Chapter 5
Five
Erin sat alone in the quiet squad room, the only light coming from her monitor and a desk lamp someone had left on across the room.
The glow cast long shadows, making the half-empty space feel even lonelier.
She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, then tilted her head back to stretch the tension in her neck.
She had been staring at the same page of her report for over ten minutes, unable to focus.
Her desk was cluttered with folders, half-drunk coffee, and a notepad scribbled with questions from the morning’s press conference.
One file lay open in front of her, highlighting six different homicides across four states.
On paper, they looked unconnected—different jurisdictions, different circumstances—but Erin had a feeling.
Something about the timing and the randomness of each attack gnawed at her.
Still, it was late, and she knew she wasn’t going to make much more progress tonight. Her thoughts had started drifting again, first to the toxicology results she was still waiting on, then to the reporter who had asked about them.
Erin sighed and leaned back in her chair.
She could still picture Jamie’s face during the interview with Olivia Turner, the way her expression softened and her voice stayed calm and kind.
She hadn’t meant to stay and watch the broadcast, but when one of the younger officers had pulled it up in the break room, she hadn’t looked away.
She told herself it was just professional curiosity. Nothing more.
But watching Jamie on screen, Erin felt something shift.
Jamie was calm but commanding, her voice steady as she introduced the segment.
The camera cut to Olivia Turner sitting in one of WCVB’s glass-walled interview rooms, and the tone immediately softened.
Jamie’s posture changed, just enough for Erin to notice.
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just a little as she asked questions. It wasn’t an act. She was listening.
That stood out.
Most reporters rushed grief. They pressed too hard or glossed over the quiet parts.
Jamie didn’t. She let Olivia talk about Josh in full color, his love for old buildings, the way he used to invent histories for every brownstone they passed.
She let the silences breathe. Erin could tell Olivia trusted her, even if only for a moment.
And then the piece turned.
Jamie didn’t sensationalize it. She didn’t make any wild claims. But she raised the question that Erin had been turning over for days now.
“Edgar Rodriguez has been charged with murder, but questions remain. Sources close to the case say toxicology results could play a larger role than initially expected.”
It was vague enough to avoid trouble. No attribution. No leaks. But the message was clear. Jamie wasn’t just chasing the press conference sound bite. She was doing her own digging.
Erin’s eyes stayed on the screen, even after the segment ended.
Jamie had caught something, something that most of the press pool hadn’t bothered to ask about.
Erin had spent the week requesting updates on the tox screen herself.
It had taken too long to come back, and now the window for explanations was closing.
She tapped her pen against the folder in front of her. Jamie had seen it. That mattered.
And maybe Erin wasn’t grasping at shadows after all.
She looked back down at the six files spread across her desk, each one marked with a different jurisdiction’s case number.
They were all too easy to dismiss in isolation—a mugging gone wrong in Providence, a bar fight in Albany, a stabbing near a parking garage in New Haven.
But the timelines lined up too cleanly. And more than one of them had mentioned strange behavior from the suspect.
Slurred speech. Disorientation. A blank look in the eyes.
Just like Edgar Rodriguez.
If the toxicology report came back the way Erin suspected, it wouldn’t just change the shape of this case. It could be the thread that connected something much bigger.
She sat back in her chair, running a hand over her face. The station was nearly silent now, the hum of the vending machine and the occasional creak from the HVAC system the only sounds left. It was probably time to go home.
She slipped her arms into her leather jacket and swung her bag over one shoulder. As she walked toward the lot, she paused briefly at the back exit and glanced over her shoulder, the stillness inside the station pulling at her in some weird, reluctant way.
Outside, the air was cold enough to bite. Erin shoved her hands into her coat pockets and crossed to her car, her beat-up Volkswagen, stubborn as hell. It had survived two cross-country moves but barely tolerated a cold night.
She got in, turned the key, and was met with a dull click.
Of course.
She tried again, a little harder this time, even though it was useless.
Click.
“Great.”
Erin dropped her head to the steering wheel and groaned. The battery had been on its last legs for weeks. She hadn’t had time to get it looked at, and now here she was, alone in the parking lot at 11 p.m. on a Friday, with a dead battery and no one around.
She popped the trunk and climbed out, slamming the door behind her, and stared at the space where her portable jump starter usually sat. She could’ve sworn she left it in there. Maybe she’d brought it inside to charge. Maybe she never had one in the first place. Either way, no help now.
Frustrated, she slammed the trunk shut and leaned against the car.
She could call roadside, but that meant staying out here who knows how long, and she’d have to swipe them into the employee lot with the badge she’d stupidly left in her bag on the passenger seat, inside her now-locked car.
She could ask for help inside, but the night shift officers barely knew her. She didn’t want to be a hassle.
Erin stared at her phone screen, thumb hovering over a familiar name.
Tilly.
She hadn’t called them in months, not since the move, not since things had gotten too tangled to fix. It was stupid. But she didn’t know who else to call.
Her finger hovered for another beat before she tapped the name and brought the phone to her ear.
One ring.
Two.
She started to pull it away, ready to hang up, when the line clicked.
“Hello?” Tilly’s voice was groggy but cautious.
Erin’s chest tightened. “Hey. It’s me.”
There was a pause. “Yeah, I see that. What’s going on?”
“I’m still at the station,” Erin said. “My car’s dead, I don’t have a jumper, and I might’ve locked my badge in the car.”
Another beat of silence. Tilly’s breath came through the line like static. “Seriously?”
“I know,” Erin murmured. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have called if I had another option.”
The pause this time felt heavier.
“I’m in Cambridge tonight.”
Erin nodded to herself, even though no one could see. “Right. Of course.”
“I’m sorry, Erin. I hope you get home okay.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She hung up before Tilly could say anything else.
The screen dimmed in her hand, leaving her face lit only by the soft glow of the streetlight overhead. She let out a breath, slow and quiet, then turned toward the sidewalk, her steps heavy as she started the walk home.