After Forensics confirmed the traces of blood on the scalpel belonged to one of the Smiths, Gilliam had one of his colleagues from his home office trace its serial number. To our collective luck, it matched to a batch delivered to a medical clinic in town, which happened to only be a block away from where the murders took place.

Gilliam insisted on paying the clinic a visit despite how late it was, and even when the two of them saw the red 'CLOSED' sign on the clinic doors facing outward as Bishop drove the car past the front door. But the lobby and reception area were still well-illuminated, prompting Gilliam to ask the detective to park the car by the curb before exiting the door as soon as she turned the engine off.

Letting out a small sigh, Bishop exited the car after him and watched as he knocked softly against the glass door, then fished a small black leather object—his badge—before presenting it up to whoever was on the other side of the door.

As the detective wordlessly moved to join him by the door, a woman, just a little shorter than she was, with disheveled brown hair tied to a loose ponytail and dressed in a pastel blue uniform appeared in the other side of the door opposite to them, head bowed down as she made quick work of unlocking the door. When her head turned back up, her brown eyes briefly went wide, likely at the sight of not one but two federal officers, before she moved to the side, picking up the broom propped up against the wall beside the door, to allow the two visitors entry into the clinic.

"Thank you very much, ma'am," Gilliam greeted in a slightly more uplifted tone, a bit uncharacteristic to Bishop's ears considering everything thus far, as the pair entered the building. "My name is Special Agent Gilliam. I'm with the FBI." He nodded over his shoulder towards his begrudging partner. "And this is—"

"Detective Bishop, is it?" the woman suddenly interrupted, despite her pale expression, eyes now fixated on the detective in question. "I remember you from that incident three years ago."

Bishop froze, and felt the color drain from her own face. She barely registered Gilliam turning his head fully around towards her, as she pursed her lips and turned her gaze down to the floor with an uneasy smile. "Oh. I didn't think—"

The other woman gave her a single nod, then cleared her throat, offering the detective a small smile. "I never had a chance to personally thank you for your efforts back then, and for everything you did for us. And of course, my condolences for your loss."

The detective bit down on her bottom lip. "Thank you," she breathed out, forcing herself to lift her head up and nod once to the other woman, trying to disregard Gilliam's piercing gaze still directed toward her, but briefly nodding her head towards him. "We wanted to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind?"

The other woman furrowed her eyebrows. "Oh, what about?"

"We found a scalpel involved in a more recent incident," Gilliam quickly began, offering the detective a short glance before turning back to the lady in uniform. "We tracked the serial number down to a supply batch that came into this clinic about a month ago." He then produced his phone, pulling up what Bishop presumed were details of the scalpel that his colleague had sent him, before offering the screen over to the woman. "We wanted to confirm for ourselves if the scalpel did indeed come from this clinic."

The clinic staff glanced over the screen with a frown. "It does look like the type we use here. But a month ago, you say?" She looked back up towards both investigators. "I may need to check our inventory records for that. It is possible that scalpel was out of our hands by the time this, err, recent incident of yours happened."

As the woman hurried over to disappear behind the front desk, the two investigators briefly exchanged glances before following after the former, moving to stand on the other side of the counter. "How so?" Bishop asked first, as Gilliam offered his phone again to the lady when prompted.

The other woman didn't respond immediately, bent over behind the desk as her fingers busily typed away on what sounds like a keyboard, occasionally glancing up to read the information on the tiny phone screen. Several seconds later, she lifted her head, but her gaze remained fixated on the glowing computer monitor as the frown deepened across her face.

"I'm afraid I can't help you with this one, off—err, detective, agent," the woman replied instead with an uneasy sigh. "The scalpel belonged to one of the batches of supplies that was stolen in that burglary last month."

Both investigators exchanged another glance. "Burglary?" Bishop asked. "I don't think I've heard any reports about a burglary from this area."

"Oh, um." The other woman straightened her back and finally looked back towards both people standing opposite to her. "Well, uh, you see, we never reported it to the police. The manager told me not to. A couple days later, he came in and told the staff not to worry about it, said he'd dealt with it himself, so there was no need to get the police involved."

"Dealt with it himself?" Gilliam shook his head with a sigh before stashing his phone away. "Well, regardless, it's important to our current case that we know where this scalpel went, so we will be needing to speak to your manager about this. Is he still in the building?"

The staff member immediately nodded, then gestured towards the hallway beside her. "His office is in the back. I would advise knocking before you enter, though. He gets upset when people barge in."

Thanking the lady for her help, Bishop turned back to her partner only to realize he had already disappeared from her side, already leaving the area and marching down the hallway ahead of her, forcing her to speed-walk to catch up to him. The hallway lights were already turned off, but they could see the glow of light from underneath the closed door at the very end of the hall, as the staff lady had indicated. Gilliam raised his hand to knock rapidly on the door, just as the detective finally reached his side.

There was a voice on the other side of the door—deep, loud and abrasive, like nails on sandpaper—but no signs of response to the initial knocking, prompting Gilliam to try again, this time pounding his balled fist moderately against the wooden surface.

"Come in."

Gilliam didn't waste a single breath as he turned the knob and burst into the room without much fanfare, with the detective reluctantly in tow just behind him, and his eyes zeroed in on the large, stout man sitting at the desk in the far-left corner of the room. "FBI Special Agent Gilliam, and Detective Bishop with the local PD. We need to ask you a few questions about the burglary that took place here last month."

Bishop almost scoffed at the agent's directness before finally noticing the state of the room. While the rest of the clinic had been kept clean and pristine, as expected of a health institution, the back office was cramped and cluttered, with papers and files stacked upon each other on top of the desk and cabinets, not to mention the numerous stains on the carpeting below their feet and the overflowed trash bin beside the desk.

The clinic manager, with his balding scalp and untrimmed mustache above his scowling lips, glared at the two investigators, even more so at the badge Gilliam immediately retrieved from his coat pocket as soon as he stood still a fair distance away from the desk. "Burglary?" The man threw what looked to be a greasy, mangled taco into the container in front of him and wiped the bits of food around his mouth with a single swipe of his sleeve. "What? I never reported a burglary."

"We found supplies missing from your inventory, and your staff informed us about the burglary that happened here last month, which should still have been reported to the police so they can take the proper steps forward," Gilliam responded without a single blink of hesitation. Bishop held her breath; whatever amity he showed to the other woman before had no doubt dissipated the second he entered this room, and to be honest to herself, the detective didn't wonder why.

The clinic manager snorted. "Yeah, so? What about it? I already dealt with it. No reason to report it to the cops, and no reason for you badges to come in here asking me about it."

"Well." Bishop blinked, glancing toward her partner before turning back to glare at the manager. "One of those stolen supplies is currently involved in a federal investigation. We would appreciate it if you could tell us more about that burglary."

"Involved?" the manager sneered then scoffed. "Involved how?"

"Homicide," Gilliam said curtly. "We traced the murder weapon back to those supplies that were stolen from this clinic."

At the mention of 'homicide', the burly man leaned back against his chair, staring back at the investigators no longer with annoyance, but with apparent bewilderment. "Hey, look, I know nothing about a murder, okay? But in all honesty, I'm not surprised that crazy bitch would do something like that."

Bishop exchanged another glance with Gilliam before glaring down at the other man. "You know who the burglar was?"

The burly man scoffed. "Skye Sullivan. Used to be receptionist here, until I caught her stealing meds a couple months ago. Fired her on the spot. Last I saw of her until the burglary happened, so I went over to her place to confront that little thieving bitch."

"What'd you do to her?"

"Nothing." He made another scoff, lips curling back to show misshapen, dull yellow teeth. "Asked her to pay me back for all the shit's she's stolen, or fork over whatever profits she made from selling that stuff off the black market."

"And did she?" Gilliam asked, and the other man shook his head.

"Bitch had the audacity to tell me she didn't do it." Another scoff. "I mean, she admitted to stealing the drugs, probably 'cause I caught her red-handed. But she insisted. Then, that's when she went nuts."

Bishop closed her eyes briefly before her eyelids flew open to glare down at the man. "Went nuts?"

"Went nuts how?" Gilliam echoed.

The man scowled under his breath. "Bitch went psycho on me, like she was possessed or something. She was yelling at me—she was actually threatening me, that psychotic bitch. Probably could've chopped my head off or something if I hadn't gotten out of there before she really went ballistic."

"And she wasn't like this before?"

"No." The man readjusted his posture in his chair and snorted. "She talked behind my back, sure, but never once raised her voice at me, or anyone really."

"Did she actually do it, though?" Bishop felt two pairs of eyes glance towards her as soon as she spoke up again, but kept her gaze fixated on the burly man. "Do you have evidence that proves she was the one who did the burglary?"

"Well, no, not exactly, but who else could it be?"

Bishop closed her eyes again and pursed her lips.

"Bitch had been stealing from me for months," the man continued. "Then she lost her job, her only job. She's stolen from me before. She needs the money. Why the fuck not, am I right?"

"And you weren't surprised," Gilliam asked, "that she would make the jump from stealing, to burgling, and right down to homicide?"

"Look." The burly man leaned forward, planting his elbows on his desk. "She looked like a good kid, all right? Did her job decent enough, earned her pay, and then I caught her stealing from me. Then, there's what happened at her house." He shook his head and breathed out a heavy sigh. "All I'm saying is, it's not that big of a leap, if you ask me."

"But you didn't do anything to her?" the detective queried again.

"No, I didn't do shit." He leaned back and huffed. "Didn't even get my money back. Not that I want anything else to do with her after what happened."

The humid air inside the confined room was still for another five seconds before the federal agent breathed out a long, heavy sigh, before turning around and exiting the room without another word. The detective watched this from her peripherals, then turned back towards the clinic manager, arms crossed in front of her. "We'll be needing Sullivan's current address—"

"Get it from Nancy," the man grumbled under his breath, turning his head away from her as he pulled himself up towards his desk, picked up his taco and took a large bite out of it. Bishop closed her eyes for a moment and suppressed her own urge to seethe through her teeth. She wasn't going to get anything else out him, at least not for now. "Details should still be in the system. Nancy'll pull up her records."

"What happened three years ago?"

Bishop almost slammed the door when she entered the car and settled back into the driver's seat. Gilliam was at least an entire minute ahead of her, seatbelt already strapped across his chest and his back already shaping a faint mold in the faux leather seat.

"Why are you asking?" she almost snapped back, biting down hard on her own jaw as she jammed the key into its hole and started the engine.

"Am I not allowed to ask questions now?"

The car roared to life and she leaned back against her seat with a sigh. "It's not related to the case."

"But it was a case." In her peripherals, she saw him turn his gaze out the window when she started pulling the car out from the curb. "I did some research before I came here. It's a rather small town."

"I've seen smaller towns."

"But not a lot happens here," he continued, disregarding her. She pursed her lips, trying not to roll her eyes. "There was only one case from here to catch the FBI's attention over the past ten years. I suppose it's safe to assume that's what the lady was referring to earlier?"

"What's your point, agent?"

There wasn't traffic in the streets since the rush hour had passed, but Bishop was forced to slow the car into a stop when they reached the red light just down the road from the clinic. She slumped back against the seat, eyes drilling into the red glare as a wave of exhaustion started to creep over her body.

"Five victims. A middle school kid, then a couple of teenagers." She almost cast a glance to the side, to see if he was reading this from somewhere, if there was something on his lap or the dashboard of the car. "The last two were adult women: a single mother, and a schoolteacher." He paused and breathed. "Daisy Bishop."

She gripped the top of the wheel, gaze unwavering until the red light blurred and fractured in her eyes.

"Family?"

A slow breath escaped her lips. "Sister," she said.

"My condolences," he murmured, then cleared his throat. "Were you in charge?"

"I was an officer." She closed her eyes for only a moment, just as a flash of yellow blinked in front of her, prompting her eyelids to fly open as her hands tightened their grip on the steering wheel. "I wasn't promoted until two years ago. What is your point, agent?"

"Five victims." He didn't stop to think, didn't pause for hesitation. The car sped forward at the turn of the light, and so did he. "A serial murder."

"And we currently have seven," she quickly interjected, immediately stepping on the pedal as soon as the light turned green, causing the car to lurch before it started moving forward. "And a mass murderer. Your point, agent."

"Well." Gilliam cleared his throat, leaning his back flat and fidgeting in the car seat. "One can't help but ask a question about how the two most notorious incidents in a small town involve a fairly high body count."

"Coincidences happen, Agent Gilliam." She pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side, before looking over to the sideview mirror. "Not unlike your alleged suspects, you know."

Pause. "You don't believe me, do you?"

She glared at him from the corner of her eye. "You don't believe me not believing you?"

"No," he admitted without hesitation, and she scoffed. She saw him glance out the window and could've sworn she saw a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. Smug bastard. "But benefit of the doubt, detective. Like this town, I do believe there is still more to this case than meets the eye."