Chapter 4: Blood Ties and Lies

Still rattled, I decided to tell Marcus.

I grabbed my jacket and bolted out the door, city lights blurring past as I drove. The police station looked different now—more like a fortress, every shadow hiding a secret.

At the station, Marcus listened to the audio, his brow furrowed. He left the office without a word. Ten minutes later, he was back. “I told the brass. We’re reopening the case.”

His voice was clipped, but I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. This was bigger than either of us thought.

“Are you serious?” I asked, almost not believing it. The case had drawn national heat—reopening it took guts.

Marcus ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. “Doesn’t matter if there’s a problem or not. We’ve got to check it out.”

Classic Marcus—never jump to conclusions, always chase the truth. I felt a surge of respect, and a flutter of anxiety.

Marcus immediately put detectives back on the case. First, they’d try to ID the "Seeker of Justice" who’d emailed me. Second, they’d dig into Nick’s circle to find "Brody" and "the boss."

The squad room was chaos—phones ringing off the hook, detectives darting between cubicles, files flying everywhere. Marcus barked orders, his voice calm but urgent.

Meanwhile, Marcus pored over surveillance footage from the night of the incident, watching every second for anything everyone else had missed.

He sat hunched over the monitor, eyes narrowed, the blue glow making him look even more tired. I slid into the chair beside him, the hum of the computer filling the silence.

I wasn’t just a fly on the wall. As an embedded reporter, I watched the footage with Marcus. After shadowing the task force during the serial disembowelment case, the detectives were used to having me around.

I sipped cold coffee, scribbling notes, trying to spot something Marcus might overlook. The only sounds were the clatter of keyboards and the hum of fluorescent lights.

“Marcus, check this out!” I said after running the video back a few times. When Nick threatened David with the knife, his hand suddenly shook and the knife slipped. Later, while running away, he froze just before David caught him. These weird reactions weren’t obvious unless you really paid attention.

I pointed at the screen, rewinding. “See that? His hand shakes, then—bam—he just stops, like his body glitches.”

Marcus rewound and replayed the moments. “Let’s get Dr. Patel in here.”

He stood up, all business. Dr. Patel was the department’s forensic pathologist—a diehard Yankees fan and one of the sharpest minds in town.

“Dr. Patel, run another tox screen on Nick’s body. Something’s not right,” Marcus said, pointing out the oddities in the footage.

Dr. Patel adjusted his glasses, a flicker of interest in his eyes. “You got it. I’ll get on it now.”

Back in the tech office, the team reported, “The sender used a high-level encrypted email account. We can’t trace it with what we’ve got.”

The lead tech, Jace—a guy who lived on Mountain Dew and never wore matching socks—looked annoyed. “This is next-level. We’ll need to bring in the feds.”

“Do it,” Marcus said without missing a beat.

He picked up the phone, calling in favors. The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch.

With the case reopened, only Marcus and I were left with nothing to do for the moment. “So, what’s next?” I asked, rubbing my temples, exhaustion catching up with me.

He grabbed his coat. “Let’s go to Nick’s place.”

We headed out into the sticky morning air, the drive silent as we both turned things over in our heads.

We knocked on Nick’s door. His wife, seeing Marcus, gave him a look that could freeze water. “Officer Reed, what do you want?”

She stood in the doorway, arms folded, jaw set. The apartment behind her was a mess—kids’ toys everywhere, dishes piled up in the sink.

“We need to talk about Nick’s case.”

She let us in, barely hiding her irritation, then turned away to wrangle her toddler.

The living room was cramped, air thick with stale cigarette smoke and spilled juice. She busied herself in the kitchen, eyes never meeting ours.

Marcus scanned the room. “Who did Nick hang out with? Any enemies?”

Her voice was flat, tinged with sarcasm. “I don’t know his business. And even if he had enemies, so what? He’s dead, they called it self-defense—I can’t even get a dime from insurance!”

Her words were bitter, slicing through the room. I watched her fuss with her kid, every movement tight with frustration and something darker underneath.

It was obvious Nick’s wife was pissed. Marcus told me she’d raised hell at the station after the ruling, but with the whole city against her, she didn’t get far. It made sense: her husband was dead, his killer was cleared, and she was left with nothing but a ruined name.

I watched her, arms tight around her child. The world had turned its back, and she had no one left to blame.

Marcus pressed on. “Nick’s death might not have been an accident. It could’ve been murder.”

Her eyes flickered, hope flashing before she could hide it. She got more talkative, telling us Nick had been calling someone named "Brody" a lot lately. They’d argued on the phone—Nick was blackmailing him.

The shift in her attitude was subtle but clear. She wanted this to be murder—maybe for the insurance, maybe for payback. Her story lined up with the audio clip almost perfectly.

Her account matched the audio to a T.

After we left, I turned to Marcus. “Something’s up with Nick’s wife.”