Page 169 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"If it's trafficking..."

He tapped the photograph of Drew Lian.

"...then why dump him?"

His finger moved toward the woman.

"Why dump her, why leave bodies, leave messages?"

Mason stated.

"A trafficking operation survives by staying invisible, they don't start mailing invitations to homicide detectives."

The room fell quiet again. I kept staring at the board. Neither theory fits. Traffickers didn't leave theatrical displays. Serial killers didn't usually kidnap twelve women without taking credit. This was both and neither. It felt like trying to complete a puzzle where somebody had quietly swapped half the pieces from another box.

I rubbed the back of my neck.

"Somebody wants us looking over here."

I pointed toward the bodies.

"While something else is happening over there."

Nobody fucking answered because nobody had a better explanation and that was the part I hated most.

Ping

The sound was almost laughably small.

One soft electronic chime drifted across the evidence room, disappearing beneath the constant hum of fluorescent lights and the quiet shuffle of paperwork. Normally none of us would've looked up. Department computers made noise all day long: dispatch updates, missing persons reports, warrants waiting for signatures, endless administrative emails that somehow always found us at the worst possible moments.

After forty-eight hours without sleep, another notification should have meant absolutely nothing, but something made me look, maybe instinct or exhaustion. Maybe the simple fact that I'd stopped believing in coincidence somewhere around my tenth homicide.

The desktop monitor glowed faintly in the corner of the room. A single unread email had forced itself to the very top of my inbox. It hadn't come through the department server. It hadn't been forwarded from dispatch. It hadn't been routed through any of the systems we normally used.

There was no sender. At least... not one that meant anything.

A string of encrypted letters and numbers sat where a name should've been, long enough to make my eyes narrow automatically. No recognizable domain. No agency. No traceable server. Whoever had sent it knew exactly how to hide behind layers of digital smoke.

My pulse slowed. It always did. People assume fear makes your heart race. Mine had learned a different trick years ago. Right before something went catastrophically wrong... everything inside me became unnervingly still.

The subject line sat there like it had been waiting patiently for me.

You're Welcome.

The room around me seemed to shrink. I didn't realize I'd stopped breathing until my lungs started burning.

"What?"

Mason's voice pulled me halfway back into the room. He hadn't seen the screen yet. He'd seen me. Years of working together had taught him that I didn't freeze without a reason.I didn't answer him. Fucking couldn't.

My fingers settled around the mouse, squeezing harder than I intended until the plastic groaned beneath my grip. The cursor hovered over the email for several long seconds before I finally clicked. Nothing appeared. No greeting, threats, no manifesto explaining twisted philosophies or righteous vengeance, no demand for money or attempt to negotiate.

The body of the email was completely blank.

One attachment sat in the middle of the screen like a carefully wrapped gift.

VIDEO_01.mp4