“Here it is,” Miles called to Vic, pointing to the device.“Same design as the others.”
Vic joined him in examining the dispersal system, both of them documenting its position and configuration.“Look for another letter,” Vic said.
Miles searched the area around the driver's seat and found several folded pages tucked behind the device, exactly as they'd discovered at the previous locations.They were folded neatly, the action done with great care.He extracted the papers carefully and spread them on a nearby seat.
The handwriting was the same precise script they'd seen before, but the content was even more disturbing than the previous manifestos.Miles read the opening paragraph with growing alarm:
“Robert Hahn represented the ultimate vector of molecular contamination, breathing poisoned air for eight hours daily and then exhaling that corruption into confined spaces where innocent passengers were trapped.His lungs were saturated with carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides, and particulate matter that he spread throughout the city's transportation system.Each breath he took absorbed additional toxins, each breath he exhaled contaminated others.”
The killer's paranoia was escalating beyond simple concerns about synthetic chemicals.Now they were targeting people for the air they breathed, the unavoidable exposure that came from living and working in an urban environment.It was like reading the letters of someone who was slowly losing their mind.
Miles continued reading, his anger building with each sentence.The manifesto described Hahn as a “poison carrier” who threatened humanity's molecular integrity through his daily routine.It detailed the specific pollutants found in vehicle emissions and explained how respiratory exposure created biological contamination that spread through human contact.
“This is insane,” Miles said, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.“The killer thinks bus drivers are contaminating passengers.And maybe they are, honestly, in a way.But this insinuates that they can do it by just by breathing the same air as everyone else.”
The implications were staggering.Office workers who commuted through traffic.Pedestrians who walked along busy streets.Anyone whose job required exposure to urban air pollution could fit the killer's twisted definition of molecular contamination.
Miles felt paranoia and anger churning in his chest as he absorbed the full scope of the killer's philosophy.Three innocent people were dead because someone believed their normal activities constituted chemical warfare against society.The logic was not just wrong—it was borderline crazy, the product of a mind that had lost all connection to reality.
“We have to stop this,” Miles said, his voice tight with emotion.“Before anyone else dies.”Only when the words were out of his mouth did he understand how empty and cliched they sounded.But at the same time, his heart suddenly ached with their meaning.
They completed their examination of the crime scene and left the bus, removing their protective equipment once they were clear of the contaminated area.The security perimeter continued to buzz with activity as emergency responders continued their decontamination procedures and evidence collection.Miles spotted two different news crews on the scene, reporters angled against the building while cameramen jockeyed for the best spot.
“We need to talk to other drivers, see if anyone noticed unusual activity around Hahn's bus or the depot in general,” Vic said.Miles looked at the cluster of Metro employees waiting across the street.
“I agree, but I'm not overly optimistic.This killer is too careful to leave obvious traces.”
“Might as well do it while we’re here,” Vic said with a heavy sigh.“Come on.”
Miles wasn’t too sure.He thought their time might be better served elsewhere… maybe back at the office to go over that flower shop footage.But Vic was the experienced field agent here, so he followed her lead as she walked over to the other drivers.
They spent the next hour interviewing drivers and maintenance workers, but learned nothing useful.No one had seen strangers around the depot.No one had noticed unusual smells or sounds from Bus 479.Hahn had been conducting his normal pre-route inspection when the attack occurred, following the same routine he'd performed for twenty years.
The lack of witnesses or suspicious activity frustrated Miles even more than the failed interview with Dr.Lawson.The killer was operating with surgical precision, striking targets who were alone and vulnerable while leaving no evidence of their presence beyond the gas delivery systems.And while the investigators were tied up here, there was no telling what the killer was up to.
“I keep coming back to the same question,” Miles said as they walked away from the depot employees.“Why these specific victims?Why Sarah Morrison instead of any other kindergarten teacher?Why Janet Reilly instead of any other florist?Why Robert Hahn instead of any other bus driver?”
Vic considered the question as they headed back toward their car.A larger police presence had arrived, pushing back the curious pedestrians and news crews.“Maybe they're people the killer has encountered in their daily life.Someone who rode Hahn's bus route, or shopped at Janet's flower store.”
“Or had a child in Sarah's class,” Miles added.“That would narrow the suspect pool to people with connections to all three victims.But the timeframe is so compressed—three attacks in less than three days.
“They have to have been planning these attacks for weeks or months,” Vic suggested.“Identifying targets, studying their schedules, preparing the devices in advance.”
Miles felt the investigation slipping away second by second.Every lead they followed seemed to dissolve into speculation and theory.The killer's sophistication suggested extensive preparation, but their target selection appeared almost random.The combination made them nearly impossible to predict or track.
As they reached their car, Miles turned to Vic with a new idea forming in his mind.“I think we need to run background checks on anyone in the city with chemistry training who might have reasons to be angry with employers, the government, society in general.”
“Why that approach?”
“Because if I'm even remotely right that this connects to my periodic table killer theory, this person would be just like Diana Hartwell—guided by someone else.And if we can find someone who was fired or rejected from a career in chemistry, they'd be looking for someone to take them in, someone to sympathize with their grievances.Someonealmostlike Lawson.But I suspect such person would have gone quiet after their decline rather than stick around the same old communities like Lawson.”
Vic didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded slowly.“It's a starting point.But we're talking about a lot of potential suspects in a city this size.”
“It would be a hell of a lot smaller than the current victim pool.We can start by focusing on the most recent cases.People fired in the past year, graduate students who were expelled, researchers who lost funding or institutional support.”
They climbed into the car and headed toward the field office.It took a while to get out of the crazy maze around the bus depot, but a stern police escort lent a hand.They left behind the chaos of emergency vehicles and news crews with their new theories and approaches buzzing in their heads, the tension in the car growing thicker.
As Vic navigated through traffic, Miles stared out the window at the ordinary people going about their daily lives.Any one of them could be the next target if the killer's paranoia continued to escalate.And until they identified the person behind these attacks, virtually anyone in Washington could wake up to find their normal activities had marked them for death.
