Page 38 of Outside the Room

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The harbor lights cast eerie shadows across the water as emergency personnel worked to process the scene. Isla stood at the edge of the dock, watching the medical examiner's team carefully place Sarah Sanchez's body into a black bag. Despite her years in the FBI, the sight of death never became easier—only more familiar, a professional hazard she'd learned to compartmentalize rather than overcome.

She moved to the exact spot where harbor patrol had first noticed Sanchez's body. Ice was already reforming in the water where they had broken through to retrieve her. The glossy black surface reflected fragmented emergency lights, making the water appear to flicker with internal fire.

A technician approached them, tablet in hand. "Agents, we've pulled what little security footage we could salvage. We’ve confirmed most of the cameras covering this section were disabled approximately fifteen minutes before the estimated time of death."

"Disabled how?" Isla asked.

"Power to the units was cut at the junction box," the technician replied, gesturing toward a utility panel near the warehouse. "Someone who knows the port's security infrastructure."

"Show us what you did manage to capture," Sullivan instructed.

The technician pulled up grainy footage from a distant camera that had maintained functionality. The angle was poor, and the image quality was further compromised by light snow, but they could make out a figure moving quickly through the dock area approximately thirty minutes before Sanchez's estimated time of death.

"Can you enhance this?" Isla asked, squinting at the blurry image.

"Already tried," the technician said apologetically. "The resolution's too low, and the weather conditions are too poor. The best I can do is confirm it appears to be a male figure of average to large build, wearing dark clothing."

Isla sighed in frustration. The killer had been careful enough to disable most cameras but either hadn't known about this one or hadn't been able to reach it. Either way, the footage was too indistinct to provide a clear identification.

Isla checked her watch—just past midnight now. "The killer could still be in the vicinity," she realized. "Or at least hasn't had much time to flee the area."

Sullivan was already on his radio, coordinating with local police to establish checkpoints at all port exits and major roads leading from the harbor. Isla turned her attention back to the scene, trying to reconstruct what might have happened.

Sanchez had been on routine patrol. She'd radioed in to investigate something suspicious in section W-17, then missed her next scheduled check-in. Someone had disabled most of the security cameras in advance, suggesting planning. Yet the attack itself seemed rushed—a struggle on an open dock, a weapon left behind, the body disposed of in a manner likely to be discovered quickly.

"It doesn't add up," she muttered, more to herself than to Sullivan, who had rejoined her. “Whitman and Pearce were specifically investigating shipping manifest discrepancies. Was Sanchez?"

“Who knows? We need to find out who the last person Sanchez spoke to was.”

They moved toward a group of port security officers huddled near a patrol vehicle, seeking warmth in the cab with the heater running. One stepped out to meet them—the night shift supervisor, according to his identification.

"Agent Rivers, Agent Sullivan," he greeted them, his face haggard with shock and exhaustion. "Anything we can do to help, just ask. Sarah was one of our best."

"We're sorry for your loss," Isla said with genuine sympathy. "We need to understand what Officer Sanchez was doing before her death. Was she involved in any special projects or investigations?"

The supervisor shook his head. "Standard patrol duty. She'd been assigned to the eastern container yard, which is nowhere near where..." his voice trailed off as he gestured toward the water.

"Did she mention anything unusual in recent days?" Sullivan pressed. "Any concerns about port operations or specific individuals?"

"Nothing specific," the supervisor replied. "Though she did volunteer for extra patrols after the two murder victims were found. Sarah wasn't the type to scare easily. If anything, she seemed determined to catch whoever was responsible."

"Would she have had any reason to be in this area of the dock?" Isla asked. "It's well outside her assigned patrol route."

The supervisor's brow furrowed. "No, she shouldn't have been here at all. Her last radio check-in placed her near the administration building, which is on the opposite side of the port, but she could’ve spread out on her own accord."

This new information added another layer of complexity. Why had Sanchez deviated so dramatically from her assigned patrol route? What had drawn her to this isolated section of dock, far from where she should have been?

"We need to see the administration building," Isla decided. "That's where she was last confirmed alive."

As they walked toward their vehicle, Sullivan's phone rang. He answered, listening intently before ending the call with a terse acknowledgment.

"That was the officer checking port access records," he told Isla. "Raymond O'Connor was working late in his office tonight. Security logs show him entering the administration building at six p.m. No record of him leaving."

"So, he might have been the last person to see Sanchez alive," Isla noted.

"If she stopped by his office during her patrol," Sullivan agreed.

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