But what struck Miles most forcefully was how the rest of the apartment seemed to overflow into the living space. Through the doorways leading to the kitchen and bedroom, he could see chemistry equipment, beakers, and things he did not know the names of…all of which looked far too sophisticated for casual hobbyist use. Books and scientific journals were stacked on every available surface, creating narrow pathways between towering piles of academic material.
"Please, sit down," Martinez said, gesturing toward a futon near the center of the front room while he remained standing near the window. His fidgeting was becoming more pronounced, and Miles noticed how the man's eyes kept darting toward the apartment's exit as if calculating distances and escape routes. He looked…well, notscaredbut definitely agitated.
"Dr. Martinez, we understand you were terminated from your position at UC Berkeley," Vic began, settling onto the futon in a way that looked casual but positioned her between Martinezand the door. "Can you tell us what you've been doing since then?"
"I've been continuing my research independently," Martinez replied. There was a tone of annoyance in his voice, carrying the defensiveness of someone who had been forced to justify his activities many times before. "Just because the university decided my views were too controversial doesn't mean my work isn't valid."
Miles studied Martinez's apartment more carefully, noting the sophisticated nature of the chemistry equipment he could see in the adjacent rooms. "What kind of research are you conducting?"
"Environmental chemistry, primarily. I'm investigating the chemical signatures left by industrial processes and their impact on urban ecosystems." Martinez's explanation sounded rehearsed. But then again, Miled assumed he had explained this many times during the course of his teaching career.
"That requires fairly sophisticated equipment," Miles observed. "How are you funding this independent research?"
Martinez's fidgeting intensified, and sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead despite the apartment's cool temperature. "I have some savings, and I've been doing freelance consulting work for environmental groups."
Vic leaned forward slightly, her tone becoming more direct. "Dr. Martinez, would you mind if we took a look around your apartment? We're trying to understand the scope of your current research activities."
“And why is that?”
“We’re currently investigating a series of murders…murders of wealthy, prominent people. And given your past interests and passions, we thought you could be a valuable resource.”
“Resource,” Martinez said, as if mocking them. “Or suspect?”
“Well, let’s figure that out, shall we?” Vic said, injecting a bit of snarkiness into her tone. “Now, as I asked…do you mind if we have a look around?”
"I do, actually" Martinez said immediately, his voice sharp with panic. "Absolutely not. You don't have a warrant, and I haven't done anything wrong. This is harassment."
His angry refusal was telling. An innocent person might be annoyed by federal agents wanting to search their home, but Martinez's response suggested someone who was hiding something significant.
"Dr. Martinez," Vic said, "we're not here to harass you. Honestly, we're hoping you might be able to provide some insights into the financial community that these victims were part of."
Something in Vic's words seemed to snap something inside Martinez. His already nervous demeanor shifted into outright panic, his eyes widening as the implications of their visit became clear to him. Miles saw the exact moment when Martinez realized they weren't just asking for academic consultation—they were investigating him as a potential suspect.
Without warning, Martinez bolted toward the apartment door, moving with surprising speed for someone who had seemed so nervous and uncertain just moments before. He yanked the door open and sprinted into the hallway, his footsteps echoing off the narrow walls as he headed for the staircase.
"Shit," Vic muttered, immediately giving chase.
Miles followed close behind, adrenaline surging through his system as they pursued Martinez down the apartment building's narrow stairwell. The confined space amplified every sound—footsteps, heavy breathing, the metallic clang of Martinez's hand slapping against the stair railings as he took the steps two at a time.
Miles was surprised to discover how much he was enjoying the physical challenge of the chase. His years of college swimming had maintained his cardiovascular fitness, and he found himself keeping pace with Vic despite her obvious experience with this kind of pursuit. The analytical part of his mind that usually dominated his work was temporarily overwhelmed by the pure physical excitement of the chase, the primal satisfaction of pursuit and potential capture.
Martinez burst through the building's main entrance and into the small courtyard that separated the apartment building from the street. But instead of heading toward the street where he might disappear into traffic or crowd, he veered toward the back of the building. It was clear he knew the lay of the land well as he dashed in the direction of a narrow alley that led to the building's rear entrance.
Miles and Vic followed, their footsteps echoing off the brick walls of the confined space. Miles could see Martinez ahead of them, determined but not all that fast. Apparently, his academic lifestyle hadn't prepared him for extended physical exertion. As they rounded the corner of the building, Miles saw Martinez heading toward a set of basement doors that were built into the building's foundation. The heavy metal doors looked like they led to utility areas or storage spaces, places that would normally be locked and inaccessible to tenants.
But Martinez wasn't trying to hide in the basement—he was trying to reach something down there.
"Stop, Martinez!" Vic shouted, closing the distance between them as Martinez fumbled with what appeared to be a key or access card for the basement doors. Vic’s hand was hovering over her holstered Glock, ready for action if it came to that.
Miles reached Martinez just as the man managed to unlock one of the doors, tackling him before he could disappear into the darkness below. They went down hard on the concrete,Martinez struggling briefly before the combined weight of both federal agents convinced him that resistance was futile. It was the first time in more than three years Miles had been forced to get physical with a suspect and it showed when the wind went rushing out of him and the pain of slamming into another body registered much more than he remembered.
"What's in the basement, Martinez?" Vic demanded, breathing heavily from the chase but maintaining her professional composure.
"Nothing," Martinez gasped, his earlier panic now replaced by the defeated exhaustion of someone whose desperate gamble had failed. "Just storage."
But as Miles got to his feet, hauling Martinez up with him, Vic was already investigating the basement doors. She pulled them open easily and stepped into the space beyond. Miles helped keep Martinez restrained while watching Vic disappear into the underground area. She apparently found a light switch because the place was fully illuminated a few seconds later.
"Miles," Vic called from below, her voice carrying a note of excitement that made his pulse quicken. "You need to see this."
