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At the end of the hall, Fiona spotted a frosted glass door with the words "Office" etched into it. She knocked lightly, holding her breath as she waited for a response. When none came, she slowly turned the handle and peeked inside.
"Hello?" she called again, louder this time. "I'm looking for the funeral director who handled Matilda Black's service three years ago."
The office was empty but filled with neat stacks of paperwork and an open appointment book on the desk. It was clear someone had been working there recently. Fiona hesitated, torn between waiting for the funeral director to return and risking an intrusion into the ongoing funeral.
As she weighed her options, Fiona couldn't help but feel a growing sense of urgency. She knew that every moment she wasted brought them one step closer to losing their suspect—or worse, another life being taken. Still, there was nothing she could do if the funeral director was busy. She figured it was best to wait in her car until the ceremony was over.
Fiona stepped back out into the night, the cold air nipping at her exposed skin. She pulled her coat tighter around her and glanced towards the funeral home's entrance, making a mental note to return once the mourners had dispersed. As she strode across the parking lot towards her car, she couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach.
The red car she had noticed earlier was sitting in a parking spot nearby, off. Her heart skipped a beat as she recalled seeing it twice before—once on her way to Beverly's house, and again on her drive here. A small voice in the back of her mind warned her that this was no coincidence.
"Get a grip, Fi," she muttered to herself, her breath visible in the cold night air. "You're just being paranoid." Despite her attempts to reassure herself, the bad feeling persisted, worming its way deeper into her thoughts.
As she approached her car, Fiona reached into her pocket for the keys, her fingers fumbling over the metal. Before she could unlock the door, however, she sensed movement behind her. Her instincts kicked in, and she spun around, ready to confront whoever—or whatever—was there.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice firm despite her racing heart.
A man stood before her, his features shrouded in darkness but unmistakable all the same. His eyes bore into hers with an intensity that made her heart pound even harder.
It was Mason Black.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
The night was still as Jake stood before the modern, sleek home nestled in the heart of Portland's most affluent suburb. A chill breeze swept through the air, carrying a faint scent of jasmine as it rustled the neatly trimmed hedges lining the property. The house belonged to Mark Jenson, the bigshot lawyer with a shady past and, according to recent information, some sort of connection with Matilda Black – the dead woman whose case seemed to be the thread running through this tangled web of crime.
As Jake approached the opulent glass door, he couldn't help but hope Fiona knew what she was doing investigating Matilda's brother. Sure, he was a viable suspect too, but something deep within Jake's gut told him that Mark was their guy. It just couldn't be a coincidence that Mark knew Matilda and had bailed out Clide earlier on. Clide had lived in a cabin near where Matilda's body was found, for God's sake. At the very least, Jake theorized that Clide could have been responsible for her death, and Mark had covered his tracks. But there was more to this than met the eye, and Jake was determined to find out.
"Alright, Jenson," Jake muttered under his breath, his fingers flexing within the confines of his leather gloves, "let's see what you're hiding."
He stepped onto the porch, the smooth flagstones cold beneath his boots. He could feel the weight of his badge and gun resting heavily at his side, a constant reminder of his duty and the responsibility that came with it. As he raised his hand to knock on the door, flashes of Matilda Black's lifeless body, along with the other three victims, flickered in his mind, fueling his resolve.
The door creaked open, revealing a pretty blonde woman in her thirties. Her eyes were rimmed with fatigue, and she wore a forced smile that didn't quite reach them. This must be Mark's wife, Laura.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice strained.
"Good evening, ma'am," Jake said, his tone firm but gentle as he flashed his FBI badge. "I'm Agent Jake Tucker. Is Mark Jenson home?"
"Uh, no," Laura replied, the corners of her mouth tightening into a thin line. "He's out at the moment. I'm his wife, Laura. Is there something wrong?"
"Nothing to worry about just yet," he reassured her, trying to maintain an air of calm professionalism despite the gnawing urgency in his gut. "I just need to ask him a few questions."
"Alright," she said, her brow furrowing with concern. "I'm not sure when he'll be back, though."
"Would you mind if I ask you a question while I'm here?" Jake asked, reaching into his pocket to pull out a photograph. The image of Matilda Black stared back at him, her eyes haunted and hollow, a chilling reminder of what they were fighting for.
"Have you ever seen this woman before?" he questioned, holding up the picture to Laura.
Laura's eyes widened, a look of shock mixed with concern crossing her face. She hesitated for a moment, glancing away from the photo as if it held some dark secret. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Yes... I've seen her before."
In that instant, Jake knew he was on the right track. He could sense Laura's fear, her reluctance to reveal any more information about the dead woman who seemed to haunt her husband's life. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline as the truth drew ever closer.
"Can you tell me more about her?" Jake asked gently, trying not to push Laura too hard. He needed her to trust him, and he knew that wouldn't happen if he came across as aggressive or accusatory.
Laura chewed on her lower lip, her eyes darting away briefly before settling back on his face. "I... I think Mark had an affair with her a few years ago," she hesitantly admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I heard she died, but I didn't know the details."
The revelation hit Jake like a punch to the gut. Not only did Mark have a connection to Matilda, but it was far more personal than he could have ever imagined. As much as he wanted answers, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for Laura, who was clearly struggling with her own emotions at this revelation.
"Did you ever think that Mark could have been responsible for her death?" Jake asked cautiously, trying to keep his voice level despite the growing anger boiling inside of him.
