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Alex
WhenIreturntothe office Derek is still on the phone, talking in hushed but aggravated tones. His frustration is palpable. He ends the call with an exasperated sigh, his hand gripping the phone tightly.
"What's wrong?" I inquire, concerned about his state of mind.
Derek runs a hand through his hair, his brows furrowed. "Just more of that personal issue I mentioned earlier. It's really gotten under my skin. But I'll start addressing it tonight. No need to dwell on it now."
I nod, understanding that he needs his space to handle whatever is troubling him. "Take your time, Derek. I’m here for you if you need anything."
He gives me a smile before shaking his head, trying to shake off the frustration. "Thanks, Alex. Alright, let's get back to work. But first, I think we need a fresh overview on this."
Derek glances at the old murder boards, filled with images and notes that have become familiar to us. "We've hit a dead end with the interviews, so maybe it's time to reassess our approach."
I look at him curiously, intrigued by his suggestion. "What do you have in mind?"
Derek walks over to a storage closet and retrieves a new, larger board. "Let's start by pinning up the victims' images again. We need to analyze why some were targeted and killed faster than others. There might be a pattern we missed."
Excitement bubbles within me as I assist Derek in setting up the new board. We carefully pin up the photographs, arranging them in a way that allows us to study them as a whole. The faces of the victims stare back at us, a chilling reminder of the lives lost.
Derek steps back, his gaze sweeping over the board. "There must be a reason behind the order in which they were targeted. We need to consider factors like location, occupation, personal connections, anything that might help us uncover the killers' motives."
I nod in agreement, my mind already racing with possibilities. "Some victims might have been easier targets due to their routines or vulnerabilities. Others may have had connections to the murderers, whether known or unknown. We should also consider any distinguishing characteristics or similarities among the victims."
Derek leans against the table, his eyes fixed on the board. "Exactly. We'll cross-reference their profiles, look for any commonalities, and dig even deeper into their lives. There has to be something we've overlooked or missed, a clue hiding in plain sight."
Despite our best efforts, the board of victims' images remains a complex web of unanswered questions. The more we delve into their lives and backgrounds, the more we establish that, on the surface, there are no apparent connections between them. No commonalities in their routines, no shared acquaintances, and no discernible patterns in the way they were targeted.
Frustration mounts in the room further as we hit dead end after dead end. The lack of progress and the weight of the unsolved cases feels like a burden I can't shake off, knowing that there are files in my possession that could solve everything.
Derek and I spend hours pouring over the evidence, all the available documents, and reexamining interviews. We explore different angles, consider alternative theories, but nothing seems to fit together. To the unknowing eye the motivations remained elusive, shrouded in darkness, just out of our reach.
I need to get working on the files at home, being here isn’t getting me anywhere. Feeling the mounting frustration, I take a deep breath, trying to push aside the thoughts of those files and how they could be the answer to everything. I focus on the present, on the board in front of us, and on the resolution to find the missing pieces in what we have that could break open the case.
But as we continue to work through the same information again, my patience wears thin, and I can't contain the frustration any longer. With a mix of anger and helplessness, I grab a handful of papers from the table and throw them at the board, watching them scatter across the images of the victims.
"None of it makes sense!" I yell, my voice echoing in the otherwise quiet office. "We've been at this for so long, and we're no closer to finding answers!"
Derek's face is a mix of concern and sympathy as he steps closer to me, his hand gently rubbing my arms in a comforting gesture. "Alex, you're exhausted. We both are. Maybe it's time to take a break and get some rest."
I shake my head, my frustration and exhaustion intertwining with my growing desperation. "No, I can't rest. I can't stop until we figure this out."
Derek's grip on my arms tightens, his voice becoming firmer. "I know you're dedicated, Alex, but pushing yourself like this won't help anyone. We need a fresh perspective, and that won't happen if we're running on fumes."
Tears of frustration and fatigue threaten to spill from my eyes, and I wipe them away hastily. "I feel like I'm going insane. I know the pieces are right in front of us, but we can't make them fit."
Derek's expression softens, and he pulls me into an embrace. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Alex. But right now, you need to take care of yourself. Go home, clear your mind. Tomorrow is a new day."
I lean into him briefly, feeling a mix of comfort and gratitude. "You're right," I whisper, my voice breaking slightly. "Maybe, I do need to clear my head."
Derek pulls back after only a moment, looking into my eyes with genuine concern. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself. Promise me you won't let this case consume you."
I nod, but I know the next words out of my mouth will be a lie. "I promise. I won't let it consume me."
He gives me a small smile, "Good. Now go home, and remember that I'm here for you, whenever you need me."
Taking a deep breath, I gather my belongings and prepare to leave the office. As I start to walk out, Derek's words echo in my mind, and I realize that he's right. Stopping in the doorway I look back at him. “You’re right, we do need a fresh perspective. If we don’t make any headway tomorrow, I’m getting Tristan to help us. He might be able to see something outside of the box. And he has friends who might be able to help with information that isn’t here.” I say waving a hand at the mess I’m leaving him to pick up.
Derek's expression wavers between surprise and annoyance at the mention of Tristan. He opens his mouth as if he wants to protest, but then he visibly restrains himself.
