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“I hope you’re right, Detective,” she said. “Because my fear is that yesterday’s slaughter of Vincent Garofalo may be the second in a longer string of premeditated murders, each more depraved than the last.”
She stared down again at the photos of Garofalo’s ravaged body, recalling the way he had writhed and screamed on that video feed until the very end. A primal part of her shuddered, even now, at the memory of such inhuman malevolence.
Hemlock leaned forward, peering at her. His muscular forearms rested on the table. “Detective Fontenot, look at me.”
She flicked her eyes up to meet his steady gaze. The commanding gentleness in his voice was unexpected.
“Don’t let the images or the violence get to your head. We’re going to catch this monster before he ever gets another chance,” Hemlock stated. “You have my word on that.”
Roseline managed a taut smile. “I appreciate your confidence, Detective. Though, it seems misplaced given our lack of actionable leads.”
Hemlock’s eyes bored into hers, unwavering. “Call it intuition if you want,” he countered. “But mark my words—with your brilliance tracking digital footprints and my own modest talents for reading human ones—this Game Master’s days of evading justice are numbered.”
A hint of warmth kindled inside Roseline’s chest, thawing her icy reserve slightly. She had underestimated Hemlock’s capacity to galvanize and reassure. When focused like a laser beam, his belief proved contagious. It almost made her dare to hope again despite the odds against them.
He extended his hand out to her. After a brief hesitation, Roseline shook it. The warmth of his grip seemed to steady her.
A soft chuckle escaped Roseline’s lips before she could restrain it. Hemlock’s willingness to acknowledge the gaps in his digital knowledge surprisingly put her further at ease. She decided his humility might make collaborating more seamless than expected.
“Then I look forward to enlightening you on the intricacies of networked intelligence analysis and cyber forensics,” she said, eyes glinting. “Your comprehension of those fields will become essential in a case like this.”
Hemlock grinned, stroking his chin. “Well, it’s a good thing I have the finest teacher a detective could ask for.”
He punctuated this compliment by taking a long swig of coffee. Over the rim of the cup, his bright blue eyes sparkled good-naturedly at her.
Against her instincts, Roseline felt herself smiling back at him. When his entire focus homed in on her, his intensity exuded like a beam of light designed to illuminate her to her very core. She could grasp why Beckner spoke so highly of Hemlock’s ability to connect with witnesses and colleagues alike on an emotional level.
But she would have to be vigilant not to let that warmth lull her into complacency. Charm or no charm, they needed to stay laser-focused on the evidence trail from here on out. They had to find the Game Master before the cunning adversary could unleash more deadly mayhem.
Roseline slid several detailed data charts across the tabletop. “Here, let’s review the GPS metadata from Garofalo’s cell phone,” she suggested. “The signal was still emitting during the live stream, so I was able to isolate the general broadcast radius based on pings off surrounding towers. It offers us a starting point to survey for possible locations the Game Master could have used…”
For the next two hours, Roseline walked Hemlock through each key artifact she had managed to extract from their adversary’s digital wake so far. Hemlock’s questions grew increasingly perceptive, though he still required occasional layman analogies to grasp certain networking nuances. But he took diligent notes throughout, and Roseline appreciated his open admission when he needed clarification.
As they delved deeper into dissecting the data points, Roseline felt them gradually attuning to one another’s thought processes and communication rhythms. Their exchange flowed more organically, one analytical observation intuitively prompting the next as they brainstormed in tandem.
Bouncing insights back and forth kindled an exhilarating rush in Roseline. She couldn’t recall ever experiencing this sensation of intimate intellectual connection with a colleague before. At least not in this way that somehow felt both stimulating and comfortable at the same time. Was this what true partnership felt like?
Roseline swallowed hard, both moved and frightened by the unwavering conviction in Hemlock’s voice as he spoke. Part of her wanted to believe him—that collaborating with this incisive new partner might provide the key to unlocking the Game Master’s secrets.
However, another part still hesitated to put such trust in someone she barely knew. It seemed too early to let her guard down like this, regardless of the benevolence clear in Hemlock’s gaze. It would be wiser not to intertwine their working relationship with excessively intimate ties.
Not when she had to safeguard her heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
At his apartment, Callan put on jeans and a t-shirt, each item chosen to blend in versus being marked as law enforcement. He opted not to shave, letting stubble darken his face. Callan felt ready to pick up where he’d left off the previous day.
After ending his briefing at the station, Callan noticed Roseline struggling to focus, exhausted after working all night gathering intel on the Game Master, and also experiencing the emotional toll of viewing gruesome videos over and over again. Seeing the dark circles under her eyes, he felt a swell of concern for her well-being. Gently, he suggested she go home to get some proper rest, emphasizing she needed to take care of herself and her brain first and foremost. This case was a marathon, not a sprint. Though resistant, Roseline acquiesced to getting some sleep before diving back into the data.
Once his weary new partner had left to recharge, Callan decided to pursue the investigation through some old-fashioned legwork on the streets. He gave his friend and fellow detective Brandon Turner a call, hoping the two of them canvassing sources in person might shake loose some new leads. Roseline’s digital tracking was invaluable, but sometimes human interaction unearthed clues technology could not.
Gulping down the rest of his coffee, Callan grabbed his sidearm and leather jacket. Time for some good old-fashioned detective legwork.
With all their initial plans changed, he and Brandon now planned to hit the streets this afternoon, hoping to dig up leads on the missing mob boss, Vincent Garofalo. His grisly murder, orchestrated by the Game Master, was their one solid crime scene so far, one without a physical body or a located crime scene. Hopefully, canvassing Garofalo’s known haunts and associates might shake loose some clues about his last days. Anything to illuminate the phantom they hunted. As Garofalo was a higher-level criminal with many connections and friends, it would be easier to start with him than with Alto. The drug dealer was obviously a victim, but they were grasping at straws in finding any lead of connection, and it was preferable to be more efficient for the time being.
Stepping outside into the spring morning, Callan inhaled the familiar scents of this city. He’d come a long way since arriving in New Orleans, a wary newcomer struggling to gain his footing. Their bond had been invaluable while navigating his transition to the Big Easy these past few months.
Now Callan felt more at home here, and today, he was eager to serve his new hometown by hunting down a deadly menace.
