m sorry about the restraints,” Sarah said, reaching forward to brush the hair from Olga’s face with a gentleness that contradicted their circumstances.“But I need you to understand what happened next.You deserve to know why you’re here.Why it matters.”
