Page 3 of Pursuit of Her
Mayor Amelia McAllister's arrival had complicated an already delicate crime scene. After twenty minutes of political platitudes and thinly-veiled directives about handling the case with "appropriate discretion," Eve had extracted herself with promises to keep the mayor's office informed.
"I'm heading back to headquarters," Eve told Detective Rhodes, sliding into her department SUV. "Get everything processed and meet me there for the briefing."
The drive from Prosperity Heights to downtown took fifteen minutes, the road winding down from the cliffs toward the harbor. Eve used the time to process what they'd found, the meticulous staging, and the damning evidence. Three victims in four weeks, all powerful men, all with accusations of violence against women, all killed with the same precision and calling card.
When Eve pulled into her reserved parking space, her phone buzzed with a message from Commissioner Hannah Brooks requesting an immediate update. The political machinery was already grinding into motion.
Phoenix Ridge Police Department headquarters rose from the downtown district like a gleaming sentinel, its glass façade reflecting the late morning sun. The building's modern architecture—all clean lines and open spaces—stood as a physical manifestation of transparency, accessibility, and the city’s progressive values. But today, as Eve strode through the sliding doors into the atrium, the space hummed with tension that contradicted its airy design.
Officers parted before her like water around the bow of a ship, their conversations falling to hushed whispers as she passed. News traveled fast in a department staffed entirely by women—faster still when the victim was as high-profile as Judge Harmon. Eve felt the weight of their gazes, the unspoken questions, the subtle shift in atmosphere that accompanied a case that threatened to become more than just another investigation.
She punched the elevator button with more force than necessary, the morning's meeting with Mayor McAllister still simmering beneath her skin. The mayor's words echoed in her mind:"Handle this quickly and quietly, Captain. Election year is approaching, and we can't afford another media circus about powerful men being hunted by a vigilante in our streets."
As if justice could—or should—operate on a political timetable.
The elevator doors opened to the third floor, and Eve stepped into the detective division. The bullpen buzzed with activity: officers at computer terminals, phones ringing, the constant motion of an active investigation in full swing. At the center stood the digital crime board, its massive screen currently displaying Judge Harmon's official portrait alongside crime scene photographs and evidence logs.
"Attention," Eve called, her voice cutting through the noise. The room stilled as every officer turned toward her. "Briefing room. Five minutes. Full team."
Detective Caroline Foster approached as the others began gathering their materials. Tall and willowy with close-cropped brunette hair and intelligent eyes that saw everything, Caroline had transferred from Harbor Division six months ago. Her intuition was as sharp as her analytical mind, making her a rising star in the department.
"Captain," she greeted Eve, tablet in hand. "Preliminary forensics just came in from Dr. Rivera. Ballistics confirms it's the same weapon used in the Peterson killing. Nine-millimeter, custom load, fired from approximately three inches away in execution style."
Eve nodded, absorbing this information as they walked toward the glass-walled conference room that occupied the corner of the floor. "What about the security system? They had the code."
"Professionally bypassed. Whoever did this knew the system intimately—not just the make and model, but the specific installation."
"Inside knowledge," Eve mused. "Or extensive surveillance."
"There's something else." Caroline’s voice dropped slightly. "I was cross-referencing Judge Harmon's case history with CEO Peterson's business dealings. They served together on three corporate boards and were members of the same country club. There's a pattern emerging."
Eve's gaze sharpened. "What kind of pattern?"
"Both men had multiple allegations of violence against women in their past. Both had cases dismissed due to technicalities or evidence 'mishandling.' Both made substantial donations to the same political campaigns." Caroline paused. "Including Mayor McAllister's."
The muscle in Eve's jaw twitched once. "Document everything. Keep it contained to our team for now."
They entered the briefing room where Eve's investigative team had assembled. Detective Valerie Rhodes stood at the front, arranging digital files on the interactive display. Forensic specialist Isabella Rivera sat reviewing notes, her silver-streaked hair falling across her face as she leaned forward. Media liaison officer Carmen Mendez tapped at her tablet, likely monitoring the growing press coverage. Four other detectives completed the circle—all women, all handpicked by Eve for their competence and discretion.
Eve took her position at the head of the table, surveying the assembled team before speaking. "As of 0600 hours this morning, we are officially dealing with a serial case. Judge Malcolm Harmon becomes the third victim of what the media has already dubbed 'The Phoenix Vigilante.'"
She nodded to Rhodes, who brought up the crime scene photographs on the main display. Eve watched her officers' reactions carefully—the slight widening of eyes, the subtle tightening of lips. Not horror at the violence; they'd all seen worse. No, what she detected was something far more dangerous: understanding. Perhaps even approval.
"The vigilante is escalating," Eve continued. "Three victims in four weeks, each more high-profile than the last. Each killed in the same manner: single gunshot wound, execution-style. Each with damning evidence left at the scene."
"Evidence that's been verified as authentic in all cases," Dr. Rivera interjected, looking up from her notes. "The flash drive from this morning contains unaltered video footage of Judge Harmon assaulting his wife on multiple occasions. Timestamps intact, metadata verified."
Eve acknowledged this with a nod. "Which brings us to our central challenge. We're hunting someone who's exposing crimes that the system—our system—failed to punish." Her gaze swept across the room. "Make no mistake, this vigilante is a murderer. Taking justice into one's own hands undermines everything we stand for, regardless of how despicable the victims might have been."
The words felt rehearsed even as she spoke them. Because they were. Because they had to be.
Officer Mendez raised her hand. "Captain, the press is already spinning this as some kind of feminist avenger narrative. The hashtag Phoenix Justice is trending citywide."
"Public support for the vigilante will not impede this investigation," Eve stated firmly. "Our job remains the same: to uphold the law, not personal vendettas."
A movement at the door caught her attention. Commissioner Hannah Brooks entered, her steel-gray suit as crisp as her expression was severe. Behind her stood Detective Andrea Martinez, recently transferred from Central Division. Eve felt a flicker of irritation at the interruption.
"Captain Morgan," the Commissioner nodded curtly. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
