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Tiffany shook her head. “No. Said she didn’t want to invade her neighbour’s privacy.”

Emily let out a short, disbelieving huff. “Right. Because that’s when you respect boundaries,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Who hears a sound at 3 a.m. and doesn't look out the window?” She blew another breath, her bangs blowing from the motion.

We were going in circles looking over the same evidence, hoping we’d missed something, anything, that could help bring us a step closer to unmasking The Skinner and hopefully bringing Jackson and Christopher back to life. But just like every other crime scene where it looked like someone had stepped into a life, taken exactly what they wanted, and left the rest untouched just to mock us, The Skinner left nothing behind.

Tiffany flipped another page. “No forced entry at the mansion,” she continued. “No usable DNA from access points. We’ve got a partial size-fourteen footprint upstairs at the top of the staircase. Soil trace inconsistent with the garden⁠—”

“What was that about the footprint?” I questioned, reaching over to take the file from her hand. “Jackson was a size twelve,” I murmured, flipping through the images until I found the photo of the shoe print. Emily and Tiffany exchanged a look, but I didn’t stop.

“Jackson was a size twelve. This print is too big to be his,” I said, elation giving me a boost of energy as I smiled wildly at my team. “This print isn’t Jackson’s. It’s The Skinner’s.” I couldn’t believe the words that came out of my own mouth.

Emily let out a short, sharp scoff. “And how exactly do you know it’s not Jackson Easton’s, Rosen?”

“Because he grew up with him,” Sebastian answered for me. Tiffany and Emily almost broke their necks to look back at me.

“You what?” Tiffany said, dumbfounded. “You grew up with Jackson Easton and didn’t think that was relevant?”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “So, what you’re saying is that this might be the first physical trace he’s left behind?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” The door slammed open, rattling the frame, and Rachel, our tech analyst, stormed in like she’d been running the whole way. Her long cardigan swept behind her as she practically dropped into her chair beside Sebastian, who looked mildly amused rather than surprised.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said quickly, breath still uneven, “but I’ve got the lab results back on the shoe print analysis, and it's pig manure.” For a second, nobody moved. Then Sebastian and I shared a look, because we both knew what that meant.

“Pig manure?” I repeated slowly, and a laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “That fucking bastard,” I snapped, pushing my chair back so hard, it slammed into the wall as the sound cracked through the room.

“What’s going on?” Rachel asked.

“We don’t know that yet, Peter,” Sebastian said firmly, already standing and reaching out to steady the chair I’d shoved back like he thought that would fix anything.

“It’s him,” I shot back immediately, pacing a step. “He’s the only fucker in this town with pigs. I’m telling you.”

“Slow down,” he said. “We don’t have confirmation.” I exhaled sharply through my nose, forcing myself back into the chair with visible effort. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. I knew it, I fucking knew it. I clenched my eyes shut as they burned. I wanted to cry and rage at the world. Why? Why had he done this?

“What’s going on? I’m so lost,” Tiffany said, looking between all of us now.

“Peter suspects Wayne Gatz is our killer,” Sebastian answered with a grimace, patting my shoulder and sitting back down again.

Emily frowned immediately, shaking her head. “Wayne Gatz? Nice-guy Wayne Gatz? No way,” she said, hope fading from her voice as she flicked through the files again.

“He runs half the pork supply in this town. He’s charming, he’s everywhere, and he’s been in people’s houses for years without anyone thinking twice about it.” I swallowed, jaw tightening as the memory pushed forward anyway. “And two weeks ago,” I added, slower now, “I spoke to him—the night after my sister’s birthday. And in his bin was the exact same cake we always have.” It sounded like I was grasping at straws just saying it out loud, but the sight of that cramped box refused to leave my mind. It stood out to me like a beacon, a sign of hope I had no business hanging onto.

Emily flipped through the file again, forcing practicality back into her voice. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say it is him. Then what? We arrest him because of some pig manure?” She looked at me pointedly. “We need more than that, Rosen.”

My jaw clenched hard. “We’re not talking about a parking fine,” I snapped back. “We’re talking about a shoe print that was found inside the home of a victim.”

Tiffany shifted in her seat. “So what do we do?”

Sebastian stood up and poured himself another cup of coffee. “We need a warrant,” he said after downing it like a shot.

Rachel was already turning her laptop around. “Leave it to me,” she said quickly, fingers flying over the keys. “I’ll package everything we’ve got and send it straight to the magistrate. If we’re lucky, we’ll have approval by the end of the week.”

The end of the week wasn't soon enough, but it was something. I couldn’t count how many hours we’d spent together going over the same evidence. Countless nights tying up loose ends, sifting through damaged files and faded forensic images of corpses that followed me home. We were closer than we’d ever been, yet still so far away from catching him. But I knew in my gut that we were on the right path.

Wayne Gatz may have fooled everyone, but not me.

Not anymore.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX