CHAPTER SEVEN
"He's home," James said, unbuttoning his coat for easier access to his weapon.
Isla did the same, her hand automatically checking that her Glock was secure in its holster.
The tactical support team Kate had requested was staged three blocks away, ready to move in if needed, but Isla wanted to approach this carefully.
If Bellamy was their killer, she didn't want to spook him.
If he wasn't—and that doubt still nagged at her—she didn't want to come in with overwhelming force against someone who might just be a fired employee with poor judgment.
"Morrison's team is covering the back exit," James confirmed, checking his phone. "We're good to go."
They approached the duplex on foot, their breath forming clouds in the December air. The building was older, probably from the sixties, with peeling paint and a sagging front porch that needed repair. Bellamy's unit was on the left side, marked by a faded brass "A" next to the door.
Isla knocked firmly. "Russ Bellamy? FBI. We need to talk to you."
Silence from inside. She knocked again, louder this time.
"Mr. Bellamy, this is Special Agent Rivers with the FBI. We know you're home. Your truck is in the driveway. Please come to the door."
Still nothing. Isla exchanged a glance with James, who'd positioned himself slightly to the side of the door, his hand resting near his weapon. She was about to knock a third time when she heard movement inside—quick footsteps, a muffled curse, then the sound of something crashing.
"He's running," James said, already moving.
Isla grabbed her radio. "Suspect is fleeing. Morrison, cover the back—"
The door suddenly burst open, and Russ Bellamy exploded onto the porch. He was smaller than Isla had expected from his photos—maybe five-eight, wiry build, wearing sweatpants and a stained T-shirt. His eyes were wide with panic as he tried to dart past her.
Isla moved on instinct, years of training taking over. She stepped into his path and caught his arm, using his momentum against him to spin him toward the porch railing. "FBI! Stop running!"
Bellamy tried to wrench free, his free hand scrabbling for purchase on the railing. James was there in an instant, his considerable size and strength making the struggle brief. Within seconds, they had Bellamy face-down on the porch, James's knee in his back while Isla cuffed his hands behind him.
"Don't move," James ordered, his voice carrying the authority of someone who'd done this hundreds of times as a detective. "You're making this worse for yourself."
"I didn't do anything!" Bellamy's voice was high-pitched, breathing rapid. "I swear to god, I didn't—whatever you think I did, you're wrong!"
Isla pulled him to his feet, noting the tremor in his hands and the sweat on his forehead despite the cold. Fear, yes, but also something else. Guilt, maybe. Or just the panic of someone who'd been caught doing something they shouldn't.
"Russ Bellamy, you're being detained for questioning regarding the death of David Langford," Isla said, reading him his rights. "You have the right to remain silent..."
She finished the Miranda warning while James radioed Morrison to stand down from the back exit. Bellamy had slumped against the porch railing, his face pale, his breathing still coming too fast.
"David Langford?" he said, his voice cracking. "He's dead?"
Isla studied his reaction carefully. Shock seemed genuine, but she'd seen plenty of convincing performances before. "You didn't know?"
"No! Jesus, no, I—" Bellamy looked between them, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I haven't talked to David in months. Not since..." He trailed off.
"Not since he filed a formal complaint against you," James supplied. "Among others."
Bellamy's face flushed. "That complaint was bullshit. I never—look, can we talk inside? The neighbors are already nosy enough without giving them a show."
Isla glanced at the windows of the adjoining duplex, where she could indeed see a curtain twitching. "Inside is fine. But we're going to clear your apartment first. Any weapons inside? Anything we should know about?"
Bellamy hesitated, and that hesitation told Isla everything she needed to know. There was something in there he didn't want them to see.
"Mr. Bellamy, I asked you a direct question. Are there any weapons in your apartment?"
"No weapons," he said finally. "But there's... equipment from my old job. I took it when they fired me and I've been selling it online to make rent. That's why I ran—I thought you were here about the theft."
The admission hung in the cold air. Isla processed it quickly—stolen equipment, sold online, explaining the neighbors' concerns about power usage and surveillance. It fit a different pattern than murder, but it didn't rule him out as their suspect.
"James, call Morrison. Tell him we need an evidence collection team here.
Mr. Bellamy just confessed to theft of city property, and we're going to need to document it.
" Isla turned back to Bellamy. "You're going to show us exactly what you took and where it is.
And then you're going to answer questions about where you were last night between midnight and 2 AM. Do you understand?"
Bellamy nodded miserably, his earlier panic replaced by resignation.
They cleared the apartment methodically, James taking point while Isla kept Bellamy secured by the door.
The interior was cramped and messy—takeout containers scattered across a coffee table, dirty dishes piled in the sink, the musty smell of someone who'd stopped caring about maintenance.
But no immediate signs of violence, no obvious connection to David Langford's murder.
The second bedroom had been converted into a workspace, and that's where they found the equipment Bellamy had mentioned.
Thermal imaging cameras, temperature sensors, digital monitoring devices—all branded with Duluth Public Works logos.
The equipment was arranged on makeshift shelves, some of it still in original packaging, all of it clearly expensive and specialized.
"Jesus," James muttered, taking in the haul. "How much did you steal?"
"About forty thousand dollars' worth," Bellamy said quietly from the doorway, where Isla had positioned him.
"Over three months, before they caught me accessing the inventory system.
They fired me but couldn't prove what I'd actually taken without doing a full audit, and by then.
.." He shrugged. "I'd already moved it here. "
Isla walked through the room, careful not to disturb anything before the evidence team arrived.
This explained the neighbors' concerns—all this equipment would draw power, and Bellamy would have been paranoid about being discovered.
The "surveillance" Cindy Kim had reported was probably just Bellamy watching for police or city officials, not stalking potential victims.
"Tell me about the complaint David Langford filed," Isla said, turning to face Bellamy.
He shifted uncomfortably, the handcuffs making his posture awkward.
"It was three weeks ago. He claimed I was misusing city equipment—which was bullshit because I wasn't even working there anymore—and that I'd created a hostile work environment before I left.
He dragged Thomas Sanders and Rebecca Whitmore into it too, said we were all part of some scheme to defraud the city. "
"Were you?"
"No!" Bellamy's denial was immediate and emphatic. "Look, I took equipment after I was fired, yeah, that was stupid. But while I was working there, I did my job. Thomas and Rebecca had nothing to do with anything. Langford was just pissed because..." He trailed off, looking away.
"Because why?" James pressed.
Bellamy sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Because I told HR he was cutting corners on safety inspections.
Filing reports without actually doing the work, signing off on tunnel sections that needed repairs.
I thought I was doing the right thing, but it made me unpopular.
And then when I got fired for the inventory access thing, Langford saw an opportunity to get back at me by filing that complaint and dragging my name through the mud even more. "
Isla absorbed this, recalibrating her understanding of the relationship between Bellamy and the victim. Not a straightforward revenge scenario—more complicated, with grievances on both sides and workplace politics adding layers of motivation.
"Where were you last night between midnight and 2 AM?" she asked.
"Here. Asleep." Bellamy met her eyes. "I live alone, so I don't have an alibi, but I swear I was here. I haven't been in those tunnels since they fired me. I haven't even been downtown in weeks—I've been too worried about running into someone from work."
"You sent David Langford text messages," James said. "Three of them, between 11 PM and midnight. Asking him to meet you at Access Point 7."
Bellamy's face went blank with confusion. "What? No, I didn't. I don't even have his number anymore—I deleted everything work-related when they terminated me."
Isla studied his reaction carefully. Either he was an excellent liar, or he genuinely had no idea what they were talking about. "The messages came from a burner phone purchased six weeks ago in Superior, Wisconsin. Cash transaction, no name attached."
"I've never bought a burner phone in my life," Bellamy said, his voice rising slightly with frustration. "You can check my credit cards, my bank statements, whatever. I didn't send David any messages. I didn't even know he was dead until you told me five minutes ago."
The conviction in his voice gave Isla pause. She glanced at James, who gave a subtle shake of his head—he wasn't buying it completely either, but there was reasonable doubt.
"Mr. Bellamy, I'm going to remove your handcuffs," Isla said, making a decision.
"But you're not under arrest for David Langford's murder—yet.
You are, however, under arrest for theft of city property.
Duluth PD is going to transport you to their station for processing on those charges.
In the meantime, we're going to execute a search warrant on this apartment and collect all the stolen equipment as evidence. "
"But I didn't kill David," Bellamy insisted as she unlocked the cuffs. "I swear, whatever happened to him, it wasn't me."
"Then you should be hoping we find evidence that proves that," James said. "Because right now, you're our primary suspect."
Morrison came inside ten minutes later with his evidence collection team and two uniformed officers to transport Bellamy. Isla watched as they loaded him into the patrol car, noting how he kept his head down, avoiding the stares of neighbors who'd come out to see what the commotion was about.
"What do you think?" James asked once they were alone on the porch.
Isla rubbed her temples, feeling a headache building behind her eyes.
The lack of sleep, the stress of the case, the lingering heat exhaustion from the tunnels—it was all catching up to her.
"I think he's telling the truth about not killing Langford.
His reaction to learning about the death felt genuine.
And the burner phone—if he'd planned a murder this carefully, would he really run from us over stolen equipment? "
"People do stupid things when they panic."
"True." Isla watched as Morrison's team began carrying equipment out of Bellamy's apartment, documenting each piece.
"But something doesn't fit. The thermal imaging equipment, the paranoid surveillance—it all points to someone worried about being caught for theft, not someone planning and executing a murder. "
"So, we're back to square one," James said.
Not quite, Isla thought. They'd eliminated one suspect—or at least moved him down the priority list. But they'd also confirmed that someone had gone to considerable effort to lure David Langford into those tunnels using a burner phone and what appeared to be knowledge of workplace grievances.
Someone who knew about the complaint Langford had filed. Someone who understood the tunnel system well enough to modify the temperature controls. Someone who had access to current city codes despite not being an employee.
"We need to look at the other two people named in Langford's complaint," Isla said. "Thomas Sanders and Rebecca Whitmore. If someone wanted to target Langford specifically, they might have known about the complaint and used it to craft those text messages."
"Sanders and Whitmore still work for the city," James confirmed, pulling out his phone. "Both thermal systems technicians, both on duty today. We could bring them in for questioning."
Isla sighed. It was going to be a long day.