The door swung open before his knuckles made contact.
Elena Rodriguez stood in the doorway, her hands already raised above her head in the universal posture of surrender.She was smaller than Isla had expected from the driver's license photo—five-four at most, with a compact frame that couldn't have weighed more than a hundred and forty pounds.Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she wore jeans and a gray Navy sweatshirt that looked like it had been through a thousand wash cycles.Her face was calm, almost serene, as if she'd been waiting for this moment and had made her peace with whatever came next.
"I'm the one you're looking for," Rodriguez said.Her voice was steady, controlled, carrying the measured cadence of someone who had rehearsed these words."I'm the one who's been attacking the ships.I murdered those men on the Northern Dawn, the Storm Runner, the Midnight Crossing.I did all of it."
Isla felt the ground shift beneath her feet, reality tilting into something she hadn't anticipated.In all her years of law enforcement—Miami, Duluth, every case in between—she had never had a suspect open their front door and confess before a single question was asked.Criminals ran or lied or lawyered up.They didn't surrender with their hands raised and their guilt offered like a gift.
"Elena Rodriguez?"James recovered faster than Isla, his voice shifting automatically into the professional register required by protocol."FBI.You're under arrest.Turn around and place your hands behind your back."
Rodriguez complied without resistance, turning with the fluid economy of someone accustomed to following orders.The handcuffs clicked around her wrists with a sound that seemed too small for the magnitude of what was happening.Isla watched James secure them, her mind racing through implications even as her training kept her body still and her expression neutral.
Something was wrong.Everything about this was wrong.
She looked at Rodriguez's hands—small, capable, bearing the calluses that came from years of work on ship controls and docking equipment.Then she looked at the woman's frame, at the slender arms visible beneath the pushed-up sleeves of her sweatshirt, at the narrow shoulders that seemed far too delicate for the violence she was claiming.
The Northern Dawn's crew had consisted of four men, all of them experienced sailors, all of them killed with knife wounds that Dr.Henley had described as requiring significant physical strength.Arnold Jones alone had weighed over two hundred pounds.The idea that this woman—this slight, soft-spoken harbor pilot—had overpowered and murdered him with a blade strained credulity past the breaking point.
"You have the right to remain silent," James was saying, reciting the Miranda warning with the practiced rhythm of someone who had spoken these words a hundred times before."Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.You have the right to an attorney—"
"I understand my rights," Rodriguez interrupted."I don't need them read to me.I know exactly what I'm doing."
Isla stepped forward, positioning herself in Rodriguez's line of sight."Ms.Rodriguez, before we go any further, I need you to understand the seriousness of what you're claiming.You're confessing to multiple murders.That carries consequences that will follow you for the rest of your life."
"I know."Rodriguez met her gaze without flinching, those dark eyes holding something that might have been conviction or might have been sacrifice."I killed those men.All of them.I tracked their operations, I planned the attacks, I executed them.I'm the one you've been looking for."
"How?"The question escaped Isla before she could stop it."How did you overpower four armed men on the Northern Dawn?How did you kill Timothy King, who had thirty pounds on you and combat training from his time in the merchant marine?"
For the first time, something flickered in Rodriguez's expression—a momentary hesitation, a crack in the facade of calm certainty she'd presented since opening the door."I'm...I'm trained.The Navy.I know how to fight."
"Surface warfare specialist," Isla said, recalling the details from the file they'd built."Navigation focus.Not combat training.Not the kind of close-quarters work that would let you take down men twice your size with a knife."
"I want a lawyer."The words came out flat, final, slamming a door that Rodriguez clearly had no intention of opening again."I've confessed.That's all you need.Now I want a lawyer."
* * *
The drive back to Duluth was longer than the distance warranted.Traffic on the bridge had slowed to a crawl—an accident up ahead, or construction, or simply the universe conspiring to give Isla more time to think about what had just happened.Rodriguez sat in the back seat, her expression unchanging, her silence absolute.She'd said nothing since invoking her right to counsel, and Isla knew from experience that nothing would change that until an attorney was present.
"She's lying," Isla said quietly, pitching her voice low enough that it wouldn't carry to the back seat."You know she's lying."
James kept his eyes on the road, his jaw tight with the same tension Isla felt coiling in her own chest."She confessed.Unprompted.That's not nothing."
"It's exactly nothing."Isla turned slightly in her seat, studying Rodriguez's profile in the rearview mirror.The woman stared straight ahead, her face a mask of composed acceptance."Look at her, James.Really look.Five-four, a hundred and forty pounds at most.The wounds on those victims—Dr.Henley said they required significant force.Deep penetration, precise placement.The kind of strikes that come from someone with serious upper body strength and combat training."
"Some women are stronger than they look."
"And some confessions are too convenient."Isla shook her head, watching the gray expanse of Lake Superior slide past the bridge's railing.The water was choppy today, whitecaps forming under a wind that had picked up since morning."An anonymous tip points us to Rodriguez.We show up at her door, and she immediately confesses to everything.No interrogation, no pressure, no evidence presented.Just 'I did it, here are my hands.'Does that sound like how guilty people behave to you?"
James was quiet for a long moment, his hands flexing on the steering wheel."What are you saying?Someone's setting her up?"
"I'm saying she's setting herself up."The conviction solidified in Isla's mind as she spoke, pieces clicking into place with the particular satisfaction that came when a theory began to explain the evidence."She's taking credit for murders she didn't commit.The question is why."
The traffic ahead began to move, and James accelerated through the gap, the Duluth skyline growing larger through the windshield."Her brother.The one who was killed in that drug deal.If she believes whoever's really doing this is serving some kind of justice—"
"Then she might be willing to take the fall for them."Isla finished the thought, feeling its weight settle in her stomach like cold water."The public's already calling the killer a hero.#LakeSuperiorHero trending on social media.People celebrating the deaths of smugglers and traffickers.If Rodriguez shares that sentiment—if she sees these killings as righteous—she might see protecting the real killer as a moral obligation."
"A sacrifice," James said."She's sacrificing herself."
"For someone she probably doesn't even know.Someone who might have killed the people responsible for her brother's death, or people like them."Isla turned back to face forward, her reflection ghosting across the window like a specter of doubt."It fits her psychology.Military background, sense of duty, personal loss that was never properly addressed by the justice system.She's found a cause worth dying for—or at least worth going to prison for."
