Page 2 of Pursuit of Her

They crossed the manicured lawn, passing clusters of forensic technicians cataloging the impeccable exterior. The door to the judge's home stood open, guarded by Officer Mendez, a promising rookie whose posture straightened visibly as Eve approached.

"Captain," she greeted with a respectful nod.

Inside, the house opened into a soaring atrium where sunlight streamed through glass walls to illuminate a space that should have felt open but instead pressed down with the weight of tragedy. The marble floors gleamed, reflecting the purposeful movements of the investigation team as they photographed, measured, and collected evidence.

"Judge Harmon was found by his housekeeper at 5:43 this morning," Rhodes explained, leading Eve through the great room. "Gabriela Suarez. Twenty years of employment. Devastated but coherent. Says she arrived to prepare breakfast and found him in his study. Door was unlocked, and the alarm was deactivated with the correct code."

"Security footage?"

"System was disabled between 2:17 and 2:42 a.m. Clean work, professional."

They reached the study door where Dr. Isabella Rivera, the department's head forensic investigator, was directing her team with the precision of an orchestra conductor. She looked up as Eve entered, her silver-streaked black hair framing sharp cheekbones and eyes that missed nothing.

"Captain." Rivera nodded. "You're going to want to see this."

The study was a monument to masculine power: leather-bound books, expensive artwork, a desk the size of some officers' apartments. Judge Malcolm Harmon sat in his high-backed leather chair, eyes open in eternal surprise, a single bullet hole precisely centered in his forehead. Blood had dried in a macabre halo on the leather behind him.

Eve approached with measured steps, absorbing every detail. The judge wore a silk robe over pajamas, suggesting he'd been awakened or never gone to bed. A tumbler with an inch of amber liquid sat on the desk beside a stack of documents. And on his chest,meticulously taped to his silk robe, was a flash drive.

"Cause of death obvious," Rivera said, gesturing with a gloved hand. "Single gunshot wound, small caliber, probable hollow-point from the exit wound. Time of death between 2:20 and 2:40 a.m, to align with the security breach."

Eve circled the desk, noting the precise arrangement of documents surrounding the body. Court transcripts. Police reports. Photographs of a woman with bruises. Medical records.

"Jillian Harmon," Rhodes supplied, following Eve's gaze. "The judge's third wife. She filed for divorce eight months ago, citing domestic abuse. Case was dismissed due to lack of evidence and procedural issues."

"The procedural issues being that her evidence mysteriously disappeared from the court record," Rivera added, her voice clinically detached but her eyes flashing with barely contained anger.

Eve studied the meticulous placement of the evidence, the calculated display. This wasn't a crime of passion. This was a statement, a public reckoning.

"The flash drive?" she asked.

Rhodes handed her a tablet. "Already downloaded and verified. It contains security camera footage from the Harmon household. Shows the judge assaulting his wife on multiple occasions. Also financial records indicating substantial payments to prosecutors and court officials handling his case."

Eve's jaw tightened. "Chain of custody on this evidence?"

"Pristine," Rivera confirmed. "Everything has been documented from the moment we arrived."

A uniformed officer appeared at the door, her face tense. "Captain Morgan? Mayor Amelia McAllister just arrived. She's demanding to speak with you immediately."

Eve nodded once, handing the tablet back to Rhodes. "Complete the scene documentation. I want full forensic workup, door-to-door in the neighborhood, and a deep dive on everyone connected to the judge's abuse case. Nobody sleeps until we have something concrete."

As Eve turned to leave, Rhodes caught her eye. "Captain? There's something else." Her voice dropped, ensuring only Eve could hear."The calling card. It was the same as the Peterson scene."

Eve stilled. "Show me."

Rhodes led her to a small evidence bag on Rivera's workstation. Inside was a business card-sized piece of heavy cream stock. In an elegant script, it read: "The System Failed. I Did Not." And beneath that, a stylized emblem of a phoenix rising from flames.

The muscles in Eve's shoulders coiled tight as steel cables. Ten years on the force and she'd never seen anything like this vigilante; they were methodical and precise, leaving damning evidence that reframed the victim as the true criminal. It was the work of someone who understood both justice and the system's failures intimately.

The work of someone trained.

"Keep this out of the media report," Eve ordered softly. "This stays within the investigative team only."

Something moved in the shadows of her memory—a conversation from years ago, a voice she'd tried to forget arguing that sometimes the system needed help to deliver true justice. She pushed the thought away before it could fully form.

As Eve emerged from the study, Mayor McAllister stood in the atrium, impeccable in a tailored burgundy suit despite the early hour, her brunette hair arranged in a perfect bob. Her expression was a careful mask of concern, but Eve recognized the calculation in her eyes. Another high-profile murder on her watch with another election year approaching.

Eve straightened her shoulders and approached, the weight of her badge suddenly heavier against her hip.

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