But even as Miles agreed to Hayes' terms, he felt a familiar guilt settling in his stomach.He hadn't discussed this with Elena.Hadn't warned her that another elemental murder might pull him into another active investigation.She would be at her pharmaceutical lab right now, analyzing clinical trial data and preparing for their wedding, while he was committing to another case that would consume his thoughts and potentially put him in harm's way.Again.
Miles left Hayes' office and walked quickly back toward his own workspace.He needed to gather his crime scene kit and review what little information was available about fluorine gas poisoning.The technical literature would help him understand the specific expertise required to weaponize such a dangerous chemical.
But underneath his professional excitement about the case, guilt gnawed at him like a physical ache.Elena had been patient with him since San Francisco.She'd tolerated his nightmares and his obsessive thoughts.She'd supported his work even when it took his attention away from planning their wedding.
Now he was about to disappear into another investigation without giving her a chance to voice her concerns.Without discussing whether his theory was worth risking their relationship.Without considering that maybe she was right to worry about his mental state and safety.
Miles reached his office and began packing his forensic kit.Test tubes, sample containers, chemical detection equipment.The tools he'd need to analyze whatever traces the killer had left behind in Sarah Morrison's kindergarten classroom.
But first, he needed to call Elena and tell her the truth.She deserved that much, even if it meant facing her anger and disappointment about his inability to let go of the case that had already consumed too much of their lives.
The conversation would have to happen tonight.For now, he had a crime scene to investigate and a theory to prove.
CHAPTER FOUR
Miles arrived at Roosevelt Elementary School to find the parking lot transformed into a mobile command center.Emergency vehicles lined the circular drive.Hazmat specialists moved between white vans carrying detection equipment.Yellow tape cordoned off the entire kindergarten wing, while officers in protective gear stood guard at every entrance.To see it all in front of an elementary school was particularly heartbreaking.
Miles showed his credentials to the perimeter officer and was directed toward the incident commander, a fire captain named Stoller.There was a hardened but distant look to him; it looked like he'd been managing chemical emergencies for most of his career.
“Dr.Sterling?”Stoller asked.
“Yeah, that’s me.What can you tell me about the fluorine gas detection?”
Stoller consulted a tablet displaying sensor readings from inside the building.“Well for right now, all we know for certain is that the room is safe.There are trace readings, but they’re so low, it doesn’t matter.However, we know that it was highly concentrated in classroom 118 yesterday afternoon.Traces in the adjacent hallway, too.But like I said… there’s nothing that poses immediate risk, so long as we go by our ventilation protocols.”
“Any indication of how it was delivered?”
“That's where it gets interesting.”Stoller nodded pointed toward the building with a sad look suddenly coming over his face.“Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.This wasn't amateur hour.”
Miles felt his pulse quicken.Sophisticated methodology was exactly what he'd expected if this was connected to Diana Hartwell's murders.“Can you walk me through the delivery system?”
“See for yourself.The hazmat team cleared the room about an hour ago.It's safe to enter now, but you'll still need protective equipment.”
A hazmat specialist helped Miles into a protective suit.The suit was held in a small, black van and when Miles was getting into his, he saw that there were six others also ready for use.The gear was bulky and uncomfortable, but necessary given the potential for residual chemical contamination.He was used to wearing these sorts of things in the lab.
As he sealed the helmet and checked the air supply, he spotted a familiar figure approaching from across the parking lot.Vic Stone walked toward them with the confident stride he remembered from San Francisco, but she, too, seemed unnerved by the setting.She wore dark jeans and an FBI windbreaker, her auburn hair pulled back in the same practical ponytail.Seeing her again brought an unexpected sense of relief.Working with local authorities was necessary, but Vic understood his analytical approach in ways that other investigators didn't.
“Sterling,” she said, reaching them with her FBI credentials in her hand.Stoller nodded to her and pointed her to the hazmat specialist before she and Miles reunited.“You managed to het Hayes to let you out here, huh?”
“Yeah, and it wasn’t particularly easy.”
“I thought of you the moment I heard about the story,” she said as Stoller and the hazmat specialist began fitting her with protective gear.“ Hayes tells me you think this is connected to Diana Hartwell.”
“Fluorine is element number nine,” he said, as if it explained everything.“The sophistication of the attack fits the pattern we saw in San Francisco.And other crimes scenes from my research over the years.”
Vic's expression was skeptical, but interested.She remained silent as the last stages of her fitting were completed.She sighed, gave a shrug and asked, “You get into these things often?”
“Often enough.”
“I don’t envy you at all,” she said, her voice slightly muffled through the face screen.“Come on, let’s see what the crime scene tells us.”
They entered the school through the main lobby, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallways in a ghostlike whisper.Stoller followed behind them, giving them adequate space.The building felt abandoned and violated.Cheerful bulletin boards and student artwork seemed grotesque in the context of a chemical murder.Emergency lighting cast harsh shadows across lockers and classroom doors.
Miles had visited schools before, but always during active hours when they buzzed with life and learning.This hollow silence felt wrong.The absence of children's voices made every sound seem amplified and ominous.They reached classroom 118 and paused at the threshold.Through the open door, Miles could see Sarah Morrison's workspace exactly as she'd left it the night before, right down to the scattered art supplies and the knowledge that she'd died alone on that cheerful carpet.
“Jesus,” Vic said quietly.“Can you imagine dying in such a… such a happy place?”
Miles understood her reaction.Sarah Morrison had been a kindergarten teacher.Someone who dedicated her life to helping five-year-olds learn and grow.You could see why someone with a twisted view of justice might target a predatory real estate developer.But not an elementary school teacher.
