Norman's chest ached as he struggled to hold his breath, fighting against the endless weight of the water. His jacket floated, preventing him from swimming efficiently, and he seemed to barely move an inch despite his frantic kicking. There was no sign of light or waves above him, and as his hands swept through the water, he scattered the bioluminescent dots.
Panic racked his body. He wasn't going to make it. Despite the unending blackness around him, he felt as though he were trapped in a tiny box. He had to try. Even if it was hopeless, he had to fight. Bubbles obscured his vision, and his own groans of effort were muffled against the water. He was losing air fast, and his chest felt as though it would burst.
Suddenly, a deep moan echoed through the water. Terror shook his body, and he looked around through the inky blackness. There was something in the water with him. Something big.
A churning of water behind him got his attention. He twisted, and couldn't stop his bubbled scream as a pair of enormous white jaws with jagged teeth opened wide, encompassing his body.
Sound was suddenly amplified as Norman's scream echoed through the hotel room. He swung his hands wildly about him, his heart hammering in his chest. It took him a moment to realize where he was.
A combination of relief and residual panic filled him. He leaned forward, pressing his palms into his forehead. What a way to start the day. He was already having trouble sleeping without the help of nightmares.
Bit by bit the events of yesterday pieced themselves back together in his mind. Part of him wanted to fall back into the sheets and sleep for another twenty hours, but the urgency of the investigation forced him out of bed. He ran a hand over his face as he headed to the door, and peeked out carefully. His suit was clean and dried though still torn, hanging by a hook outside his door. He reached around and unhooked it, keeping his bare upper body inside the room.
He was out the door before he knew it, tightening his tie around his neck and slipping his glasses into his interior coat pocket. One day was down, and there were only two more to go. It seemed the only thing he'd accomplished yesterday was adding more things to investigate to his list. The Origami killings were far more extensive than he realized. He was going to have to add to the killer's profile when he got to the office.
It was a different atmosphere at the station than the day before. Officers criss-crossed between the cubicles and spoke in rushed voices. About ten phones were ringing at once, and the officers at the desks were bent in intense focus. As Norman passed the cubicles, he saw Blake at the far end of the lobby in his usual trenchcoat. A group of officers surrounded him, and he seemed to be engaged in fierce instruction.
The frantic bustle faded as Norman entered his office, shutting the door behind him. He clasped a frustrated hand over his mouth, running it down his jaw. There wasn't much hope of finding anything new. But at least he had more to analyze.
Norman sat at his desk, and pulled his glasses from his pocket. As he raised them to his face, a nervous pang hit him. He stared at the black lenses for a moment, then gave his head a shake, slipping them over his eyes. It was just a dream. He didn't have time to worry about things that didn't exist.
The black ocean spread around him as he flexed his hand into the glove. "I hope you're happy, Nessie. You gave me a heart attack last night." He flicked his hand, drawing up the scroll which flattened in front of him. With a swing of his hand, he added the list of clues he'd discovered the day before, including motive, the phone, and Ethan Mars' activities. The scroll glowed, and a few details changed. He was now also looking for a man with a troubled childhood, possibly someone whose father had died or vanished when he was very young. Also, the killer had a sizeable income, or a safety fund which he must have been using to coordinate the trials. The well that was used to contain the victims was located somewhere other than the killer's house, which meant he either owned or borrowed an industrial building.
Norman felt his hopes fall. He didn't know why he expected the profile to give him a name or address, but with everything he'd learned yesterday, he silently wished it would lead him substantially closer. He leaned back in his chair, flicking his hand to the side and creating a small glowing ball attached to his middle finger by an ethereal thread. As he swung the yoyo, he considered the evidence he'd discovered at Roman's house. The cell phone and the folded paper… given to Roman by the killer. Obviously not directly, since it was likely Roman wouldn't have a reason to hide the killer's appearance or behavior. The man was obsessed with finding his son, even a year after his son was killed.
The yoyo rolled across the floor, flying back up into Norman's hand. Clearly Roman was a man who loved his son. And Ethan Mars was also willing to sacrifice himself to save his own kidnapped son. How then would these fathers who loved their sons lose them in broad daylight in a crowd full of people? It was obviously not by force. A car show was bound to have decent security and about a thousand people all struggling to keep track of eachother. Not to mention cameras all over the place─
Norman bolted forward in his chair. Cameras. Of course. Roman said his son was looking at a green Camaro. That meant other people must have been looking at it too. And he would bet that one of those people must have gotten a picture of the boy… and possibly the killer.
He flicked his wrist, sending the yoyo into the darkness as he drew a square in front of him. "Brandon Roman. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania," he said, and drew his fingers apart. A list scrolled downward, slowing as it reached the bottom, and Brandon Roman highlighted inside a bright rectangle. The rectangle expanded, revealing the photo of a young boy whose eyes resembled Thomas Roman's. As the summary trickled beneath the photo, Norman tapped his gloved finger against the photo, spurring a series of swirling images that wound like a juke box.
"Filter," said Norman, and the ring of photos squeezed together into a tighter circle. "Green Camaro." Several of the photos snapped back out again, creating a double layered ring. Norman's heart pounded in excitement as he flicked through the outer images. It would be too good to be true if the killer was actually in one of these photos.
Each image showed close-ups of a bright green Camaro, most of them too close to see any of the nearby crowd clearly. He spotted the top of a boy's head in one, and the sideways profile in another. He flicked through the photos, and paused on one. Over the hood, a blurry image of a small boy was just visible in between a group of adults. Norman flicked to the next image, and the young boy was even clearer. Norman strained to see the other adults, but the camera was too low. He flicked his hand to the right, and felt his heart stop. The next image was angled slightly to the side, but the boy was gone.
Norman sped through the other photos which had already made a complete circle. He darted back to the photo, and pressed his gloved hand against it. A list of details appeared in front of it. September 7, 2010, 1:27 P.M. Brandon Roman was kidnapped at exactly 1:27 P.M.
That meant there had to be a trail. Norman flicked through the other photos but the adults were too obscured to see properly. He wouldn't be able to find the killer this way. Fierce determination flowed through him. He wasn't giving up yet.
He swept the photo reel to the side, and formed another square with his hands. "Full Throttle Auto Expo. September 7, 2010. 1:27 P.M." He pulled his hands apart, and a grid of television screens appeared. He leaned forward, and a large red text appeared in front of him. Authorization required.
For a moment, he simply stared. He put a hand to the text. "Authorization four seven zero two three Norman Jayden." Text scrolled underneath. Property of Philadelphia Traffic Law Enforcement. Norman put his forehead in his hand and let out a frustrated laugh.
"Come on, you're doing this to me now?" He sighed and swept the grid away. It seemed he was at the mercy of the PPA even in the ARI. Norman removed his glasses, plunging back into the drab office environment.
He waited for a moment, gripping the arms of the chair. A slight tremble started in his hands, but as the seconds wore on, he seemed to keep stable. Reassured, Norman stood up from his desk and left his office.
The lobby was still in an uproar as he made his way to Captain Perry's office. This time, he knocked and waited for Perry's voice from inside. Perry was at his usual place behind his desk as Norman stepped into the wide office. He felt a dash of humility as he remembered his outburst from yesterday, and made an effort to appear more calm.
"Sorry to disturb you," said Norman. "I may have a lead on the killer's car, but I need authorization to view the traffic surveillance footage at the time of one of the kidnappings."
Perry swivelled slightly in his chair as he looked at Norman. "Have you brought this up with Lieutenant Blake?"
Norman fought to hide his frustration. "Lieutenant Blake and I are… on separate agendas."
Perry typed something into his computer. "I suggest you work with Lieutenant Blake on this, Jayden. I hear he's rounding up a team of officers to look for Ethan Mars' car. Perhaps you should join him?"
"I think it'd be better if I stayed here at the office," said Norman. He felt his anxiety begin to boil. "I just need the authorization to identify the killer's car."
Perry continued to type. "Well if I heard the lieutenant correctly, the killer's car is a Crown Victoria. So there's no need to view the surveillance footage if it's already been identified."
Norman balled his fists. His face grew hot, and he ran a hand through his hair. "No," he said. "No, I guess not." Without another word, Norman turned and left through the door.
He should have known Perry wasn't going to help him. Not if it wasn't Blake's idea first. Norman glared at Blake who was still standing across the lobby, speaking between each of the officers. There was no way in hell Blake would lift a finger to point Norman to the nearest water fountain. If Norman was going to find a way around this, he was going to need someone on his side.
He scanned the lobby, and caught sight of the familiar brunette pony tail among the crowd of officers. A swell of relief flowed through him, and he moved quickly through the cubicles. Ashley might not be able to tell an apple from a rock, but she would at least have the authorization he needed to view the surveillance footage.
Norman darted in between the officers, and closed his hand around Ashley's bare arm. She spun quickly, her eyes wide in surprise, but her eyebrows narrowed as she looked at him. He felt a pang of shame, and let go of her arm quickly.
"Hey," he said, and he stepped closer to her. "Listen, what I said yesterday…" He struggled to find the right words to say. He wished she would look away, or at least give him her usual wide-eyed stare instead of the tense glare she threw at him now. "I was frustrated and angry. I didn't mean to lay all that on you at once. It was wrong and… and I'm sorry."
She blinked slowly, and lowered her head. "Oh."
"I just… I need your help." Frantic energy flowed through him as Blake moved out of the corner of his eye. "I think I can identify the killer's car through the traffic surveillance footage. But I need authorization to─"
"You know, Norman…" Ashley held her hand out and closed her eyes. Norman froze, dread filling him. She opened her eyes again, and gave him a scrutinizing look. "I have to go on patrol right now."
For a moment, they were both silent. Norman's face grew cold as he felt the blood drain from it. He stared at her in disbelief, but the solid look she gave him told him she was serious. She was angry at him, that much he knew. But was she really going to abandon him like this?
He struggled to speak. "Ashley…"
"And." She tilted her head sideways, giving him a small but empty smile. "By that I mean I don't have time to talk."
A heavy cloud seemed to settle over them. Norman felt his shoulders grow heavy as he resigned to the truth. His antisocial skills had definitely done their magic this time. But even the idea of being completely on his own seemed to be a small hardship compared to the expression on her face. And he found himself wanting more than anything for her to go back to being the perplexed, sympathetic woman he'd come to know.
He closed his eyes and dropped his shoulders. "Okay."
"Okay," said Ashley. They both stood still for a moment in painful silence, then Norman felt Ashley move away from him. He put his forehead in his hand and rubbed his bruised eye. He couldn't view the surveillance footage, Blake was hunting an innocent man, and Norman was down a friend. Somehow his despair yesterday morning was nothing compared to this.
There wasn't much else for him to do. Norman turned and moved through the cubicles, passing the group of officers that headed for the door. They had a name, a face, and a car, and with that many police on patrol, they were bound to find the man they were looking for. Maybe Norman would get his answers when they dragged Ethan Mars into the interrogation room.
He moved into his office, heading automatically for his desk. He stopped at the last minute, pressing his palms to his forehead and staring up at the ceiling. What was he going to do for the next few hours while Shaun Mars was slowly drowning in a well and the boy's father was most likely beaten and locked away in a cell? He couldn't just sit and roll a yoyo across the floor all day. There had to be something left for him to investigate.
Norman pulled Roman's cell phone from his pocket, pressing the power button. The image of the well appeared, and the tiny boy's hands rose between the grate. The same grate that Shaun Mars was now trapped under. The same grate that eight other boys had died alone in the cold unable to reach air a mere inches away. He could only imagine the determination Ethan Mars felt, seeing the pale shadow of his son trapped in a well at the mercy of a deranged serial killer.
The message appeared, and then the lines with scattered numbers and letters. Judging by the placement of the numbers, Norman guessed it was probably an address. No doubt the address where Roman's son was trapped. He didn't have to use the ARI to know that there wasn't enough information to determine the correct address. Still, it was better to try than to do nothing at all.
He pulled the glasses from his pocket and slid them over his nose. Without bothering to put on his glove, he held the phone with its scattered address in front of him. "Geoanalysis. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." A red square formed around the numbers and letters, and Norman was suddenly standing miles above the earth above the blue haze of the atmosphere. As he peered down, the earth rose up under his feet, zooming in on a section of the North American continent. He stepped idly in a circle as the map focused on a haphazardly formed square, titled Philadelphia. Blue lines of roads spread from the center and the names of locations formed. Then the information he was looking for. A series of red markers. Lots of them. Too many, spread throughout the city.
He sighed as he knelt down, studying the different addresses. There had to be at least fifty, with a good majority being in the industrial section of the city. Even if he had a team of officers and all the time in the world, it would take him at least a week to scout every one.
Well, he was a team of one. And standing around complaining about how much work it was wouldn't help him find Shaun Mars any sooner. Norman took off his glasses and the map vanished beneath him. It was going to be a long day of driving, so he might as well start now.
He put the ARI in his coat, and shoved the cell phone in his pocket as he left the office. Most of the police had gone from the lobby and it was back to the quiet office bustle. Norman pulled his keys out of his pocket as he headed to the entrance, and stepped out into the cold rain.
He gazed up, letting the raindrops fall on his face. If he ever got out of this city, he was going someplace where it never rained again.
A sad humor rose in him. He was willing to bet Shaun and Ethan Mars felt the same way.