Page 12 of Cat and Mouse

Matteo nods, already cross-referencing the footage with our suspect database. "I'll run facial recognition."

I pace, heart racing. This is it. The break we've been waiting for.

Minutes tick by like hours. Then Matteo curses under his breath.

"No match."

My stomach sinks. "Keep searching. There has to be something."

And then, a ping. Matteo freezes, eyes wide. "I've got a hit. His name is—"

The door bursts open. Captain Harris strides in, a grave look on his face. "Kane, we have a lead on the Phantom. Get your team ready. We're moving in."

Relief floods through me. "Yes, sir. Let's go." I glance back at the files on my desk. Amy's smile seems brighter, urging me on. I won't let her down.

As we head out, the city buzzes around us, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath its surface. This is our city, our responsibility. And tonight, justice will be served.

We arrive at the scene, sirens wailing, lights flashing. The place is cordoned off, officers everywhere securing the perimeter. Mike and Matteo are with me, their faces set with grim determination.

"Alright, let's move," I say, leading the way. The building is an old warehouse, decrepit and reeking of decay. We move in, weapons drawn, clearing room by room.

"Clear!" Matteo shouts from the left side.

"Clear!" echoes Mike from the right.

We converge in the center, eyes scanning for any signs of the Phantom. The air is thick with tension, every creak and groan of the building setting my nerves on edge.

"There," Mike whispers, pointing to a door at the back. It's slightly ajar, and a sliver of darkness beckons us.

We approach cautiously. I push the door open, and we step into a large, dimly lit room. The sight that greets us is both chilling and infuriating.

A man lies on the floor, his body contorted in a grotesque display of violence. He's middle-aged, with graying hair and a weathered face. His suit, once pristine, is now stained with blood, the dark fabric clinging to his lifeless form.

"Damn it," I mutter, crouching down to examine the scene. "He's been dead for hours."

Mike and Matteo stand guard, their eyes sweeping the room for any signs of movement. I spot a piece of paper pinned to the man's chest, the handwriting neat and deliberate.

My hands tremble as I read the note aloud. "My name is Moretti. I heard you were looking for me."

"Son of a bitch," Mike growls, his face a mask of fury. "He's taunting us."

I rise, stuffing the note into an evidence bag. "This changes everything. We need to find out who this guy is and why the Phantom left him here."

Matteo nods, already snapping photos and cataloging evidence. "I'll run his prints, see if we get any hits."

The room is a mess, signs of a struggle everywhere. Broken furniture, scattered papers, blood splatters. This wasn't just a killing; it was a message.

"Why leave him here?" I ponder aloud, frustration bubbling up. "What's the point?"

"To show he's always one step ahead," Mike replies, his voice low and hard. "He wants us to know he's watching."

We continue to comb through the scene, piecing together the puzzle. The man's wallet yields a name—Frank Roselli. I jot it down.

"What do you think, Kane?" Matteo asks, his green eyes meeting mine. "Is this connected to the other victims?"

I nod slowly. "It has to be. The Phantom doesn't make random moves. This is calculated."

We finish our sweep, securing the scene for the forensics team. As we step back outside, the night air hits me like a slap. I breathe deeply, trying to clear my head.

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