CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Miles felt frustration settling on his shoulders as they gathered their materials from the conference room.
He was starting to feel tense and high-strung, slightly beaten down.
The whiteboard was covered in crime scene photos and timeline notes, but it seemed to mock their progress; it looked more like evidence of failure than investigative momentum.
Despite their best efforts over the past day and a half, they were no closer to identifying the killer than when Miles had first stepped off the plane at SFO.
"In situations like this,” Vic said, “when I feel things are at a standstill, I find it helpful to go back to the crime scenes.” She was already on her feet, shouldering her laptop bag.
"Sometimes you see things differently on a second visit, especially after you've gathered more context about the victims."
Miles nodded, though privately he wondered whether they were simply engaging in busy work to avoid confronting the reality that their investigation had stalled.
Carmen Rodriguez had eliminated herself as a suspect through solid alibis and genuine shock at learning about the murders.
Marcus Holloway lacked both the technical knowledge and psychological profile of someone who would commit elaborate revenge killings.
The development deal connection had seemed promising initially, but the more they examined it, the more it felt like a dead end that would consume weeks of time without producing actionable intelligence.
"Makes sense. Maybe we'll spot something the local crime scene techs missed," Miles said, trying to inject optimism into his voice despite his growing doubts about their prospects.
They walked through the field office's corridors toward the lobby, passing agents and support staff who moved along quietly, engaged in important work.
Miles envied their sense of clear direction, their confidence that they were making progress on cases that had identifiable suspects and logical investigative paths.
His own case felt increasingly like an academic exercise—fascinating from a theoretical perspective but frustratingly resistant to practical resolution.
The lobby stretched before them with its familiar combination of harsh lighting and institutional décor. Miles was already mentally preparing for another round of crime scene examination when Vic's phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and her expression immediately became more serious.
"It's Hayes," she said, her tone carrying the weight of someone who understood that calls from Assistant Directors rarely brought good news. “Any idea why he’s been the one calling me?”
Miles shrugged. “Not unless he’s trying to babysit me through you,” he joked.
Miles felt his stomach clench with anxiety as Vic answered the phone. He could only hear her side of the conversation, but her increasingly tense posture suggested that Hayes wasn't calling to congratulate them on their investigative progress.
"Yes, sir," Vic said. "I understand. Of course, sir."
She listened for several moments, occasionally interjecting with brief responses that revealed nothing about the nature of Hayes's concerns.
Miles found himself studying her face for clues about whether this call represented a minor setback or a major threat to their continued involvement in the case.
"Sir, would it be possible for you to speak with Dr. Sterling as well?" Vic asked, glancing at Miles with an expression he couldn't quite interpret. "I think it would be beneficial for him to hear this directly."
She paused, listening to Hayes's response, then gestured for Miles to follow her away from the busy lobby.
They found a small office just off the main entrance, a cramped space that looked like it was used for private phone calls and sensitive conversations.
Vic closed the door behind them and put her phone on speaker mode, setting it on the desk between them.
"Sterling, are you there?" Hayes's voice filled the small room, carrying the controlled irritation that Miles had learned to recognize as a warning sign.
"Yes, sir, I'm here.”
"I just received a call from SFPD questioning whether the FBI's involvement is actually helping solve this case," Hayes said without preamble.
He sounded cranky and tired more than anything else.
"They're concerned about the lack of progress now that there’s a fourth victim. And Sterling, just to be perfectly candid, I’m wondering whether sending you out there was a mistake. "
Miles felt his heart rate spike as the implications of Hayes's words sank in.
If the local police department was expressing doubts about federal involvement, that meant their investigation was being scrutinized by multiple layers of law enforcement bureaucracy.
His opportunity to prove his periodic table theory in an active investigation was evaporating before his eyes.
And maybe he deserved it. Had he placed his desires to solve his own personal puzzle above the case?
"Sir, we've made significant progress understanding the connections between the victims," Miles said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the anxiety building in his chest. "We've identified patterns in their business practices that explain the killer's selection criteria."
"Patterns and selection criteria don't solve murders, Sterling," Hayes replied curtly. "What you've identified is interesting from an academic perspective, but it hasn't brought us any closer to stopping this killer."
Vic remained silent during this exchange, but Miles could see her watching him carefully, evaluating how he would handle the pressure of direct criticism from his superior.
He understood that this was a test not just of his investigative abilities but of his capacity to function effectively under the kind of stress that field agents faced regularly.
"Furthermore," Hayes continued, "Let’s not forget, Sterling…you're a lab analyst, not a field investigator. Your theoretical approach to this case has consumed valuable time and resources without producing a shred of actionable intelligence."
The words hit Miles like physical blows, each sentence undermining the confidence he'd built over three years of obsessive investigation into the periodic table murders. But also, it was sort of pissing him off.
As Hayes continued his criticism, Miles's mind began racing through the information they'd gathered over the past day.
Names, connections, financial networks—all the data he'd absorbed during their research into San Francisco's wealthy elite.
Somewhere in that mass of information was a detail that might salvage their investigation, a lead that could buy them more time to prove their theories.
"Sir, with respect, we're actually on the heels of another significant lead right now," Miles said, speaking quickly before his nerve could fail him.
His mind reached back through the research he'd conducted, grabbing onto a name that had appeared multiple times in their investigation of the victims' financial networks.
He knew he was about to tell a lie and though he was morally conflicted, he felt it was pretty much necessary.
"Dr. Andrew Martinez," Miles continued, committing himself to the lie as he spoke.
"He's a fired UC Berkeley chemistry professor who has publicly and heavily criticized toxic capitalism and wealth inequality.
We believe he may have had access to the kind of technical knowledge required for these murders, and his public statements suggest the ideological motivation that would drive someone to target wealthy individuals engaged in predatory financial practices. "
Vic gave him a baffled look that clearly said "what?
" but Miles could only respond with a slight shrug that he hoped conveyed both apology and determination.
He was improvising now, using whatever information he could recall to construct a plausible lead that might convince Hayes to get off their asses.
"A chemistry professor," Hayes said, his tone suggesting cautious interest. "What's his connection to the victims?"
"We're still developing that information, sir," Miles replied, grateful that Hayes seemed willing to consider this new angle.
"But his academic background and grievances with those who fired him would explain the sophisticated gold leaf application techniques, and his public statements about wealth inequality align perfectly with the killer's apparent motivation. "
"How quickly can you develop actionable intelligence about this Martinez?"
"We're planning to interview him today, sir. We believe this could be a huge step in the case.”
Hayes was quiet for several moments, and Miles could almost hear him weighing the potential benefits of continuing the investigation against the political pressure he was receiving from local law enforcement.
The Assistant Director was a practical man who understood that federal involvement in local cases required clear justification and measurable progress.
"You have twenty-four more hours," Hayes said finally.
"If this Martinez lead doesn't produce significant developments, I'm pulling you both back to Quantico.
The local PD is already questioning whether they need federal assistance, and I can't afford to have this case become a political embarrassment. "
"Understood, sir," Miles replied, relief flooding through him despite the tight timeline Hayes had imposed.
"And Sterling? This Martinez angle better be more than academic speculation. I need arrests, not theories."
The call ended, leaving Miles and Vic alone in the small office with the weight of Hayes's ultimatum hanging between them. Miles could feel Vic studying his face, probably wondering whether he had actually identified a legitimate lead or simply bought them time through creative deception.
"So," Vic said after a moment, her tone carrying a hint of amusement despite the seriousness of their situation. "Do you make a habit of lying to your supervisor?"
"No," Miles replied, running a hand through his hair as he considered the implications of what he'd just committed them to.
"But I know Hayes well enough to understand how to pacify him when he's under political pressure.
He needed to hear that we had a specific lead to pursue, not more theoretical analysis. "
"And do we actually have a specific lead to pursue?"
Miles considered the question carefully, drawing on his memories of the research they'd conducted over the past day.
"You know, Andrew Martinez might not be a bad lead, actually.
Assuming he has at least some sort of understanding of the financial pulse of this city, he may be an invaluable resource.
Even if he's not our killer, he might have insights into the connections between our victims that we haven't considered. "
Vic nodded slowly, seeming to accept his reasoning despite the unconventional way they'd arrived at this investigative direction. "A fired chemistry professor with strong opinions about wealth inequality. It's not the worst theory we've pursued."
"Plus, if he was terminated from UC Berkeley for controversial views about capitalism, he might have detailed knowledge about prominent San Francisco financial figures who stand for the problems he was criticizing.
Maybe he could help us understand the killer's selection criteria, even if he's not involved in the murders himself. "
"All right," Vic said, gathering her materials and heading toward the door. "Let's go find Dr. Andrew Martinez and see if we can make you not a liar.”
As they left the field office and headed toward their car, Miles reflected on how his relationship with Vic had evolved over their brief partnership.
She'd trusted him enough to let him take the lead with Hayes, and now she was willing to pursue an investigative direction based on his improvised reasoning.
Whether that trust was justified remained to be seen.
But at least they had twenty-four more hours to prove that his theoretical approach could produce practical results.
Dr. Martinez might hold the key to understanding their killer's motivation and methodology. Or he might be exactly what Miles feared—another dead end that would consume their remaining time and ultimately prove that Hayes's skepticism was warranted.
Either way, they were about to find out whether Miles's desperate little lie would save their case or send them home with their tails tucked between their legs.