Concerning increase.That’s one way to put it.
I catch onto his use of the word “weeks.” Simply by semantics can we consider the increase happening in the last few months. If the missing persons cases are connected to this, then it’s been going on for months. We just don’t have proof yet that they’re connected.
My gaze drifts briefly to the board behind my desk, to the photos, connections, and empty spaces where we should have answers by now.
Girls pulled off the street, moved through abandoned buildings like inventory. Used then discarded. And now… an escalation.
The image of the latest known victim flashes in my mind before I can stop it, dead on the ME’s table downstairs, with chemical silence in her system where there should have been a fight. Confirmed succinylcholine: surgical, controlled, and deliberate. To euthanize the victim so she’ll never speak about what happened.
“We are actively working alongside specialized task forces,” Captain Grant goes on, “to identify those responsible and bring them to justice.”
Mason lets out a quiet huff beside me. “Translation: we’ve got nothing.”
I don’t respond because he isn’t wrong. But the truth is uglier than that. We don’t havenothing. We have pieces and fragments. Enough to know how bad it is, but not enough tostop it. And the Captain’s up there talking “active efforts” and “ongoing investigations” like it’s under control.
That’s not action; that’s containment. Not of the criminals, but of the narrative.
A reporter’s voice cuts in from off camera. “Captain, can you confirm whether the recent abandoned apartment building fire is connected to the trafficking ring?”
A silent, measured moment passes. “We are exploring all possible connections,” the captain says smoothly. “At this time, we cannot definitively link the two incidents.”
I grit my teeth. We both know that’s bullshit. The survivor’s statement alone ties it together. The fire wasn’t random. It was an escape. But apparently, to him, confirming that publicly means admitting how long it’s been happening, how deep it goes, and how long we’ve been behind.
Another reporter jumps in. “What about the victim found earlier this week? Sources are suggested a more sophisticated method of killing, something involved medical-grade substances. Can you comment on that?”
Captain Grant’s face shifts darkly, but I understand why. We’ll need to figure out who let that information out of the building.
The captain doesn’t miss a beat. “We do not comment on ongoing forensic analysis,” he heaves. “What I can assure the public of is that we are dedicating every available resource on this case.”
Mason snorts. “Every available resource except the ones we actually need.”
That’s the other problem: resources, task forces stretched thin, and jurisdictional overlap turning into territorial pissing contests. Budget allocations tied up in politics instead of need. We’ve got leads sitting untouched because there aren’t enough bodies to run them down. Too many open ends, not enoughhands, and our office is too tied up in holding a press conference focusing on optics more than results.
“Can you speak to community safety?” another reporter asks. “Residents are reporting increased fear, especially in the affected neighborhoods.”
The captain nods, like he expected that one. To be fair, he probably did. “We understand the concern,” he says calmly. “We are increasing patrol presence in key areas and encouraging the public to remain vigilant and report any suspicious activity.”
Vigilant, that’s what you tell people when you can’t protect them.
My mind flashed to Liv, her apartment, and her street. The way she’d stood in the precinct yesterday, refusing to back down, even when I gave her every reason to.
She’s already in it, whether anyone wants to admit it or not. Especially me. And now the whole city is being told to keep their eyes open.
Like that’s enough.
“Do you believe these incidents are isolated,” a reporter presses,” or part of a larger network operating within the city?”
A longer silence this time. “We are investigating all possibilities,” the captain says. “At this stage, it would be premature to draw conclusions.”
I lean back slightly, folding my arms. Premature? Or inconvenient? Because calling it what it is, an organized operation, means it’s structured, funded, and protected by someone. That raises questions no one at the press conference wants to answer.
Mason shifts beside me. “You see the mayor?” he murmurs.
I follow his line of sight on the screen. He’s wearing a slick suit that’s too polished and standing just behind the captain’s right shoulder watching everything.
Yeah, I see him.
“This isn’t just us,” Mason adds under his breath.
