Rachel rushes to the front door, gun drawn. "Berryville PD! I'm coming in!" she announces. With a swift kick, the barrier flies open. She quickly sweeps the room, her gun steady. She quickly finds it's clear.
The sergeant drops to her knees beside the bed; her pulse pounds against her chest wall. She reaches for the figure and then freezes when she sees what it is.
It's a sexual surrogate. A doll?
A startled laugh escapes her. Holstering her weapon, she glances at the splintered doorframe and shakes her head. "Joe is going to give me so much grief over this."
The teasing she's about to endure flashes through her mind. The guys won't let this go. Imagining their remarks, she chuckles again, but soon her laughter fades. Might as well look around while I'm here.
She moves to a pile of unopened mail, flipping through it—bills, bills, and more bills. Nothing useful. She plops them back down, frustrated. If only I could do more than a plain-view search, she thinks, eyeing the dresser and nightstand.
The sergeant knows she can't search without a warrant. The only reason she's even here is exigent circumstances—what she thought was a dead body on the floor. Anything beyond plain sight is inadmissible. And requesting a warrant is futile. The only thing that ties him to the crime is hearsay—the nurse's account of what the suspect allegedly said.
Rachel scans the room one last time. What a waste of time. She sighs.
Turning to leave, she pauses—something in the entryway catches her eye, a family photo hanging lopsided on the wall.
She dusts it off, places it on the console table, and then pulls out her phone. Opening Jerry's text, she compares the images.
They're the same.
Without hesitation, she redials the station. "I just ID'd the man at the hospital."
"I was about to call you, Sergeant," Jerry says. Leaning back in his chair, he continues, "Did some digging—turns out he works maintenance at Tyson's. Nearly twenty years. Did odd jobs around town before that—day laborer, so to speak."
"Send Kirk and Jeff to talk to him."
"They're already on their way."
Rachel rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Of course they are.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Jerr," she says, smiling.
"Oh, and heads up," Jerry adds, lowering his voice. "Kirk and Jeff are up to something. They're sneaking around, whispering. You know how they get when they're plotting."
Rachel glances at the doll, a mischievous smirk forming. "Well, I have the perfect prank for them."
Jerry chuckles. "I'm in."
The dispatcher's voice crackles over the radio.
"Shots fired at Wilson Law."
"Jerry?"
"I'm on my way, Sergeant."
***
The sergeant arrives to find the law firm completely blocked off. Forensics is busily processing the scene.
Walking over, the rookie opens his notepad and says, "Jeff Wilson was leaving to meet with a new client when he was gunned down in the parking lot."
"Does the bullet match the gun used in our other shootings?"
"It's the same caliber. I'll let you know if it's an exact match once I get it to the lab."
Glancing around at the growing crowd, Rachel asks, "Were there any witnesses?"
"No, and the nearest camera is at the courthouse miles away."
"Keep canvassing the area to see if anyone saw anything."
The sergeant turns to find Jerry stepping through the law firm door. She hurries over to meet him.
"Sergeant, the client our victim was about to see is Jack Murphy, the one who was accused of killing his family before setting the building on fire. According to what I was told, his parents sent bail money to the firm, and Jeff was supposed to handle things from there."
Rachel eyes the body and then says, "So the shooting is the killer's way of temporarily stopping his release?"
Kirk runs over, his face ghostly white. "I just got word that the county jail is engulfed in flames."
***
The sergeant and her team arrive to find firefighters locked in a desperate battle against the blaze. Despite their best efforts, the flames continue to consume the old building, their struggle slipping toward defeat.
Approaching the fire chief, she asks, "What can you tell me, sir?"
"They believe it started in the supply closet at the back," he replies, wiping soot from his brow. "That's where the fire burned hottest, the most intense. The chemicals exploded, and it spread from there."
"Any casualties?"
The chief's expression darkens. "No one in cell block C made it out alive. The guards said they couldn't reach them in time."
"Let me guess," the sergeant murmurs. "Jack Murphy was housed there."
The chief flips through his notes. A flicker of curiosity crosses his face as he looks up. "How did you know?"
"His lawyer was killed minutes before."
"So you think whoever killed him started this fire?"
"Either that, or we've got two perps working together." She turns to the rookies. "You two—talk to the guards, see what they know. Jeff, I want you to check to see if their security footage is backed up on the cloud."
"You've got it, Sergeant."
Her phone buzzes in her pocket. Answering her cell, she puts it on speaker as she strides across the parking lot.
"Sergeant, it's Jerry. I just spoke to a witness—she heard the gunshots as she was heading to her car. She says she ran for cover, then looked out to see a police officer darting across the parking lot. The officer jumps into her cruiser and speeds away."
"Can she describe the shooter?"
"She says the shooter is a Caucasian female in a Berryville PD uniform. She's about five-four, average build, and has dark blue-black hair."
The sergeant narrows her eyes. "Very specific." Almost rehearsed.
"The witness is a retired PI."
That explains the details. "Have her sit down with a sketch artist."
"She's talking to one now."
"Send me the sketch as soon as it's done."
"I will."
Rachel is about to climb into her car when a conversation catches her ear.
"I transferred the prisoner for you, so you owe me, Nadia."
Rachel freezes. Joe claimed Nadia handled the transfer. Her gaze locks onto the officer. She fits the description almost perfectly—except for her hair. But a wig could fix that.
Walking over, the sergeant asks, "What transfer are you talking about?"
The rookie stiffens, eyes darting to the ground. She swallows hard. "One from, uh, about a year ago."
Nadia nods. "That's right. I was sick." She presses a hand to her stomach. "Stomach bug. Angela covered for me."
Rachel watches the exchange, her mind racing.
Angela forces a casual shrug. "It was no big deal. I mean, what are friends for, right?" Fidgeting, she glances between Nadia and the sergeant.
Rachel doesn't let the unease go unnoticed. "Enough chit-chat. Get back to work."
"Yes, Sergeant," they say in unison, turning toward their cars.