Aleksander, Wednesday, Enid, Sofia, and Oz hung back in the shadowed hallway of the Philadelphia Police Department, watching through one-way glass as George Marks shuffled in. Two uniforms led him straight to the interrogation room, door clanging shut behind.
Aleksander glanced at Oz, keeping his voice low. "Your friend coming?"
Oz checked his watch and nodded. "Kerdac. Should be here any minute."
Enid tilted her head, curious. "Why him, exactly?"
Aleksander crossed his arms, eyes still on George settling into his chair. "We need two interrogators to make him think everything's tilting his way. This guy read every report in that room—his anti-recon skills are sharp. He's probably already scrubbed his place clean. This sets him at ease, drops his guard. Then I hit him with the real questions."
Sofia nodded slow, piecing it. "Makes sense. Play good cop, bad cop—let him talk himself into a corner."
Wednesday stared through the glass, voice dragging monotone. "He'll crack either way."
Enid shifted closer to the window. "Just don't let him lawyer up first."
Right then, the hallway door swung open. A man stepped in—tall, square-jawed with a low-and-tight dark haircut, clean-shaven face set in that stony LAPD detective mold. Intense brown eyes scanned the group, stone-cold stare landing firm. Adam Karadec.
Oz broke into a grin and clapped him on the shoulder. "Kerdac, good to see you. Guys, this is Adam Karadec—He's LAPD Major Crimes Units lead investigators. My Senior."
Kerdac gave a curt nod, lips pursing brief as he shook hands all around—strong grip, no nonsense. "Pleasure. Oz filled me in on the drive over."
Oz leaned against the wall, gesturing at the glass. "Yeah, so here's the deal with George Marks. Prolific serial—eight confirmed bodies at Tinicum, all November hunts, headless, deer eye bullets from an Arisaka. Fighters snatched via stolen cop ID, Peter Brodsky. We tied it through reports he accessed, survivor stories like DeeDee naming Atalanta. Aleksander here picked his brain in the report room—telepathic read on memories, confirmed the kills."
Kerdac's gaze flicked to Aleksander, measured smolder holding steady, nostrils flaring just a touch. "Telepathic memories, huh? Visions or mind reads don't fly in court. Hearsay at best—no chain of custody, no forensics. You need physical evidence to stick the landing. Confessions, trophies, ballistics. What's your play?"
Aleksander met the stare even. "We get the confession first. Then raid the childhood attic—woods drawings, rifle, heads. He's already half-broken from the initial poke."
Kerdac grunted approval, crossing his arms. "Alright. I take lead with Oz—good cop routine. You hang back, read the cracks. Let's make him God in those woods one last time."
Wednesday's lips twitched faint. "He won't see the shot coming."
Aleksander, Wednesday, Enid, Sofia, and Oz watched from the observation room as Adam Kerdac and Oz stepped into interrogation—casual, like grabbing coffee. George sat relaxed, with a smug curve to his mouth. Karadec took the lead chair, stony expression locked, low-and-tight haircut sharp under the light. Oz settled beside, easy posture.
Oz opened smooth. "I appreciate you coming up here, George."
George nodded once, eyes flicking between them."We're hoping you can help us out,"
Oz continued. "You see, we're looking for fresh eyes on this thing."
George leaned back, all cooperative. "Wow. Sure. Fire away."
Karadec jumped in even, stone-cold stare pinning calm. "Who could've read all these reports? I mean, you see the back and forth. Who has access to all that?"
George shrugged modest. "Well, I'm the gatekeeper. Everyone goes through me."
Karadec nodded slow. "So you're the only one who has access to the '49s?"
"And I run a tight ship," George added, chin lifting slight.
Oz chuckled light. "What stumps me is the women he picks. Fighters. Most of us, we already got the ball and chain."
Karadec let out a dry chuckle too, playing along.
George smirked faint."Well, might be different if you were looking to kill her,"
George said.Kerdac tilted his head. "That so?"
"He hates women," George explained smooth. "Because of his mother who was domineering, controlling. Serial killer 101."
Oz made a thoughtful hum. "Hmm."
Kerdac leaned forward casual. "You read a lot, huh, George?"
"It's what I do," George replied flat.
Oz picked up seamless. "Spend a lot of time with those records, reading about our dead women."
"Yeah, it's better than fiction, right?" George said.
Oz pressed gentle. "How so?"
George's eyes gleamed. "No one reads them, no one cares about them... but me. Oh, by the way?"
Karadec looked up sharp.George smiled shrewd. "You're not going to find anything in my house."
Just like he said, Crimes Unit swiped the place clean. But they couldn't find anything.
Sofia having got the call said." Like Aleksander guessed his whole house was cleaned up real good.On his boots ... no blood residue.Nothing. Ditto on the house. Drains're clean. No hair, no trace evidence.
Couldn't even lift George's prints.Not even speck of dust. All, we got for show is his boots."
Karadec stared him down stone-cold, unflinching. Oz glanced over, holding steady.
Second Round Karadec and Oz circled back in, boots evidence bagged on the table now. George hadn't moved, smug dialed up.
Karadec dropped it casual. "Found your boots, George."
Oz added even. "Lot of blood, taking off a head. Tough to wash out."
George scoffed light. "But not impossible. We're just talking here, right?"
"Right. Just talking," Oz confirmed.
George leaned in smug. "And I'm free to walk out anytime I want. Most people think they have to stay, talk. Dumb civilians."
Oz nodded agreeable. "Not you, though."
Karadec kept it rolling. "What are your thoughts on this guy, George? I mean, why did he take their clothes off? He's not raping them. What's the point?"
George hummed thoughtful. "Good question. Uh... control? Humiliation?"
He smiled sly. "The way their teats pucker in the cold?"
He chuckled low. Kerdac's jaw set stony, nostrils flaring micro.
Oz held neutral.
"It's tough, getting a woman's clothes off when she's not willing," Kerdac said.
Oz layered on. "Must've been scratching, kicking, fighting. They fight you a lot, George?"
George's smile widened slow."Statistically speaking,"
George replied smooth, "victims rarely fight back when a firearm is used in the commission of a crime. And you mean 'him.'"
Oz shrugged easy. "Well, like we said, just theorizing."
Karadec nodded. "Hypothesizing. We appreciate your insight, George."
"Any time," George said, all gracious.
Oz leaned in final. "So, why do you think he picks survivors?"
"Wants a challenge," George chuckled. "That's obvious."
Kerdac pressed steady. "Once he finally tracks them down, I bet they're not so uppity anymore, huh?"
Oz finished it. "And then he teaches them a lesson."
George's eyes lit dark. "Oh, I imagine there are many lessons taught... in the woods."
Aleksander watched George's micro-ticks spike—memories bubbling: attic rape, Simone's betrayal, woods chases endless. "He's slipping. Hit the childhood house now."