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"Some," he replied. "Mostly just acquaintances, though. She was friendly but private. It was hard to really get close to her."
"Thank you," Fiona said, offering a small smile. She sensed the unease behind his words, the mix of respect and distance Jamie had commanded even in life.
Jake pulled out a photograph, its edges creased from handling. "Ever seen this woman around? Lara Chase," he asked, placing the photo on the counter.
The young man peered at the image, then shook his head. "Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry."
"Are you sure?" Fiona pressed, hoping for a flicker of recognition.
"Positive. I know most of the regulars by face, and she's not one of them."
"Okay, thanks." Jake retrieved the photo, tucking it back into his jacket. Lara's absence from the studio narrowed their scope, but it didn't close any doors—not yet.
Fiona shifted her weight, the soles of her boots gripping the polished floor of the martial arts studio. Her gaze lingered on the receptionist's face, seeking the truth in his eyes. "Did Jamie ever mention feeling like she was being watched or followed?" she asked, her voice steady.
The receptionist hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "No, nothing like that," he said, his words quick and certain. But then he paused, a crease forming between his brows as if he were sifting through his memories. "There was this guy though, came in a few weeks back. He was... off."
"Off how?" Fiona probed, leaning in slightly.
"Obsessed, kinda," the receptionist replied, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting the man to appear. "He wanted Jamie to train him specifically, but she didn't do private sessions with adults. Only kids." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "When we told him 'no,' he got all worked up about it. We had to ask him to leave and not come back."
"Sounds like he could be important," Jake interjected, his brow furrowing. "Who was this guy?"
"Let me pull up his membership details," the receptionist offered, turning to the desktop computer beside him. His fingers danced across the keyboard, the clicks echoing faintly in the quiet studio.
Fiona watched the screen flicker as the receptionist navigated through the system. A picture materialized—a man with a hard-set jaw and a gaze that didn't quite meet the camera's lens. Victor Harmon, read the bold letters beneath the photo. He appeared to be in his forties, his hair more salt than pepper.
"Victor Harmon," the receptionist announced, as if confirming the name for himself as well.
"Thank you," Fiona said, her mind already racing through the possibilities. She noted the lines etched around the man's eyes, the tightness of his lips—a visage that spoke of frustration and unyielding intent.
Jake leaned closer, his eyes scanning the image. "Can you print that out for us?"
"Sure thing," the receptionist replied, hitting a key. The printer hummed to life, disgorging a sheet with Victor Harmon's details into the physical world.
"Anything else you can tell us about this guy?" Jake asked, accepting the printout from the receptionist.
"Only that Jamie didn't seem scared, just annoyed. Like he was a fly buzzing too close to her food," he answered, offering a weak smile. "She was tough as nails, you know?"
Fiona nodded, taking one last glance over the room. She could imagine Jamie Lin moving among the young students, a force of intensity and dedication. Despite the violence of her end, in this studio, she was remembered as strong, disciplined. A figure to be admired.
"Thank you for your help," Jake said, folding up the printout and tucking it into his pocket. "We'll be in touch if we have any other questions."
"Of course," the receptionist replied, his gaze somber. "Anything to help find who did this to Jamie."
As they left the studio, Fiona and Jake shared a look. Victor Harmon was the closest thing they had to a lead so far—and they had to dig up everything they could on him.
***
Fiona tapped at the screen of her tablet, the glare from the morning sun reflecting off the glass and momentarily blinding her. She angled the device away, shading it with her body as she accessed the FBI database. Beside her, Jake sat motionless, his hands resting on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the martial arts studio's entrance across the parking lot.
"Got something?" he asked, not turning his head, but his tone was expectant, hopeful for a lead.
Fiona didn't respond immediately, her focus narrowing as she sifted through Victor Harmon's digital footprint. It wasn't long before her search yielded results, and what she found sent a jolt through her. "He's an entomologist," she murmured, more to herself than to Jake.
"Like you?" Jake's voice cracked with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
"Was," Fiona corrected without looking up, her fingers swiping across the screen. Her eyes widened behind her glasses as she read further. "He worked at the butterfly conservatory. But..." Her voice trailed off, a knot forming in her stomach.
