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Clearing her throat, Roseline gestured to the case files spread across her desk, the ones they’d taken to the bar the previous night. “We should refocus on tracking down this monster. Now that we know Garofalo and DeLuca were his victims, we need to find a common thread linking them to the Game Master.”
Callan nodded, snapping back into detective mode. “You’re absolutely right. We must take immediate action while the trail is hot.”No matter how hot you are.He hoped his errant thought wasn’t a harbinger of how hard it was going to be to keep things professional with Roseline at work.
She opened one of the files and chewed her bottom lip as she studied the information inside.
He sat down across from Roseline, leaning forward. “So, where should we start? Have you found anything useful in Garofalo’s phone records or financials yet? And DeLuca.”
“I’m still digging through Garofalo’s records now,” Roseline said, shuffling through pages. “No major red flags there so far. But I’ve also started compiling data on Enzo DeLuca.”
She pulled out another stack of papers from one of her desk drawers. “If we cross-reference the contacts and transactions of both victims, we might spot duplicate names or payments that point to accomplices.”
Callan nodded, impressed by her thoroughness. “Excellent idea. I can run backgrounds on the inner circles of both men, see if any shared connections arise.”
He started jotting down notes as Roseline’s nimble fingers moved across her keyboard, generating reports. After a few minutes, she handed Callan two sheets.
“Okay, here are the most frequent contacts for Garofalo and DeLuca in the month before their murders. Let me know if you notice any overlap.”
Studying the lists, one name jumped out at Callan. “Wait a minute… Rafael Moretti shows up on both men’s call records multiple times leading up to the live streams. Eleven calls with Garofalo, nine with DeLuca.”
“You’re right, great catch,” Roseline said, highlighting the name. “Very unusual to have such frequent communication with both victims right before their deaths.” She pulled up Moretti’s financials. “Bingo. Two large deposits of $50,000, one a week before each murder.” Roseline looked up, eyes shining. “I think we just found our first solid lead.”
Callan felt a thrill of excitement. “We need to dig deeper into Moretti. Who is he connected to, what was the source of those payments, what was discussed in those calls… this could blow the whole case wide open!”
For the next two hours, they dove into unraveling the mystery of Rafael Moretti. Every new revelation brought them one step closer to unmasking the Game Master. Callan was energized seeing tangible progress, but more rewarding was witnessing Roseline’s brilliant mind at work, drawing insights he never could have alone. She was in her element here—an avenging angel crisscrossing the virtual realm, shining light into its darkest corners.
At one point, their hands brushed, reaching for a file, causing both to freeze momentarily. Callan met Roseline’s eyes, reading a mirrored regret that they must remain disciplined at work despite their growing attraction.
Clearing her throat, Roseline got them back on track. “Okay, so Moretti is a person of interest. Should we bring him and the inner circles in for questioning?”
Callan considered, then shook his head. “Not just yet. I say we monitor them a while longer, see if anyone gets spooked into making a mistake. If the Game Master has spies in both circles, grabbing them now might scare him into hiding.”
Roseline nodded. “Smart thinking. Better to watch and wait for them to make a mistake that exposes themselves. Or the Game Master himself.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the dark, Roseline sat motionless by Callan’s side in the parked car, peering through the windshield toward the entrance of Iron Will Gym. The worn brick exterior and barred windows made it clear this was not some trendy workout spot for the young and affluent. No, this place catered to a rougher clientele, full of ambitious lowlifes trying to sculpt themselves into threats.
They had been staking it out for the past twenty minutes, waiting for Rafael Moretti to emerge. Roseline sipped her coffee. Her focus remained locked on their target.
Moretti was connected to the money, which meant he was connected to the Game Master. Whatever illegal backchannel had funneled those funds to him could lead them right to the sadistic puppet master himself. Roseline’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, making the leather creak. That monster would not elude her.
The front entrance swung open. Heavy bass blared out, rattling nearby chain-link fences before the door slammed shut again. Moretti stepped out, gym bag slung over his shoulder. His gelled hair and designer sweatpants reeked of trying too hard. He scanned the parking lot shiftily before heading toward a flashy sports car parked nearby.
Roseline’s heart hammered in her chest. “That’s him. Let’s move.”
She and Callan got out of the car in sync, striding toward Moretti just as he popped his trunk to stow his gear. He didn’t notice their approach initially, rummaging distractedly through his bag.
“Rafael Moretti?” Callan called out.
He glanced up, confusion flashing across his tanned face. Those expression lines transitioned to wariness. “Yeah, who wants to know?”
Roseline closed the distance between them, Callan right beside her. “NOPD. I’m Detective Fontenot, and this is my partner, Detective Hemlock. We need to ask you some questions.”
Moretti turned to face them, trunk still hanging open. His shoulders squared back defensively. “About what? What is this about?”
Callan stepped forward before Roseline could respond. “Let’s talk somewhere more private, shall we?” He motioned toward their nearby car.
Moretti didn’t budge. “Just tell me what this is about.” His voice took on a confrontational edge as his eyes flitted between them and the mostly empty parking lot.
