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"Sir?"Fiona asked, her brows furrowing with curiosity.
ChiefWhittaker studied her for a moment, his gaze probing. Then he reached out andpatted her on the shoulder, a small yet significant gesture from the usuallystoic man. "Good work getting us on the case, Fiona. You've showndedication and initiative, qualities I value highly."
"Thankyou, sir," she replied, heat creeping up her neck as she fought the urgeto squirm under his scrutiny.
"Listen,"he continued, his voice softening with uncharacteristic warmth. "I wantyou to take the FBI physical fitness test soon. If you pass, we can move on totraining you for real. Get you a gun and a badge; make you an officialagent."
Fiona'sheart swelled with pride and determination. This was her chance to truly make adifference.
"Thankyou, sir," she said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart."I won't let you down."
"Iknow you won't," Chief Whittaker said, a ghost of a smile playing at thecorners of his mouth. "You've got what it takes, Fiona. I believe inyou."
Withthat, Chief Whittaker dismissed her, and Fiona left the office feeling reneweddetermination and a newfound sense of purpose. She had always known she wantedto make a difference in the world, and now she had the chance to do so in a wayshe never thought possible. As she walked down the hallway towards Jake, sheknew that their lives were about to change forever. The hunt was on, and theywere more than ready to face whatever lay ahead.
***
Sunlightfiltered through the museum's towering windows, casting a warm glow over theentomology exhibit, and Fiona couldn't help but admire how beautiful it was,despite the atrocity that had happened there. The air buzzed with anticipationas staff prepared for the day's visitors, their voices murmuring in hushedexcitement. Fiona and Jake strode through the entrance, their steps echoingagainst the polished marble floor.
"Wait!"Jake called out to the employees, scurrying about. They paused, turning to facehim with puzzled expressions. "This crime scene is officially under FBIjurisdiction," he said, flashing his badge. "We need to shut down thisexhibit while we work on the case."
Amurmur of protest rippled through the workers. One man stepped forward, wipinghis hands on his khaki pants before crossing his arms defensively.
"Look,our livelihood depends on this exhibit. You can't just force us to close,"he argued, meeting Jake's gaze without flinching. "I was here yesterdaytoo--I know how tragic it was--but the police said they gathered all theevidence they could and that we could continue our business as usual. We'reonly here for one more day."
Fionaglanced around the room, taking note of the fragile butterfly displays and theintricate webs woven by spiders. She swallowed hard, knowing that she had tofind some sort of middle ground here. They didn't have a warrant to shut downthe exhibit.
"Let'scompromise," she suggested, her voice steady despite the knot tighteningin her gut. "Instead of shutting down the exhibit, why don't we conductinterviews with your staff throughout the day? Everyone will be accounted for,yes?"
Theemployees exchanged glances, some nodding hesitantly, others narrowing theireyes in suspicion. They had little choice but to comply.
"Fine,"the man who'd spoken earlier sighed, gesturing toward a nearby conference room."A lot of people are still in there if you wish to talk to a bunch of usat once."
"Thankyou," Fiona said, giving him a small smile. As they moved toward theconference room, she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in her stomach.
She hada bad feeling about this. The killer was out there, still lurking in the shadows,and they had yet to identify him. She knew that every second counted, but shealso knew that they needed to be careful. They didn't want to spook theperpetrator into going into hiding.
As theyentered the conference room, Fiona surveyed the employees one by one. Most ofthem looked genuinely shocked by what had happened, their faces etched withsorrow and fear. Some of them they had talked to yesterday, others Fiona hadn'thad the chance to speak to. They all wore the same outfit, a pale green t-shirtwith a butterfly on it and a mix of beige cargo and khaki pants.
Fionastudied the faces of the employees seated before her, her gaze flicking betweenthem as she searched for any sign of guilt or fear. It was a delicate dance—onefalse step, and they could lose their only lead. She cleared her throat, tryingto project an air of calm authority.
"Didany of you happen to be in Nevada a little over a month ago?" Fiona asked,her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.
Amurmur rippled through the room, heads turning and eyes flicking from one faceto another. Then, a young woman raised her hand hesitantly.
"Yes,we were passing through on our way to another city," she confirmed, hervoice soft but clear. "Why do you ask?"
"Interesting,"Fiona mused, exchanging a glance with Jake. "The other murder took placeat a museum in Nevada around that time. And now, here we are."
She letthe implication hang in the air, watching as understanding dawned on theemployees' faces. Could it be?
Was oneof their own responsible for these gruesome crimes?
"Doesthis man look familiar to any of you?" Jake interjected, holding up aprinted still from the security footage. The wiry figure in a beanie seemed toleer back at them, his features obscured by shadow.
Therewas a moment of silence before one employee spoke up. "Sort of looks likeDave, doesn't it?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
"Dave?"Fiona repeated her pulse quickening. "Tell us more about him."
