Alicia and Lindsey were quick to walk from Alicia's parked car to the library. They knew there wasn't any danger, but it was hard not to hurry, remembering that the last time they got a text from Caitlin calling them there they had been just a wee bit late.

They were needlessly relieved to easily find her on the first floor, sitting at one of the tables with a variety of reference books around her.

“Caitlin!” greeted Alicia.

Caitlin looked up from the book she was reading, and a troubled expression smoothed into a smile. “Oh! Hey guys.”

“What's going on?” asked Lindsey. “You said you found something important?”

Caitlin shrugged. “Well...I'm not sure if I did or not. But it could be. I was talking to my mom about the volleyball girls' murders this morning. She's leading their case now.”

Lindsey and Alicia sat down across from her, on the other side of the table. “Yeah?” asked Alicia.

“Well, she happened to mention that Denver didn't want to take responsibility for Lacrosse Captain Hugh's murder. Denver said she and the other volleyball girls had nothing to do with it, and the fact that his murder didn't match their M.O. would seemingly back that up. Mom also said that they found...that a woman did it.” Slightly nauseated, she had to censor herself.

She lifted up the book she was reading, so Alicia and Lindsey could see the cover. It read 'Notorious Murderers'.

“I thought about what we found in Miss Cha's browser history. That violent sexual stuff towards men, but also how she was reading about all those years since 1988,” continued Caitlin, setting the book back down. “I thought about what you said, Lindsey. Something about how she must have been under a rock for the past twenty-five years. It came to me after listening to my mom...Being in prison isn't quite like being under a rock, but it's pretty close. And since the murder happened just a few days after she came to town...it could be that she's a convicted killer, and she's the one who killed Hugh.”

“Whoa,” said Alicia. “You're right, this IS important!”

“That isn't even why I called you. It's just the beginning,” said Caitlin. She turned the book around and pushed it toward them. “I've been looking through all kinds of books on killers for cases that fit what little we know about Miss Cha. Keeping with the theory that she spent time in prison, I was looking for solved cases. Cases that ended in a conviction. But then, I stumbled upon this.”

The chapter header at the top of the page read 'The Huron Strangler'. Lindsey and Alicia had heard of this particular killer before, of course. It was one of the most notorious unsolved serial killer cases, second only to the Zodiac. It being unsolved, the chapter was shorter than the case's infamy would ordinarily have called for, and so it was a fairly quick read.

The Huron Strangler was a name the media had assigned to a serial killer active in the late eighties in Ann Arbor, Michigan. This individual had killed over twenty young men, mostly students at the University of Michigan. Fear paralyzed the college town. Once the national media caught wind of the story, the whole country was similarly affected. Police searched, but the leads they followed all proved fruitless. Ultimately, though, the crime spree would be ended without their help. A month passed without a fresh body, then two months, and people realized that the killer had simply ceased activity, as suddenly and as mysteriously as they began.

The meat of the article got into some things the cheerleaders didn't know, detailing the various dead-end-paths the investigation had gone down and theories as to the killer's identity and fate. Some criminologists believed that the Strangler's activities ended because they had died, others believed they had simply relocated once their activities began to draw too much attention.

The profile the police had initially created was of a single male, probably in his thirties or forties. Initially, they pursued the case with this sort of suspect in mind, but after the eleventh victim a tip turned the case on its head. The anonymous witness claimed to have seen the eleventh victim, twenty-one year old Bradley Stills, leaving a campus party with a college aged asian woman approximately one hour before his estimated time of death.

The police were skeptical that a young woman could overpower and kill eleven men, but nonetheless they took the tip and created a police sketch from the eyewitness' report. This picture was included on the third page of the article.

“Hey, doesn't that look like her?!” realized Alicia.

“Wow, racist much?” replied Lindsey.

“No, it really does look like her!” said Alicia. “That's Miss Cha!”

Lindsey examined the image more closely. “Hmm. I guess there is a resemblance.”

“I thought so, too,” said Caitlin. She gestured at the book. “This is what I really wanted you to see. On the next page, there's some pictures of some of the bodies.”

Alicia turned the page, and a panorama of grotesqueries was opened before her. “Tell me what you notice,” said Caitlin.

Alicia had a hard time looking, so Lindsey answered. “They look just like Hugh did when he was found.”

“Exactly,” said Caitlin.

With a shudder, Alicia pushed the book back toward Caitlin. “It's...it's unbelievable. The Huron Strangler? Miss Cha?”

“It could all be a coincidence,” said Caitlin. She turned back a page. “But you have to admit, the sketch does look like her. The timeline fits too. If the killer was a college student at the time of those killings, she'd be about Miss Cha's age today.”

“But the Huron Strangler was never caught,” said Lindsey. “I thought you were looking for someone who's been in prison for decades.”

“Maybe she has been,” said Caitlin. “She could have been arrested for an unrelated crime, with no one knowing they have the Huron Strangler on their hands. But there are a lot of reasons she could have gone silent. Maybe she really has been under a rock all these years.”

“But why resurface now? Here? And why go after Chase?” asked Alicia. “If she really is a killer...then does that mean Chase is...? Is...?”

“I don't think so,” said Caitlin. “The Huron Strangler only killed men. They never killed a woman, not one. But it's a good question. Why Chase? Chase is an unusual girl. I don't believe for a second it was a coincidence that she got tangled up with Miss Cha. If Hugh was the only victim of Miss Cha, I could believe he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. But Chase...I have to believe she's more than a victim, she's the main motive for Miss Cha to come here.”

“That is true,” nodded Alicia. “Chase does seem to be a magnet for bad guys.”

“Which brings me to my next point,” said Caitlin. “Have either of you heard of Operation Paperclip?”

Alicia and Lindsey shook their heads.

“After World War II, the United States government captured a bunch of Nazi scientists. Rather than have them tried for their crimes, these scientists were brought back to the U.S. and put to work. They were too useful to us to bring to justice, you see. It sounds like conspiracy stuff, but it's all documented,” Caitlin explained. “A government organization interested in capturing Chase...” she waved a hand over the sketch of the Huron Strangler, “...it makes sense they'd be interested in bringing in another female mass murderer too, wouldn't it?”

“Holy cow,” said Lindsey, as the last piece fell into place. “Then Cha's been locked in some government bunker. They turned her loose to go grab Chase for them when Agent Stevens and the ninja failed. It all makes sense.”

“Maybe,” said Caitlin. “I mean, it's just a possibility. But you have to admit it's a heck of a coincidence, if that's what it is.”

“But...but if that's true...” said Alicia softly, “What can we do? What can we do against the government? We can't go to the authorities with this lead. Even your mom wouldn't be able to help us.”

Caitlin looked thoughtfully at the stack of books. She gave a grim nod. “I don't know,” she admitted.

.............

Around midnight that night, Lara got hungry. She pushed Denver's case file away, got up from her desk, picked up her thermos, and walked out to the hallway of the police station to make use of the vending machine there.

She was alone in the station that night, and the hallway was empty, a perfect echo chamber for her footsteps. As she stopped in front of the vending machine, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a steady resistance mounted against both the darkness of the night and its silence, which could often be even more unnerving.

Lara weighed her options, then made her selection. E-1. She punched the two buttons, then watched the spiral turn through the plexiglass window. The machine relinquished its hold on a Pay Day bar, which fell to the bottom of the machine with a clunk.

As Lara crouched to fish the candy bar out, she heard sound of footsteps echoing down the empty police station hallway, she looked up.

Maureen was walking toward her. “Hey, Lara,” said the woman with a smile. “Midnight snack?”

“Oh, hi, Maureen. Lunchtime for me,” Lara replied. “You're up late.”

“Yup. Working late on the Hightower case,” said Maureen. “I was starting to feel like I was spinning my wheels so I came on down here.”

“Sorry, but I can't...visiting hours are over, you know that...”

“I do, I do. I'm not here to talk to Denver,” said Maureen quickly. She hesitated a split second before saying, “I was hoping to talk to you.”

Anyone else might have missed this fragment of hesitation. Not Lara. “Me? How come?”

“Well, you got Denver's confession. I was hoping I could pick your brain.”

Maureen's eyes were on Lara's face, carefully watching how the woman responded. But she was not an interrogator. She didn't know what to look for. If Lara's face showed any sign of guilt, Maureen didn't notice.

Lara smiled and held up the thermos. “Then join me for lunch.”

…........

“Holy shit, it's freezing out here,” said Maureen, shivering.

She and Lara sat side by side on the front steps of the police station. Maureen had Lara's empty coffee mug in her hands. Lara had just downed the contents and rinsed it out in the bathroom sink, and now Maureen waited eagerly for it to be filled.

“It'll help you appreciate the soup more,” said Lara, taking the cup off the top of the thermos and unscrewing the lid. She poured its contents into the mug: some sort of chunky chicken noodle soup.

Steam billowed off it into the cold night air. “There you go, see? Look how nice and hot it is, doesn't that look yummy?”

“Yes. Thank you,” said Maureen gratefully. She took a sip and actually burned her tongue. That was a damn well-insulated thermos.

Lara poured some into her own cup. “Sorry,” she said. “I just can't sit behind a desk. Being on patrol, that's what I like. When I take a break, I take it outside. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Did you make this?”

“Kind of. Not really. I started with canned soup and then added some things.” Lara took a slurping sip. “So what did you want to ask me about?”

“Well, I've been listening to Denver's confession and reading the transcripts over and over,” said Maureen. “It's really incredible stuff. Chilling. I never thought I'd work a case like this.”

“You and me both,” said Lara.

“I bet. It must have been shocking to hear that coming out of a teenage girl's mouth.”

Lara nodded. “It's...I mean, it was clear what happened. Just a cursory look around the cabin made it clear she and the other volleyball girls were guilty of the sacrifices. And of course, when you go into an interrogation you hope to obtain a confession. But I still wasn't ready. I don't think there's anything you can do to prepare for something like that.”

“She's your daughter's age, isn't she?”

“Caitlin. Denver's a little older, but yeah, they went to school together.”

“That must make it hit close to home.”

“Very,” said Lara. Her voice trembled, and not from the cold. “Very.”

“I'm impressed you insisted on being the one to interrogate her, despite all that. It must have been hard to face her.”

“Denver's...well, her record isn't exactly spotless, as you know. I've picked her up a couple times for different things on my late night patrols,” said Lara. “What I'm trying to say is she recognizes me. She knows me. I guess I thought I'd have the best luck getting her to talk...but I also feel a bit responsible for her, after all that.”

“Mmm. I understand that,” said Maureen. “Do you think that's why she talked so easily? She trusted you?”

“She felt really guilty. She also knew there was no way out for her. I think she would have talked to anybody.”

“Did she know that, or did you tell her that? That there was no way out for her. That she'd be found guilty if the case went to trial.”

Lara looked at her. Her voice was hard when she answered, and Maureen could sense that she'd blown the friendly pretense of their conversation. “It's true, isn't it?”

“I think so, yes,” said Maureen. Lara opened up the Payday. “There is a lot of evidence to support her guilt.”

“A damning amount, you could say,” said Lara.

“Yes,” said Maureen. “It's odd, though. Aside from Denver's testimony, there really isn't much evidence to support Brooklyn and London killing their own friends, is there?”

Lara didn't miss a beat. “Huh?” she asked, as if it never occurred to her to call that fact into question. “Well, of course they did.”

“Do we know that, though? Do we really?” asked Maureen. “Why-” Lara broke the Payday in half and held out the two pieces to Maureen for her to choose one. “No thank you. Why would they do that to their own friends? Their own accomplices?”

Lara bit into one of the halves and crunchily chewed it. “Why would they do any of this? They were insane.”

“But they could pick from anyone.”

“Perhaps they were worried the others would flake out. We know from Paris' diary that she was experiencing a lot of guilt.” Lara looked at her. “Unless Denver told you something different from what she said in her confession? If so, the Sunnycrest PD would naturally investigate any such claim very seriously.”

“No...she didn't,” Maureen admitted. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what's the problem?” asked Lara. “We have a living witness to what happened that night, and there's no evidence to contradict that. Besides, those killings are unrelated to her case anyway.”

It took some effort for Maureen kept her tone neutral. “They aren't unrelated,” she replied. “They're very related. They're related because what you told Denver wasn't true. She wasn't doomed. She might have no chance of being found innocent, but her case could be thrown out. It could be thrown out if it was determined to be mishandled.”

Whatever effort it took Maureen to remain nonplussed was surely doubled for Lara. Lara did give her a surprised look, but Maureen felt it would have been more suspicious if she didn't. Lara looked back out at the street, and sipped her soup. “Well, that is true, I guess, but I had no reason to think that would happen.” She glanced back at Maureen. “Surely you wouldn't do that, would you? Try to get Denver's case thrown out?”

“Why not, if her case was mishandled?”

Lara laughed. “I didn't know you'd turned into such a lawyer. You'd really throw this department under the bus, let a killer return to Sunnycrest's streets, a killer who slaughtered kids, the sons and daughters of this town...for what? To win your case? Come on. I know you better than that.”

Maureen was silent for a moment. She swirled her soup around. “You also know I take my job seriously. It's not about winning a case. I know cops think of defense attorneys as obstacles standing in the way of justice. But we're part of the system. The only part of the system looking out for the accused. Without the defense, there would be nothing just about it.”

“I know that,” said Lara. “But justice is seeing Denver Hightower behind bars. Surely we can agree upon that.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose that's fair,” said Maureen. “But you can also agree that justice should be served to London. To Paris. To Venice. To the others. If one of your coworkers at the station rounded up a posse and led them up to the cabin to butcher those girls, and then they covered it up...Lara, those volleyball girls might have been monsters, but you must agree that justice would have to be served to those responsible.”

Lara struggled to stifle her emotions. A dagger of guilt had struck her heart, and her first impulse was to react in self defense. All she revealed was a cold glare. “Well, yes. Speaking hypothetically.”

“Are we, Lara? Are we?”

Lara bit the inside of her lip, then said, “Yes, I suppose we would have to be. Without evidence to support your theory, it could only be hypothetical, couldn't it?”

“Yes, that's the problem, isn't it? No evidence. None at all.”

Sitting on the steps of the police station, the two women exchanged a heated stare. Silently, they dared each other to look away, or, alternately, to break the silence. In the end, Lara was the one to do so.

“It's funny you should say that,” she said. She set down her cup on the stair behind her and picked up her folder of work. “This is officially being entered into evidence tomorrow, but I don't see why I can't show you now.”

She handed Maureen a small stack of four or five sheets of paper. The first one was a standard summary and classification of the contents, one Maureen had seen on every piece of evidence she'd handled in Sunnycrest County. After that, came photos of fingerprints.

“What is this?” she asked, although she already knew.

“There was a bit of a mixup in the lab,” Lara explained casually. “Turns out London's and Brooklyn's fingerprints were all over the murder weapons. Except for the knife found in London's eye. That had Paris' prints on it. I'd guess that one was self-defense.”

Maureen felt a chill. Her hands trembled as she held the copies. So this was why Denver felt sure her case wouldn't be thrown out. She had seen, with her jaded view of the world, what Maureen had not been willing to see. The extent to which the guilty parties would go to cover up the truth.

“You can keep that. I have another copy,” Lara added.

These words snapped Maureen out of her trance. She looked at her, disbelief still evident on her face. Then, she stood up. She wanted to say so much. She wanted to tell Lara she didn't think she was capable of this. She wanted to ask Lara why she let herself be complicit in something so wrong. She looked down at Lara, sitting there, seeing a stranger, and the words caught in her throat. In the end, she said next to nothing.

“Thanks,” said Maureen. “Well, I'd better let you get back to work. Thanks for the soup.”

“You're welcome,” Lara replied. She watched Maureen walk down the stairs, get in her car, and drive away. Once Lara was alone, she put her face in her hands and painfully exhaled.