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As Ella and Ripley exited the cramped office, Ella couldn't shake off a sense of disappointment. She had hoped for a breakthrough, something definitive to propel the investigation forward. Instead, she was leaving with the same uncertainties, the same unanswered questions.
Ella replayed the interview in her head, scrutinizing every detail, every response. The pieces of the puzzle were there, but they weren't fitting together, not yet.
But David had said one thing that made her consider that maybe she had this unsub completely wrong.
They’re puzzles for children, he’d said.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Back in the solace of the precinct, Ella sat ensconced behind her desk, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of the riddles again. Each one, with its deceptively simple facade, felt like a taunt, a mocking challenge from a shadowy adversary who was seemingly one step ahead every time.
They were the remnants of a twisted mind's game, intricate and methodical, yet seemingly leading to a dead end.
Was she looking too deeply into them? Perhaps the riddles and coded messages were just taunts – omens of death. Perhaps her unsub relished in the fear and confusion that the message bestowed upon the victim, and was simply a precursor to their deaths?
The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer, laden with the weight of unspoken secrets and the haunting echoes of the victims' last moments. Her mind wandered back to David Hargreaves, the puzzle editor with the weary eyes and disjointed world of letters and ciphers. His alibi, if true, cleared him, yet something about the whole scenario nagged at her, a puzzle piece not quite fitting into the grand scheme she was struggling to piece together.
Something felt off about this unsub, as though his murders didn’t match his character. She had no doubt that he saw the world differently to everyone else, perhaps a disorder brought on by stunted trauma in his youth. His murders were methodical and brutal, yet he infantilized the whole process with childish puzzles.
He’d tried to lure his victims to a pond, a park, a row of garages. Why? Were these locations a crucial part of his fantasy, or were they isolated areas that would aid his anonymity?
But the killer had already taken the time to write these riddles, send them to the victims and show up at their premises. The idea of luring them, following them and killing them elsewhere didn’t add up.
Ella went back to her laptop and delved deeper into the world of ciphers and codes, particularly Caeser ciphers. As she began sifting through articles, academic papers, and forums dedicated to cryptography, a pattern quickly emerged. The Caesar cipher, once a staple in the ancient art of secret communication, had lost its allure and efficacy in the contemporary world. It was now considered rudimentary, almost childlike in its simplicity, a relic of an era when communication was far less complex.
According to one academic paper, since the digital age had given birth to sophisticated algorithms, it rendered the Caesar cipher obsolete for any serious cryptographer. It was now relegated to the realms of basic education in cryptography, a starting point for amateurs and enthusiasts, a far cry from the sinister applications Ella was grappling with.
She pondered the paradoxical nature of the situation: a killer sophisticated in his methods of murder, yet using a primitive form of cryptography. It was as if the killer was playing a game, but the rules were known only to him. Could it be that the killer was not as advanced in his cryptographic skills as in his methods of murder? Or was he deliberately using a simple cipher to mislead, to create a false narrative, or to point to something more personal, a part of his identity perhaps?
Even so, how would deciphering these riddles help her catch him? Did the killer even visit the locations mentioned in his notes beforehand? If he never even set foot there, then there was no point intercepting them. In which case, if Ella wanted to predict this killer’s next move, she had to unearth his true desires and cut him off where motivation and action aligned.
The sound of a ringing phone pierced the silence of the office. Ella pulled her cell out of her pocket, praying it wasn’t the new director on the other end. When she clocked the name, a wave of relief hit her hard.
‘Hey, Ben,’ she said.
‘Just checking you survived the night,’ he replied, his voice a comfort blanket amidst the chaos.
‘Just about. How are things back there?’
She navigated to the image results and began idly scrolling, looking through examples of ciphers and their explanations reduced to simple diagrams.
‘Quiet. How’s the case going? Any idea when you’ll be back?’
Ella paused, her attention focused on the swirling images of ciphers that twirled across her screen. Each pattern, a riddle within itself, seemed to mock her with its simplicity, yet it held secrets she couldn't quite grasp. Ben's question hung in the air, echoing in the quiet of her office like a reminder of a life that felt increasingly distant.
‘Not soon enough,’ Ella said. ‘We’re grappling with shadows out here. It’s like chasing a ghost.’ She could almost hear Ben sigh on the other end of the line.
‘Sounds tough. How’d your meeting go with the director yesterday?’
‘Ripley was right. He’s a piece of work. He’s watching us like a hawk.’
‘Christ. Want me to pay him a visit?’ Ben laughed.
‘Even you couldn’t charm him,’ Ella said. ‘He’s a miserable son of a bitch.’
‘Who said anything about charming him?’
‘Very funny,’ Ella said. ‘Sadly, the Bureau doesn’t follow pro wrestling rules.’
