Four
Alex stared at her,his pulse hammering, jaw tight. “Charlotte.” His voice came out low. Controlled. Too controlled. “Tell me about the case.”
She didn’t answer.
“That wasn’t random.” His voice stayed even, but the edge was there, just under the surface. “They knew I was here. They knew I’d answer.”
Charlotte dragged a hand across her forehead. “This is what they want, Alex. They want us rattled.”
“Well, it’s working,” he muttered, gaze shifting to the photo still lying on the table.
The Polaroid. He studied it. Charlotte, younger by thirty years, sitting in an interrogation room. Across from her, a man in shadow. The lighting obscured most of his face, but something about the posture, the build, tugged at Alex’s memory.
Charlotte wasn’t in uniform. This wasn’t a casual visit. It was one of her cases. And whoever called just now wanted them both to see it.
He scanned the corner of the photo. The date stamped at the bottom: 1994.
His brain went cold. South Dakota. Mid-90s. Violent crime was at a peak then. He didn’t have to be a cop back then to remember the headlines. He’d been twelve, but he remembered the tension, the fear in the air.
He looked up at her, watching carefully. “This guy,” he tapped the edge of the photo, “he’s someone you put away, isn’t he?”
She didn’t speak, just clenched her jaw. That was enough.
Alex leaned back, his mind working fast. “Ninety-four…” he murmured. “That was the year of the zombie home invasions.”
A flicker crossed her face. Most people wouldn’t have caught it. His stomach dropped. “The ones that left the victims alive but broken,” he added.
Still, silence.
And then the name clicked. “Gideon Ward.”
Her eyes closed. Just for a second. Long enough to confirm everything.
“Son of a bitch,” Alex breathed.
He looked at the photo again. Charlotte leaning forward across the table, posture tense, focused. He knew that look now. He could look that way too when he had a suspect in the box. He could read it clear as day: restraint. She hadn’t just been leading an interview. She was holding something back.
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
Charlotte exhaled. “Yes.”
Alex scrubbed a hand across his face. “He’s been in prison for thirty years.”
“I thought that meant it was over.”
“But now someone wants you to think it isn’t.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He stared at her. Thirty years. She had carried this that long. And never told him. Never even hinted she’d been involved in taking down one of the state’s most dangerous serial predators.He learned about this case in the academy. She told him about other arrests. Why did she lock this away, never to mention?
He swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
She met his eyes, face unreadable. “Because it was over. Done.”
Alex leaned in, voice sharp. “It was a huge victory. You told me about others.”
She closed and opened her eyes again.
