Crimson Ties

He tapped the replay button again, the image of the man with the snake tattoo flickering into motion. Frame by frame, Vince studied every detail—the way he moved, the subtle choices he made to avoid detection, and the sheer precision of his actions.

The man was tall, standing around 1.8 meters. Vince could estimate that from how he fit into the doorframes and other objects in the frame—a trick Vince had picked up from years of analyzing surveillance footage. He was lean, his posture upright, but not stiff. There was a fluidity to his movements, a controlled balance in how he walked. Military training, he thought.

The gait gave it away. This wasn't the typical shuffle or swagger of an ordinary criminal or thug. The man's steps were precise, calculated, as though each one was rehearsed. His arms swung naturally, but his dominant hand—the left—was subtly positioned for action. Vince rewound the footage again, pausing it at a moment where the man's left hand was visible, adjusting his hat.

Left-handed, Vince noted mentally. It fit. The positioning of his hand near his weapon holster was deliberate, a detail a trained eye wouldn't miss. Most people would overlook it, but the way the man turned corners and adjusted objects with his left hand confirmed it.

Vince swiped to the next clip. This one was outside the evidence room at BBPD. The man moved through the halls like he belonged there, his pace steady but unhurried. He wasn't nervous—he knew the layout of the building well. Been here before, Vince thought. He had the muscle memory of someone who had walked these halls repeatedly, enough to avoid the pitfalls that might trip up an outsider.

His disguise was flawless, Vince noted grimly. The man had swapped his outfit and even altered his posture slightly when he re-entered the building, blending in perfectly with the night shift personnel. A master of disguises. Someone who could disappear into a crowd without raising suspicion.

But something else stood out. He paused the footage and zoomed in on a specific frame—the way the man adjusted his hat as he moved. The motion wasn't fluid—it was stiff, deliberate. Injured? Vince wondered. He remembered the vagrant who had been found dead the same night this man had acted. The coroner's report had noted no signs of a struggle. If the snake-tattooed man had been involved, it was possible he'd been wounded before the hit.

The blood sample found on the bark of the tree fra from the dead vagrant had been discovered—it could be his. He came back for the evidence because it was personal, Vince reasoned. Not just to cover his tracks, but to erase something specific—his own blood.

Vince exhaled sharply, leaning forward. Kill without hesitation, he thought. The vagrant hadn't just been killed; he'd been executed. There was no sign of rage or struggle, just clean, efficient violence.

The military precision, the ease with which he walked through high-risk environments—it all pointed to someone with specialized training. Not a mercenary. Mercenaries were often driven by money, but their actions weren't always this ordered. This man had the hallmarks of a soldier—or someone trained like one.

Military, Vince mused, his fingers tapping lightly against his phone. But not just that. A hitman.

It made sense. The level of discipline, the ability to blend in, the cold detachment, and the efficient killing style—it all lined up. If that's the case, though, then what's his motive? He wondered, his brows furrowing.

Why kill the vagrant? What was the purpose? Was it personal? Was the vagrant a loose end, someone who knew too much?

Vince then opened the investigation board app, the screen lighting up with the digital web of connections he'd been piecing together. The interface was clean, but the content was anything but simple—a scattered mess of pictures, notes, and red lines connecting key points in the case.

He swiped across the screen, his fingers pausing for a moment as he zoomed in on a cluster near the top of the digital board. The first picture was of Chrysalis Academy, the prestigious all-girls school where everything had started. He had taken the photo during the early stages of his investigation, a visual marker of the crime that had set all of this into motion.

From the Chrysalis Academy picture, he drew a red line to another image—Hannah Kensington, the kidnapped girl. Her school portrait showed a smiling, confident young woman, her chestnut hair which fell in waves down to her waist and the Chrysalis crest on her blazer. A second line extended from Hannah's picture to Maple Leaf Park, where the first major lead had taken him.

At Maple Leaf Park, he had uncovered more than he bargained for. He drew a connecting line from there to a photograph of the dead vagrant. This time, he paused, swiping over to a file report that had been sent to him by the records division just yesterday. He hadn't had time to properly review it until now, but the details immediately drew him in:

Case Report: Marley Patel

Age: 48

Gender: Male

Birthplace: Bog Bay City

Profession: Fisherman (Former)

Current Residence: None (Homeless)

Background:

Marley Patel was once a small-time fisherman working in Bog Bay City Harbor, where he lived in a modest home with his wife and two children. His life took a devastating turn two years ago during a violent gang war between The Black Marlins and The Iron Fangs. The conflict claimed the lives of his wife and children and left his home destroyed in the ensuing chaos. Following the tragedy, Marley became homeless, living on the streets and moving between shelters in the Bog Bay area. He was known to frequent areas around Maple Leaf Park and the harbor, often scavenging for food and sleeping in the park.

Cause of Death: Single knife wound to the abdomen, just below the ribcage. The wound was deep and precise. A clean strike intended to incapacitate or kill quickly.

Description of Injury: The incision suggests the use of a sharp blade, likely a combat or utility knife. The lack of tearing around the edges of the wound points to significant skill or experience in delivering the blow.

Additional Notes: No defensive wounds were observed on the victim's hands or arms, suggesting there was no struggle prior to the attack. The coroner's preliminary examination indicates the wound may have resulted in rapid blood loss, though further autopsy results are pending to confirm the exact cause of death.

Conclusion: Likely carried out by someone with a high degree of familiarity with close-quarters combat.

He scanned the report again, his eyes narrowing slightly. The details painted a picture of a man broken by circumstances, drifting aimlessly through life until it was violently cut short. But the part that caught Vince's attention wasn't just the tragedy—it was the connection to the harbor. Marley Patel had once lived there, and now his death felt like more than just an isolated incident.

Vince's fingers hovered over the screen before drawing another line from Maple Leaf Park to an image of an abandoned warehouse nearby, where he and Chloe had rescued Hannah. A note was already pinned next to the warehouse image:

Footprints found outside. Multiple more inside. Big hideout for human trafficking?

The connections were beginning to spread like a web. He stared at the warehouse picture for a long moment, his mind replaying the events of that night—the chaos, the violence, and the desperation that had hung thick in the air. With a quick motion, he drew another line, this time connecting the warehouse to three images clustered on the lower left of the board.

The pictures were of the dead thugs he and Chloe had left behind. Each face stared blankly up from the screen, frozen in death: one scrawny, one fat, and one burly. All three had died that night. One had been strangled—a death Vince himself had dealt in the heat of battle. The other two had fallen after he left, all fell to knife wounds, clean and precise, eerily similar to the one that had killed Marley Patel.

Vince connected another line between the thugs and the vagrant, adding a note above the line:

Same murderer? Reason: Could be clean tail end.

He swiped across the board again, pulling up the records division report on the three thugs. The information wasn't surprising, yet it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Profiles: 3 Unidentified Male Thugs

Backgrounds: All three men shared similar histories—poor or broken households, some parentless, others raised in environments marred by neglect and abuse. None had completed formal education, with two dropping out in their early teens, while the third had likely never attended school. Extensive criminal records, including theft, extortion, and low-level gang activity, with frequent stints in and out of correctional facilities.

He rubbed his temple, sighing as he scanned the details. "Same old story," he muttered under his breath. "Drift through the cracks, get swept up in the system, and end up as disposable muscle."

But then his closed his eyes. "The question is: who do they work for?"