CHAPTER TWO
The December wind cut across the parking lot like a blade, but Isla barely felt it as she stepped up to the podium.
The FBI seal stared back at her from the front panel, a reminder of everything she represented in this moment—authority, competence, justice.
She gripped the edges of the wooden surface, her fingers finding the familiar grooves worn by countless other agents who'd stood in this exact spot.
At least fifty reporters crowded the cordoned area, their breath forming clouds in the frigid air.
Camera lenses caught the weak morning light, and Isla counted at least four news vans from different stations.
Behind the press corps, curious onlookers had gathered on the sidewalk, phones raised to capture whatever soundbite might go viral.
Kate stood to her left, a reassuring presence in her impeccable navy suit.
To her right, U.S. Marshal Steven Argon waited with the patient stillness of someone who'd done this a hundred times before.
James had positioned himself slightly behind and to the side, close enough to offer support but out of the primary camera angles.
"Good morning." Kate's voice carried across the lot with practiced authority.
"Thank you all for coming. I'm Special Agent in Charge Katherine Channing, and I'll be brief before turning this over to the agents who've worked tirelessly on this investigation.
" She paused, letting the cameras adjust their focus.
"As many of you know, two weeks ago, Special Agent Isla Rivers identified Robert Brune, a sixty-four-year-old Duluth resident, as the individual responsible for multiple homicides spanning several decades.
What many believed to be accidental deaths at our ports and docks were, in fact, carefully staged murders. "
Isla watched the reporters' pens move across notebooks, fingers typing rapidly on phones. A woman in the front row—Melissa Park from Channel 8, Isla recognized—leaned forward with predatory interest.
"Agent Rivers connected evidence across cases dating back forty years," Kate continued, "demonstrating exceptional investigative work and dedication to justice for victims whose deaths had been overlooked.
While Mr. Brune remains at large, I want to assure the public that every resource is being utilized to locate and apprehend him. "
Kate turned slightly, her gray-blue eyes meeting Isla's with an expression that was both encouraging and expectant. "Special Agent Rivers will now provide updated details about the investigation and the profile of the suspect."
The microphones seemed to multiply as Isla stepped forward, their foam covers bearing logos from stations across Minnesota, Wisconsin, and beyond. She cleared her throat, acutely aware of how exposed she felt without the familiar comfort of a crime scene or interrogation room.
"Thank you, SAC Channing." Isla's voice came out steady, betraying none of the discomfort churning in her stomach.
"Robert Brune is a sixty-four-year-old Caucasian male, approximately five-ten, one hundred seventy pounds, with gray hair and a grizzled beard.
He has distinctive weathered features consistent with decades of outdoor work as a commercial fisherman and shipyard worker. "
She pulled up the enlarged photo on the display board beside the podium—Brune's employee ID from Northern Star Shipping, enhanced and cropped to show his face clearly. Those dead eyes stared out at the assembled press, revealing nothing of the darkness behind them.
"Brune grew up in Duluth's foster care system after his mother drowned in Lake Superior when he was eight years old.
He spent over forty years working in maritime industries, which gave him intimate knowledge of the port, the docks, and the lake itself.
This expertise allowed him to stage his victims' deaths as accidents—falls, drownings, mishaps that appeared tragically routine in a working port environment. "
A hand shot up immediately, but Isla pressed on. She needed to get through the prepared statement before the questions started.
"We've connected Brune to at least fifteen homicides, with potentially more victims yet to be identified.
His pattern involved targeting individuals near water, often using head trauma to incapacitate them before staging their deaths as accidents.
Physical evidence, including boot prints and trace materials, links him to multiple crime scenes.
He considers Lake Superior to hold spiritual significance and believes his actions serve a higher purpose. "
The questions erupted before she'd even finished her last sentence.
"Agent Rivers! Melissa Park, Channel 8. How did you identify him after so many years?"
"Was there a specific breakthrough in the case?"
"Are there more victims than the fifteen you mentioned?"
"How dangerous is he to the general public?"
Isla held up a hand, waiting for the noise to subside. Kate had coached her on this—control the narrative, don't let them drive the conversation. She pointed to Melissa Park, whose red coat made her easy to track in the crowd.
"Pattern recognition across what appeared to be unrelated incidents," Isla said.
"The cases shared common elements that became apparent when examined collectively—similar head wound presentations, proximity to water, victims who were alone and vulnerable.
Once I identified the pattern, we were able to narrow down suspects with the necessary access and knowledge. "
"But he worked at Northern Star for years," another reporter called out without waiting to be acknowledged. "How did you connect him specifically?"
Isla's jaw tightened. That investigation had been frustrating—they'd checked every employee at Northern Star after finding boot prints at Alex Novak's murder scene, but Brune had changed his boots by then.
The connection had finally come through painstaking cross-referencing of work schedules, dock access logs, and witness statements from multiple cases.
"Comprehensive review of personnel records, forensic evidence, and victim timelines," she said, keeping her response deliberately vague. Some details needed to be held back. "The evidence pointed to Mr. Brune specifically."
"Agent Rivers!" A man in the back waved his phone. "Jason Webber, True North Podcast. Your listeners want to know—what was it like confronting a serial killer who'd evaded detection for decades? Can you describe that moment?"
Isla felt James shift behind her, and she resisted the urge to look back at him. This was exactly the kind of sensationalized question she'd dreaded.
"I was doing my job," she said flatly. "The focus should be on locating Mr. Brune and ensuring public safety, not on—"
"But you were alone when you encountered him at North Pier, correct?" Webber pressed. "That must have been terrifying, facing him one-on-one."
"I was armed and trained," Isla said, her voice cooling by several degrees. "And I wasn't terrified—I was focused on apprehension. Unfortunately, Mr. Brune fled before backup arrived."
Kate stepped forward slightly, a subtle signal that Isla should wrap up, but the questions kept coming.
"Agent Rivers, how does it feel to be the one who finally caught the Lake Superior Killer?"
"Is there any connection between this case and your previous work in Miami?"
"Are you worried he might target you specifically since you identified him?"
That last question, from a young woman near the front, made Isla's stomach clench. She hadn't allowed herself to think about that possibility, had pushed it down every time it tried to surface during her late-night walks along the docks.
"Mr. Brune's pattern has been consistent," she said carefully. "He targets vulnerable individuals near the waterfront. I don't believe—"
"But you disrupted his routine," the woman interrupted. "You exposed him. Doesn't that make you a threat to him? Doesn't that put you at risk?"
"Marshal Argon will now address the manhunt logistics," Kate said smoothly, stepping back to the podium and effectively cutting off that line of questioning. "Thank you, Agent Rivers."
Isla moved aside as Argon took her place, launching into a detailed explanation of search parameters, jurisdictional cooperation, and public safety measures. She should have felt relieved to step out of the spotlight, but the reporter's question echoed in her mind.
Doesn't that put you at risk?
James appeared at her elbow, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You did good. Clear, professional, exactly what they needed."
"I hate this," Isla murmured back, watching Argon field questions with the easy confidence of someone who enjoyed media attention. "Standing here talking about him while he's out there somewhere."
"I know." James's hand almost touched her arm, then dropped back to his side. The gesture was so brief she might have imagined it, but the warmth it generated lingered. "But Kate's right—people need to know who to look for. Someone out there might have seen him."
The press conference continued for another twenty minutes, with reporters lobbing questions at Argon about search grids, inter-agency coordination, and the resources being devoted to Brune's capture.
Isla stood at attention, maintaining the professional facade while her mind drifted to the map on her computer screen, the scatter of red pins representing sightings that led nowhere.
Finally, Kate stepped forward to close the conference.
"We'll provide updates as the situation develops.
Mr. Brune's photo and description are available on the FBI's website and through our tip line.
If anyone has information about his whereabouts, please contact the number on your screen. Thank you."