A heavy slamming caused Norman to jolt awake in a panic.
"Rise and shine, sweetheart! Looks like someone slept in this morning."
Pale light filled the room through the small window of the office. Norman pushed himself straight, his head aching where he'd rested it on the hard surface of the desk. It took him a moment to notice Blake was standing next to him, one hand on the office chair that Ashley had brought in the night before.
"You like being under arrest or something?" Blake clenched his hand on the back of the chair. "Touch my stuff again and beat your ass into the ground."
The events of the previous night worked their way back into Norman's memory. He rubbed his face as the office came into clearer view. The ARI lay upside-down on the corner of the desk with the killer's pistol a few inches away from it. The familiar tension of the case weighed him down almost immediately, followed by the dull dread of the memory of Ashley with him in the office. A thousand frustrating thoughts rushed through his mind. He needed to find Ashley. He had to set things right with her. But he still had to find the name of the Origami Killer. The ARI was in front of him. He could start searching again right away. Was there even enough time?
Norman twisted as Blake rolled the chair towards the office door. "What time is it?" said Norman before he could stop himself.
Blake glanced up at him, his dark eyes scrunched into a bewildered glare. "It's time for you to get the fuck out of Philadelphia, you prick," said Blake. The office door clicked open as Blake opened the door.
Norman stood up, wobbly from lack of sleep. "The Origami Killer is a cop."
Blake stood frozen for a moment. The room fell eerily silent, and a steady nervousness crept in Norman's chest. He didn't know why he'd said that; his mind was still fuzzy from waking up so abruptly. But was Blake actually going to listen to him?
Blake's hand clenched on the door handle, and he leaned forward slightly. Then his cold laughter echoed through the room. He stood up straight, and Norman felt his heart sink at the expression on Blake's face.
"What?" Blake shook his head as he looked at Norman. "What did you say?" Blake rested both hands on the back of the chair and leaned. "Are you officially bat-shit insane?"
Norman fell back into his chair, resting his forehead in his hand. He was really out of his mind if he was attempting to convince Blake. Norman pulled the pistol towards him on the desk, staring blankly as he reorganized his thoughts. He had to think clearly and fast. This was the third day, and if he'd already wasted most of it with sleep, he'd need to act quickly to find the name of the killer.
The pistol was suddenly pulled away in front of him, and Norman sat up straight as Blake put the pistol in his jacket. Norman immediately prepared for a battle, but stopped cold at the look on Blake's face. It was accusatory.
"What are you doing?" said Norman. Blake took a step back from him.
"What the hell are you doing with this?" Blake motioned toward the pistol in his jacket.
The suspicion lined in Blake's face left Norman at a loss for words. For a moment, he fought the urge to launch into detail about the battle with the Origami Killer at Paco's office. There was something Norman hadn't considered. And it forced him instead to be cautious.
Norman leaned back in his chair, beating down his apprehension. "Well, let's say someone tried to kill me with it."
Blake snorted in laughter. "Shit, you're pulling people out of retirement?" He laughed as he moved toward the door. "And I thought I was the only cop that wanted to kill you."
A fiery energy burned through Norman's body as Blake opened the door. "Do you know who owns that firearm?"
Blake turned toward him, his eyes narrowed. "Wait, let me guess." He motioned toward the pistol again. "You think he's the Origami Killer?" Norman nearly shook with anxiety as Blake laughed again. "Nah, I think I'll spare an old friend from getting his house caught on fire."
"You won't tell me who he is," said Norman, standing up, "even if it meant finding Ethan Mars?"
The humor vanished from Blake's eyes. His dark brows narrowed, and he took a step forward. "What are you talking about?" Norman's heart hammered as Blake's fists clenched. "You know where Ethan Mars is? This whole time?"
Norman swallowed, feeling as though he were burying himself in a deeper and deeper hole. "Call it a trade. You tell me who owns that gun, and I'll tell you where Ethan Mars is."
"We're not calling it anything." Blake strode forward, stopping only inches from Norman's face. "You're gonna tell me where Mars is right now or I'll fucking beat your skull open. You think you can hide information from me? You haven't even seen police brutality yet, you stuck up bitch!"
Norman clenched his jaw returned Blake's furrowed gaze. He could almost see the frustration burning behind Blake's dark eyes. But a powerful anger forced Norman to hold his ground. After all he'd been through─ Nathaniel, Roman, Mad Jack, Club Synn… all to find the identity of the killer. He'd nearly killed himself trying to find it. And the one person who could tell him was the last person who would ever help him.
He drew in a deep breath, fighting to keep his voice steady. "The Origami Killer is yours, Blake. All I need is a name."
Something flashed in Blake's eyes, and Norman felt a rush of hope. The only thing Blake ever cared about… it had to be worth it. If he could set aside his urge to beat Norman into the ground if only it meant catching Ethan Mars, the fake Origami Killer.
Blake let out a small breath of air, and his beard tweaked. "Okay, fine," he said, crossing his arms. "His name's Shelby."
Norman nearly tumbled over the newspapers as he spun and snatched his glasses from the desk. He raised his hands, forming a rough square. "Shelby. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." The interface lit up in front of him, and he reached around him as he pulled the information together.
"You got the name," said Blake. "Now where's Mars?"
Norman's heart pounded in his chest as the list of names scrolled automatically in front of him. Then it highlighted a single name: Scott Shelby. The bar expanded, and Norman was looking at a rough older man with short gray hair, tense brown eyes, and a sour expression. Norman felt the blood drain from his face. It was the same man from Paco's office.
"Hey asshole." Blake moved forward as Norman scrolled through the list of information. "Where the fuck is Mars?"
The information sped past as Norman glazed it over. Born February 1, 1967, six foot five inches, retired Marine and police lieutenant… He pressed his hand to the list. "Residence," he said. The information scrolled down to a list of owned properties. Shelby owned an apartment in northern Philadelphia. Even as Norman memorized the address, he felt frustrated anxiety burn through him. Shaun Mars had only hours to live, and it was next to impossible that he would be at the killer's residence. Norman ran his fingers through his hair. There had to be a clue somewhere…
He drew up another square in front of him. "Geoanalysis history." The square filled with a list of addresses, including the search for Club Synn, the scrapyard, and the broken address from Roman's phone. Norman pressed a finger to the broken address, and dragged it to Shelby's summary. The list scrolled again, and paused on a highlighted address. Norman nearly shook with anticipation as he analyzed it. This had to be it.
"You hear what I─" Blake moved back as Norman stood up. The room grew brighter as Norman removed the glasses.
"852 Theodore Roosevelt Road," said Norman.
For a moment, they were both silent. Blake opened his mouth to speak, but Norman moved past him, his heart pounding in his throat. He moved automatically through the door, slamming it behind him as he entered the lobby.
He made a path between the office desks, his eyes set on the sliding glass doors. Several officers looked up curiously as he marched quickly. There was no point in reasoning. No point in preparing. If he was right, Shaun Mars was close to death, and the killer would be there to cover up the whole thing. But it was utterly perilous. Norman had lost his gun and his badge at Club Synn, and there wasn't an officer in the precinct that would be willing to offer backup─
Norman stopped dead in his tracks at the glass doors, the familiar twinge rising in his chest.
Slowly he reached into his pocket and brought out his cell phone. He scrolled through the list of numbers, pausing on the missed call two days prior. He couldn't leave her in the dark on this. Not when he'd finally found everything.
He redialed, feeling the uncomfortable dread wash over his anticipation. The dial buzzed, and he felt his heart skip a beat as he heard Ashley's voice.
"You've reached Sergeant Ashley Gibbons. Please leave a message."
Norman ran a hand over his face as he took a deep breath. "Ashley, I found him. The Origami Killer's name is Scott Shelby. He owns a warehouse on Theodore Roosevelt Road near the docks, and I'm positive that's where he's keeping Shaun Mars. I'm heading there now. I just─" Norman bit his lip. "I thought you should know. I hope you get this soon." He paused a moment, searching for something else to say. Then he lowered the phone and ended the call.
Norman gazed at the floor, clenching the phone in his fist. He was unarmed, alone, and the police were right behind him after the wrong man again. It was suicide, but somehow suicide seemed less intense when Ashley was with him.
He moved forward and the doors slid open in front of him, exposing the rush of rain. The air was almost icy, and the cloudy sky was almost permanent black as it had been when he first arrived. Norman gripped his arms, conserving his warmth. Then he stepped through the curtain of water into the heavy rain.