Victor Hale.
Max stared at the name written beneath Thomas Reed's photograph.
It was almost midnight.
The forensic laboratory was quiet except for the steady hum of the machines.
He searched the police database.
Nothing.
He tried the national criminal records.
Nothing again.
No criminal history. No arrest record. No missing-person report.
It was as if Victor Hale had never existed.
Max leaned back.
That was interesting.
People could hide their crimes.
But hiding their existence was much harder.
His phone vibrated.
Sarah.
"Tell me you found something."
"Victor Hale."
"Who is he?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
"Any records?"
"None."
There was a pause.
"Max, people don't simply disappear from every database."
"Apparently, some do."
"I'll come over."
"You don't have to."
"I'm already on my way."
The call ended.
Max looked at the photograph again.
Three men.
One hidden face.
And a name that led nowhere.
Sarah arrived twenty minutes later, carrying two coffees.
She placed one beside Max.
"You look terrible."
"I feel fine."
"That's not what I said."
He ignored her and turned his monitor toward her.
"Look."
Sarah studied the photograph.
"Victor Hale."
"Thomas wrote the name beneath it."
"Could be a contact. An employee. Someone he was investigating."
"Or someone he feared."
Sarah looked at the image again.
"Have you tried searching company records?"
"Not yet."
She pulled a chair beside him.
"Then let's start there."
For the next hour, they searched through business registrations, financial records, and employment databases.
Nothing.
Then Sarah found something.
"Max."
He looked at her screen.
A company registration appeared.
HALE CONSULTANCY GROUP.
The company had been registered eleven years earlier.
Its director was listed as Victor Hale.
But the company had been dissolved four years ago.
Sarah opened the registration details.
"Look at the address."
Max read it.
"Northbridge Capital."
Sarah nodded.
"The same company Daniel worked for."
Max opened the employment records.
Victor Hale had worked as a senior operations consultant.
His photograph was missing.
But his signature was present.
Sarah looked at Max.
"Now we have a connection."
Max examined the dates.
"Victor left Northbridge four years ago."
"And Daniel joined three years ago."
"Which means they may never have worked together."
"Unless Daniel discovered something in the old records."
Max closed the file.
"Find out where Victor lives."
By morning, Sarah had an address.
A quiet residential neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city.
Victor Hale had once owned a house there.
The property was now registered to someone else.
Max and Sarah arrived with two officers.
The house looked ordinary.
Small garden.
White walls.
Closed curtains.
A newspaper lay near the entrance.
Sarah knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again.
A man's voice came from inside.
"Who is it?"
"Police. We need to speak with Victor Hale."
Silence.
Then the door opened slightly.
A man in his early fifties stood before them.
His hair was grey at the temples.
His face was thin.
His eyes moved from Sarah to Max.
"Who?"
"Victor Hale."
The man's expression changed.
Only for a second.
But Max noticed.
"He's not here," the man said.
"Do you know him?"
"No."
Sarah showed him the photograph.
The man looked at it.
Then quickly looked away.
"I said I don't know him."
Max stepped forward.
"Your reaction suggests otherwise."
The man frowned.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Then you won't mind answering a few questions."
The man hesitated.
Finally, he opened the door.
The house was almost empty.
There was a sofa, a dining table, and a television.
No family photographs.
No decorations.
Nothing personal.
Sarah looked around.
"Do you live here alone?"
"Yes."
"How long have you known Victor Hale?"
"I don't."
Max examined the man's hands.
There was a faint scar near his thumb.
He looked at Sarah.
She noticed it too.
"May we have your name?" she asked.
The man hesitated.
"Peter Collins."
Sarah checked his identification.
It was genuine.
Max looked at him.
"Mr. Collins, where did you get that scar?"
Peter looked down.
"Work accident."
"What kind of work?"
"Construction."
Max nodded.
Then he placed the photograph on the table.
"Have you seen this man?"
Peter stared at it.
His silence lasted too long.
Finally, he spoke.
"Victor Hale is dead."
Sarah leaned forward.
"When?"
"Four years ago."
"How?"
"Car accident."
"Was his body recovered?"
Peter looked at her.
"I don't know."
Max studied him.
"You're lying."
Peter's face hardened.
"You're accusing me of something?"
"No."
Max stood.
"I'm giving you an opportunity to tell us the truth before someone else does."
Peter said nothing.
Sarah placed her card on the table.
"If you remember anything, call me."
They left.
Outside, Sarah turned toward Max.
"You think he's Victor?"
"I think he knows Victor."
"That scar?"
"Could be a coincidence."
"You're not convinced."
"No."
She looked back at the house.
"Neither am I."
At the station, the team received an unexpected report.
The fingerprint recovered from the injector had produced a partial match.
Not to Victor Hale.
To a man named Peter Collins.
Sarah placed the report on Max's desk.
"Well, that's convenient."
Max read it carefully.
"Not enough for identification."
"But enough to bring him in."
"Yes."
Sarah picked up the phone.
"Get a warrant."
Peter Collins was brought in at four in the afternoon.
This time, he did not look calm.
Sarah sat across from him.
Max stood near the wall.
"Your fingerprints were found on an object connected to Thomas Reed's murder," Sarah said.
Peter stared at the table.
"I told you I don't know anything."
"Then explain why your fingerprint is on the injector."
He looked up sharply.
For the first time, fear crossed his face.
Max noticed.
"Have you handled medical equipment recently?"
"No."
"Ever?"
Peter said nothing.
Sarah opened another file.
"Your fingerprints also match the records of Victor Hale."
Peter closed his eyes.
The room fell silent.
Finally, he spoke.
"Victor Hale is dead."
Sarah leaned forward.
"Then who are you?"
Peter looked at her.
"My name is Peter Collins."
Max spoke quietly.
"That wasn't my question."
Peter's jaw tightened.
Then he whispered:
"I used to work for Victor."
"Where?"
"Northbridge Capital."
Sarah exchanged a glance with Max.
"What did you do there?"
"Administration."
"That's all?"
"Yes."
Max placed the photograph on the table.
"Then explain why Thomas Reed wrote Victor's name beneath it."
Peter looked at the photograph.
His expression changed.
"Where did you get this?"
"That's not important."
Peter pushed the photograph away.
"You need to stop."
Sarah's voice became cold.
"You're not in a position to give us instructions."
Peter looked directly at Max.
"You're looking for a murderer."
"Yes."
"Then look somewhere else."
"Why?"
Peter's voice dropped.
"Because the man you're looking for isn't the person who killed Thomas Reed."
Sarah frowned.
"Who is he, then?"
Peter stared at the photograph.
"He's the man who decides who gets killed."
Max and Sarah left the interrogation room.
Sarah looked furious.
"He knows more than he's telling us."
"Obviously."
"He could be involved in Thomas's murder."
"Possibly."
"Then why did you let him walk away?"
Max looked at her.
"Because we don't have enough evidence to hold him."
Sarah stopped.
"Sometimes I wonder whether you understand the urgency of this case."
"I understand it."
"Then act like it."
Max's expression remained unchanged.
"I don't arrest people because I dislike their answers."
Sarah looked away.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she sighed.
"You're right."
Max said nothing.
"I'm sorry."
He glanced at her.
"That's unexpected."
She gave him a tired smile.
"Don't get used to it."
They continued walking.
At seven that evening, the cybercrime team contacted Sarah.
They had recovered an old email account belonging to Victor Hale.
Most of the messages had been deleted.
But one remained.
It had been sent four years earlier.
The subject line read:
PROJECT CLOSURE.
Sarah opened it.
There was only one sentence.
The remaining files must be destroyed before the next transfer.
No signature.
No recipient name.
Just a date and a time.
Max examined the email.
"What's the date?"
Sarah checked.
"Four years ago. Three days before Victor Hale supposedly died."
Max looked at her.
"Find the transfer records."
The team began searching.
After several minutes, another document appeared.
A list of financial transactions.
One name was repeated several times.
DANIEL CROSS.
Sarah stared at the screen.
"Daniel was involved before he disappeared."
Max nodded.
"Which means Marcus may not have told us everything."
Sarah looked at him.
"Or Daniel was never just a victim."
That night, Max received a call from the forensic laboratory.
The voice on the other end sounded nervous.
"Dr. Hamilton, we have another result."
"What is it?"
"The blood found in the warehouse."
Max waited.
"We compared it with the national missing-person database."
"And?"
"It belongs to Daniel Cross."
Max stood.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. The DNA match is confirmed."
He ended the call.
For several seconds, he remained still.
Daniel's blood had been found in the warehouse.
The same warehouse where Thomas's murder weapon had been prepared.
The same warehouse where someone had recently left a second injector.
Sarah entered the laboratory.
She saw his expression.
"What happened?"
Max turned toward her.
"Daniel was there."
"At the warehouse?"
He nodded.
"His blood was found inside."
Sarah's face changed.
"Then he may be dead."
"Or injured."
"Max, it's been six months."
He picked up his coat.
"Then we shouldn't waste another minute."
Sarah grabbed her files.
"Where are we going?"
"Back to the warehouse."
The warehouse was dark when they arrived.
Police officers surrounded the building.
Max entered the hidden room.
He examined the bloodstain again.
Something was different.
The stain had dried along the edges, but a smaller mark nearby looked newer.
He crouched.
"Sarah."
She came closer.
"What?"
"Look at this."
A small object lay beneath the table.
A broken watch.
Sarah picked it up carefully.
"Could it belong to Daniel?"
Max examined the back.
A name was engraved.
D.C.
Sarah looked at him.
"Daniel Cross."
Max nodded.
Then he noticed something beneath the watch.
A small piece of paper.
He unfolded it.
Three words had been written in black ink.
HE IS WATCHING.
Sarah looked around the room.
"Who?"
Max folded the paper.
"I don't know."
A sudden noise came from the entrance.
The officers turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
For a brief moment, nobody moved.
Then he ran.
"Stop!" Sarah shouted.
The officers chased him.
Max followed.
They reached the main entrance just in time to see a car speed away.
One officer fired a warning shot.
The car disappeared into the darkness.
Sarah returned, breathing heavily.
"Did you see his face?"
Max shook his head.
"No."
She looked at the paper in his hand.
"Do you think it was Daniel?"
Max stared at the empty road.
"I don't know."
His phone rang.
An unknown number.
He answered.
For several seconds, there was only silence.
Then a distorted voice spoke.
"Dr. Hamilton."
Max's expression hardened.
"Who is this?"
"You should stop looking for Daniel Cross."
"Why?"
A short laugh came through the phone.
"Because he's not the man you should be afraid of."
The call disconnected.
Max lowered the phone.
Sarah looked at him.
"What did they say?"
He looked toward the warehouse.
Then at the broken watch in the evidence bag.
"That we're looking for the wrong man."
And somewhere in the city, someone who had been missing for six months was still alive.
Or someone wanted them to believe he was.