Metropolitan Police Department, Miami.
Homicide Division, late at night.
"It's already eight o'clock. The analysis results should be ready by now. Should we pressure the young forensic techs?" Ángel asked, a bit bored as he waited for the reports that could solidify their case.
Larry called the pathology division and said, "I understand you're overwhelmed with work, but we sent those samples at five in the afternoon. We're waiting on those results... Yes, as soon as you have them, send them over."
"Tara still hasn't shown up—she's currently missing," Ángel informed him in response to Larry's request to bring the woman in for questioning as a suspect.
"That's true. How did you come to that conclusion?" asked Masuka, who had just arrived with several trays of food.
Larry helped Masuka set the trays down and said, "Let's just say Ron's murder was a crime of passion. The blow to his head with a blunt object killed him. Afterward, the unnecessary act of throwing him into the water to drown—when he was already dead—was clearly an act of hate."
"But what triggered that? Tara's behavior when she arrived was far too dramatic. Her eyes were full of regret—I saw it, I'm sure of it."
After saying that, Larry continued calmly under the attentive gaze of his two friends. "She killed Ron. Interestingly, while analyzing their messages and photos, I found a bond closer than what a typical nephew-aunt relationship would suggest."
"Incest?" Masuka perked up, excited by the revelation.
"Tara was sleeping with Ron? I don't know… That sounds too hard to believe," Ángel said, visibly confused. Was this case really that easy to solve?
"Maybe the Ice Truck Killer wants us to catch Ron's killer easily. That would make sense, since he didn't follow through with his usual M.O.," Masuka said with certainty.
"That makes more sense. The connection would exist if Ron had a partner and Tara found out when she visited. Statements say Ron never visited Tara during his stay in Miami—that hadn't happened in previous years."
Larry nodded and said, "In her desperation, she visits Ron and finds him being intimate with his romantic or sexual partner."
While going through the house, Larry had found a photo album where Ron was pictured with a girl. All the faces in the photos where she appeared with Ron had been torn out, which meant only one thing could've happened.
"That still doesn't explain her connection to the Ice Truck Killer," Ángel pointed out—something Larry had also been pondering.
"Do you remember Elias?"
"Ron's friend…"
"Yes. It's possible Ron's friend is the Ice Truck Killer, and in his desire to try something new and challenge us, he helps Tara cover up the murders."
"That would explain the clumsy cuts and the regret over denying her incestuous affair," Masuka said, thinking Larry's deductions, based on the details he observed, were spot-on.
"This is still damn insane." Ángel would never stop being surprised working alongside Larry—the criminal profiler he never thought he needed.
Working with him was incredibly straightforward and efficient. Ángel didn't have to chase leads that went nowhere. He just needed to follow Larry's advice and make decisions based on it.
Ángel was starting to enjoy this working dynamic. He hoped to team up with Larry for a long time.
"Incest… It'd be weird to say I'm jealous. Let's just say some people have more luck than others," Masuka said. He was anything but normal, so remarks like that were typical coming from him.
At the same time, Larry felt a sharp pain in his left eye. Aside from at home, the only place he had a sedative was in his car, but he never brought that kind of drug to work.
"Damn it…" Larry began to lose his patience.
The tingling, the tremor, and the irritability kept intensifying. He wanted to get up and smash the chair to pieces.
Just then, Larry's phone rang.
"Forensic results are ready, Forensic Tech Luk!" said the voice on the line from the lab. The speed of the results suggested they'd done a quick comparison.
"What are the blood test results? I'm almost certain the woman was drugged—differently from how Ron died."
"You're correct... In the unidentified woman's blood sample, we found high doses of dissociative anesthetics, and even higher amounts of GHB."
After ending the call, Larry looked at Ángel and said, "Same M.O. as the Ice Truck Killer. The only outlier is Ron, which means his killer wasn't the same person."
Right after the call, an email came through on Larry's desktop computer.
He clicked on it, and the fingerprint comparison results appeared. A match had been found.
The deceased was Emma Wilson, 23 years old, originally from Florida. A young orphan.
She had graduated from the School of Foreign Languages at Columbia University.
Between 2004 and 2005, she had made multiple trips between the United Kingdom and Canada. Ten entries and exits confirmed her international activity during that period.
Could she have been Ron's girlfriend? Or did they just have a sexual relationship?
Larry paused at that possibility. The age difference was considerable, and the nature of their relationship—if it existed—seemed complex. For a few seconds, he weighed the hypothesis… but then dismissed it.
Not out of carelessness—but because he knew that emotional attachment, even slight, could cloud judgment. He had learned the hard way that getting too involved turned the forensic investigator into part of the case, instead of the one solving it.
Focus on the facts. That was the only way to find the truth without getting lost in speculation. It was the same lesson he had once taught to Max and Dean.
Larry shook his head to clear the fog in his mind. Now that he had the report, he could handle the rest tomorrow. After all, they had already gone to arrest the person responsible for Emma's murder.
Thinking about this, Larry took pictures of the toxicology report he had just received, as well as the fingerprint match data, and sent them to Sergeant Doakes.
Ángel offered to drive Larry home.
Larry's mind was a mess. Without the sedative, and hearing about the ongoing, fruitless police search for Tara, he was furious that something so simple was taking so long.
"I'd invite you over for a drink, but I've got some problems I can't control," said Masuka, thinking about his family issues and the possibility of a divorce.
Noticing Larry's delay in replying, Ángel figured he was just exhausted. The job of a criminal profiler was torturous—like moderating social media posts, but much worse.
Unlike just witnessing things, Larry had to get inside the killers' minds. He had to feel what they felt and understand what drove them to make those choices.
"We're here, buddy," Ángel said in a softer tone.
After dropping Larry off at home, he said, "See you tomorrow."
"Get some rest."
Larry returned home drenched in sweat. He rushed to his room, swallowed four sedatives, and collapsed face-first onto the bed.
Fortunately, he managed to contain the addiction he had never addressed. He put it that way because his unique situation stemmed from mental health problems. Maybe he really was a little broken.
Of course, admitting something like that would put his head on a scale.
Larry would never admit he had problems.