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A rush of memories flooded back – the damp forest floor, the sickly sweet smell of decay, and the haunting sight of a lifeless body partially concealed by foliage. It was all too familiar. She had been there, called in by the FBI while still at Harvard, to help with this very case. Her expertise in entomology and forensics had provided invaluable assistance, ultimately leading to her full-time position after graduation.
However, it wasn’t exactly a happy memory. Fiona had uncovered as much evidence as she could—she had done her job by the books, and yet there was still a feeling inside her that there was something more to the case, something to be looked deeper into. The brother of the victim had believed her to be murdered, and Fiona had tried to talk to her superiors to get the case looked into further—but they hadn’t budged, and she was only a student.
It was that same gut feeling Fiona knew to trust now. She didn't recognize it back then, of course. But with all the evidence and the case closed, it had been ruled as an accident… nothing more.
"Jake," Fiona choked out, her voice barely audible. "This is the same case. I – I worked on it years ago."
He looked up from his laptop, concern etched on his face. "What do you mean?"
"During my time at Harvard, I helped the FBI investigate Matilda's death," she explained, her voice wavering. "I never realized... I didn't recognize the name until I saw these photos."
"Damn," Jake muttered, his eyes scanning the screen.
Fiona leaned back in her chair, an uneasy knot forming in her stomach. She stared at the crime scene photos on the laptop screen before her, memories of her time working on Matilda Black's case threatening to overwhelm her. Her fingers absently tapped the table as she pondered the implications of this discovery.
"Red," Jake said, his voice low and cautious. "Talk to me. What are you thinking?"
She looked into his concerned eyes, feeling a rush of gratitude for his unwavering support. "I remember examining the corpse fauna on Matilda's body," she began, her voice distant as she recalled the details. "My professor supervised my work. We found no signs of foul play – just evidence of a tragic fall that resulted in a fatal head injury. I remember wanting to keep looking into it more in case we were wrong, but I was only a student… I had no say in the matter."
Jake frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "So, if it was ruled an accident, why is someone targeting the first responders now? What's the connection?"
Fiona shook her head, unable to provide an answer. Her racing thoughts felt like a swarm of bees, buzzing incessantly and refusing to settle. "I don't know, Jake. It doesn't make sense."
"Maybe there's something we missed," Jake suggested, determination creeping into his tone. "Or maybe there's more to Matilda's story than we originally realized."
"Maybe," Fiona agreed, though doubt lingered in her voice. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing a crucial piece of information – something that would bring everything into focus.
Silence settled between them as they contemplated their next move. Fiona's gaze drifted back to the crime scene photos, her mind replaying the events of that fateful day. She remembered the damp earth beneath her knees as she carefully examined Matilda's remains, the pungent aroma of decay permeating the air around her.
Fiona couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The sinister shadow of the past loomed over them, threatening to consume her once again. She just hoped that when the truth finally emerged, it wouldn't be too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The sun was sinking lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the police precinct's parking lot. He sat in his car, idling near the entrance, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses as he stared at the building with intent. In his hands, he tightly gripped a photo of the other officer who had been first on the scene when Matilda died. He'd memorized the man's face and knew it was time to pay him a visit.
His heart thudded heavily in his chest – a mixture of excitement and fear that fueled his determination. As he waited, he couldn't help but dwell on Matilda, the one person he loved more than anything in this world. The pain of losing her still felt like a fresh wound, and the injustice of her death being labeled an accident gnawed at him incessantly.
"Damn them all," he muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw. "You deserved better, Matilda."
He glanced at the photo again, his anger intensifying. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a familiar figure stepping out of the precinct. A flash of red hair and glasses made his heart skip a beat, and he turned to look directly at her.
"Wait, that's... her," he whispered, recognition dawning as he recalled the student examiner who had been involved in Matilda's case. She was walking alongside a tall man with dark hair and eyes. They seemed deep in conversation, completely unaware of his presence.
A sudden rage bubbled inside him as he recalled how Fiona had helped rule Matilda’s death an accident. He would never forget the condescending way she dismissed his pleas for a more thorough investigation. How dare she walk away from Matilda, leaving her to rot in the woods, and then go on with her life as if nothing had happened?
The memory of their conversation haunted him, her face etched in his mind like a painful scar. He had desperately tried to convince her that Matilda's death couldn't have been an accident, but she had remained steadfast in her assessment.
"Please," he had begged her, voice trembling with emotion, "you have to take another look. I know Matilda – she wouldn't have just fallen like that."
Fiona had fixed him with a sympathetic gaze, her green eyes only adding insult to the injury. "I'm sorry," she had said, her tone gentle but firm. "But based on the evidence we have, it really does seem like an unfortunate accident."
He felt a surge of anger course through him as he recalled her words, the way she had so casually dismissed his concerns. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, the urge to drive straight into Fiona becoming almost unbearable.
"Who are you working for now, Fiona?" he muttered under his breath, watching as she and her companion pulled away from the precinct. "The FBI?"
His heart pounded against his ribcage, fueled by a mixture of rage and adrenaline. It was clear that whatever case they were working on had brought her back here, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all somehow linked to Matilda's death. Could it be that Fiona Red was the one responsible for killing his Matilda and covering it up? As an expert in entomology and forensics, she would have been in a unique position to make it look like an accident.
The red taillights of their car seemed to mock him, reminding him of her fiery hair – a constant reminder of the woman who had dismissed his concerns about Matilda's death so easily. It fueled his anger even more, feeding into the notion that she had orchestrated everything from the beginning.
