“Mr.Bennett,” Brookman pressed, “what aren’t you telling us?Because right now, we have two women, both killed the same way, both with connections to origami.There has to be a link.”
Rudy’s face paled.“Two women?There’s been another murder?”
“Detective,” Riley intervened smoothly, “perhaps we should let Mr.Bennett rest now.We can continue this conversation later.”She turned to Rudy.“Thank you for talking with us.We’ll be in touch if we have more questions.”
Dr.Levine stood, clearly agreeing with Riley’s assessment.“Yes, that’s really enough for now.”
Brookman looked like he wanted to object, but instead nodded curtly and headed for the door.Riley and Ann Marie followed, leaving Rudy staring blankly at the wall, Dr.Levine murmuring quiet reassurances beside him.
In the hallway, Brookman turned to Riley.“I want to check his alibi."
“I agree,” Riley said.“But first, I’d like to see the first crime scene—Brittany Hall’s apartment.”
Brookman gave them the address.“I’ll drive over and meet you there.”
As they headed out to Riley’s vehicle, Ann Marie spoke quietly.“The husband’s grief seemed real to me.And his explanation about his wife’s condition made sense.”
“To me, too,” Riley agreed, sliding into the driver’s seat.“I want to find out what connects these two women beyond origami.”
“Did you get one of your insights back there?”Ann Marie asked, fastening her seatbelt.“At the crime scene, I mean?”
Riley nodded slowly, starting the engine.“The killer is trying to tell us something, but not in the way Brookman thinks.It’s not just taunting.It’s...a demonstration.”She pulled away from the curb, conscious of the neighbors still watching from their porches and windows.“It’s about fragility, about things that can’t be examined without being destroyed.”
“What do you think was written inside the origami figure?”Ann Marie asked.
Riley considered the disintegrated crane, the warning in the fan from the first victim: “Do Not Unfold.”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but we clearly weren’t meant to read it.And we were meant to think about why.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Brittany Hall’s apartment building rose six stories against the cloudy sky, unremarkable in its design.Riley parked her car in the open space across from the weathered brick facade.She and Ann Marie exited the vehicle quietly, preparing themselves for what awaited them inside—another life cut short, another set of questions with no clear answers.
Detective Brookman stood near the entrance, hands thrust deep in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels as he watched their approach.His expression remained impassive, but Riley detected a hint of impatience in the set of his shoulders.
“Didn’t expect to beat you here,” he said by way of greeting.“Traffic was lighter than usual.”
“We came straight from the Bennett house,” Riley replied, her gaze already moving past him to study the building’s entrance—a single glass door with a simple intercom system mounted beside it.No security camera, no doorman.Just a basic lock that would present minimal challenge to anyone determined to get inside.
Brookman followed her line of sight.“Not exactly Fort Knox, is it?Let’s head up.”
The lobby was small and utilitarian—worn tile floor, mailboxes lining one wall, a bulletin board covered with faded community notices on the other.A single elevator stood at the rear, its doors scratched and dented from years of moving furniture and careless residents.
“Fifth floor,” Brookman said as they stepped inside.As the elevator groaned upward, he added, “Building’s about fifty years old, maintenance is spotty at best.Convenient for our killer.”
“No cameras anywhere?”Ann Marie asked, though the answer was already evident.
Brookman shook his head.“Nothing.No doorman, no electronic key fobs, nothing but standard locks on the apartment doors.The killer could have walked right in behind another resident or picked the lock on the front door.Either way, once inside, they had free access to the entire building.”
The elevator shuddered to a halt, and they emerged into a narrow hallway with faded carpet and walls that had once been white but had mellowed to an uneven cream.A uniformed officer stood outside a door midway down the corridor, nodding in recognition as Brookman approached.
“Still secure, Detective,” the officer reported.“No disturbances.”
“Good.”Brookman turned to Riley and Ann Marie.“Hall lived alone, worked from home as a freelance data analyst.According to what we’ve gathered so far, she was pretty reclusive.Building super said she rarely had visitors and didn’t interact much with neighbors—at least not in a friendly way.”
He pushed the door open, revealing a modest one-bedroom apartment where another officer was snapping photographs.Riley stepped inside and immediately felt the familiar prickling sensation that often accompanied her first moments at a crime scene—her senses heightening, her mind reaching for patterns, connections.
But what struck her most forcefully was the origami.
