"Coincidences this neat are a detective's fairy tale," Bree said, staring once again at the picture of Marcus Vaughn that sat open on her laptop. “I could see him being connected to one victim. Maybe two. But having been the insurance adjustor on claims filed by all three?
"I hear you, Bree," he said, his tone measured, the hint of an accent from his years on the east coast still clinging to his words. "But remember, connections get us to the door, but they don't necessarily let us in. We need more than just his name popping up to pin anything on him."
"I know, Mike," she said, a slight edge creeping into the corners of her voice again. “I’m not looking to make an arrest just yet. But three cases, three claims, and Vaughn is the common denominator in each. Maybe he’s the killer, maybe he’s running some sort of scam—who knows? All I know is we’re never going to find out if we don’t investigate. And I think that means you and I and Mr. Vaughn need to have a little conversation."
There was a pause as Mike considered her words, the sound of distant sirens providing a dissonant counterpoint to their deliberation. Though pragmatic, Mike couldn't deny the pattern that was emerging.
"Alright, we'll pay Mr. Vaughn a visit first thing this afternoon," he conceded, the creases around his eyes deepening with the decision. "We need to see what he has to say for himself."
Bree gave a curt nod, feeling the weight of suspicion and curiosity pressing down upon her. The need for truth was a hunger, gnawing at her insides. She understood the necessity for caution, for due process and taking the time to do things right, but her instincts screamed that there was more to this than mere happenstance.
Bree's eyes lingered on the stack of claim files spread across her desk, each one a grim testament to loss and ashes. The numbers and names blurred together, but Marcus Vaughn's signature stood out like a beacon in the fog of data. It was well past daybreak now. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d slept. But she was determined to keep going. There was too much on the line not to.
"Come on, Noble," Mike's voice cut through the silence, pulling her away from the sea of paperwork. "It's time we headed out and got at least a few hours of sleep. We can come back this afternoon, but we’ve got to get some rest first. We're no good to anyone running on empty."
She felt the resistance bubble up inside her, a reflex honed by years of chasing shadows and elusive truths regardless of the personal cost. But as she glanced up at Mike, his face weary from too many late nights and close calls, she knew he was right.
"Fine," Bree exhaled heavily, the word tasting like defeat. She rose from her chair, the motion stiff and reluctant, her gaze still tethered to the files as if they might fly away the moment she looked elsewhere.
The drive back to her place was shrouded in the kind of silence that seemed to swallow air and thought. They both knew they should be talking about what happened earlier, about the spark that had ignited between them – but instead, they wrapped themselves in a cocoon of strategy and possible interrogation techniques.
"Vaughn will have his guard up," Bree broke the silence, her words slicing through the hum of the engine. "We'll need to be careful about how we approach him. He's used to sniffing out fraud; he'll see us coming a mile away."
"Agreed. We play it cool and casual. Keep him talking, let him fill in the gaps himself." Mike's hands gripped the wheel, steady and sure. "And we don't push too hard. If there's dirt to be dug up, we'll find it without tipping him off that we're onto him."
"Sounds like a plan," Bree murmured, though her mind churned with unease.
As the car rolled to a stop outside her apartment building, Bree cast a sidelong glance at Mike, feeling the gravity of their unspoken thoughts.
"Thanks for the ride," she said, her voice low and edged with something she couldn't quite name.
"Anytime," Mike replied, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "Get some rest, Noble."
There was something about being home that allowed the exhaustion to hit full force, and Bree's body hit the mattress with a soft thud, her limbs heavy with fatigue. But despite the deep sleep deprivation that threatened to overcome her, she lay still, shrouded in the silence of her bedroom, as thoughts swirled relentlessly around her.
The case had become an obsession, a labyrinthine puzzle that taunted her with its complexity and personal stakes. Her parents' memory, typically a source of strength, now flickered with the haunting possibility of unresolved justice. The room felt charged with the electric potential of the day's revelations, each one a synapse firing, refusing to let her rest.
Beyond the professional veneer, Bree's mind replayed the unguarded moment with Mike, an emotional undercurrent that they'd both chosen to bury beneath layers of strategy and procedure. It was a rare crack in the armor that had formed between them—a chemistry that went beyond partnership. But tonight, it was another riddle, one that tangled within her like stubborn vines.
Her eyes tracked the movement of a car's headlights as they danced across the wall, fleeting and transient. The play of light and shadow was hypnotic, yet did nothing to lull her into slumber. Marcus Vaughn's face, seen only in photographs, loomed in her mind's eye. Clean-cut and composed, he was the epitome of corporate indifference. Could such a man be capable of igniting the fires of tragedy for profit?
She flipped her pillow, seeking the cool side, a small comfort against the heat of her racing thoughts. Her breathing deepened, an attempt to meditate on stillness, but the sharp edges of the case cut through the calm. Eventually, she surrendered to the restless napt, accepting that some battles were best fought in the trenches of wakefulness.
***
Afternoon broke with the promise of clarity, the sun's rays piercing through the nebulous veil of Bree's unrest. She met it with steely resolve, her exhaustion buried beneath layers of determination. Sleep had been a stranger, but the rest of the day's agenda was a familiar companion.
Standing outside Marcus Vaughn's office building, Bree felt the weight of the structure loom overhead, its façade a blend of glass and steel that reached toward the sky with cold ambition. The city’s streets were bustling with life, yet this place held an ominous stillness, as if holding its breath.
Mike was already there, leaning against his car, a travel mug in hand. His eyes found hers, a silent nod acknowledging the shared insomnia that likely plagued them both. They approached the building together, their footsteps echoing in the concrete caverns of the financial district.
"Ready?" he asked. He sounded anything but, and Bree couldn’t help but notice the dark circles beneath his eyes.
"Let's do this," Bree replied, her voice betraying none of the fatigue that clung to her bones. They entered the lobby, a sterile expanse of marble and muted colors, the air tinged with the antiseptic scent of industry.
The insurance office where Vaughn worked was just ahead, its polished plaque glinting with an impersonal shine. As they neared, Bree’s heart pounded with a rhythm that matched the ticking of her wristwatch, each second a step closer to answers or further entanglement.
They paused before the entrance, collecting themselves for what lay beyond. Bree took a deep breath, feeling the coolness of the air-conditioned hallway fill her lungs, bracing herself for the unknown.
Bree’s fingers curled around the cool brass handle of Marcus Vaughn’s office door, her knuckles whitening with anticipation. Her heart raced as she stepped over the threshold, her gaze immediately canvassing the small reception area. Beige walls closed in on them, adorned with generic paintings of sailboats and lighthouses. A secretary looked up from her post behind a cluttered desk, her eyes flickering between Bree and Mike, a silent question forming in her gaze.
"I’m Investigator Noble with the LAFD," Bree introduced herself, flashing her badge. "And this is my partner, Inspector Hanley. We need to speak with Mr. Vaughn."
The secretary's eyes narrowed for a split second before she nodded, reaching for her phone with a practiced air of neutrality. She punched in a number with mechanical precision, her voice threaded with an artificial sweetness as she spoke into the receiver. "Mr. Vaughn, there are two officers here to see you."
Bree watched the woman closely, searching for any telltale sign of duplicity or nervousness, but found none. The secretary hung up the phone and motioned towards the hallway with a manicured hand. "He'll see you now. Second door on your left."
"Thank you," Bree said, her voice steady despite the drumming of her pulse in her ears.
They advanced down the corridor, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet that seemed to absorb sound and light alike, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.
When they reached Vaughn's door, Bree rapped sharply on the wood. Silence greeted their summons, and Bree felt a prickling sense of unease crawl up her spine. She shared a look with Mike, his expression tight with restrained concern.
"Mr. Vaughn?" Bree called out, her voice firm.
There was no reply.
Mike gestured to her, and together they pushed open the door. Marcus Vaughn's office was devoid of life; papers lay scattered across the desk as if caught mid-tornado, a swivel chair askew as though its occupant had left in haste. But it was the open window that seized Bree's attention, the curtains billowing like specters caught mid-wail, the city's noises filtering in with invasive clarity.
Bree’s pulse quickened, her gaze locked on the fluttering curtains of the now vacant room.
"Damn it," Mike cursed under his breath, his voice a baritone grumble that cut through Bree’s focus. She turned to him, her eyes mirroring the frustration written in the lines of his weathered face.
Mike sighed, the sound heavy with implication. They both knew what that open window meant. They had another runner.