It's been a couple of days since the first article was published. It chronicled the murders themselves, and I explored the similarities between the three. I went out of my way to avoid mentioning suspects or anything along those lines. I only wanted to establish a link between the three murders, and hopefully prompt the police to investigate.

“How are you holding up?”

I look up and see Ava standing in the doorway of my office. She has a cup of coffee in hand and is leaning against the jamb. The picture of normalcy and calm. I can see the tightness around her eyes though. Though she's taking great pains to hide it, I can see the worry in her face. She knows we're rolling the dice here. We're gambling with my life.

To that end, she hired a few extra security guards to patrol the building. At night, I go home with Brice, so I'm rarely, if ever, left alone. As far as my safety goes, I think it's pretty covered.

“I'm good,” I say. “No weirdos popping out of dark corners to strangle me, so we're all good.”

She laughs. “The piece is getting a lot of reaction,” she says.

“That's what we wanted.”

“Yeah, but not from the right people,” she says, her tone angry. “But, the comments section on the online piece is blowing up with all kinds of conspiracy theories about who it could be.”

“And who's the leading candidate right now?”

“Mayor Burris,” she says.

I laugh and shake my head. “Great,” I say.

A man in an ill-fitting suit enters the building and right away, I know that he's a cop. It's just something about the way he carries himself. It screams it. Ava picks up on it right way too. He's an older man with a darker complexion, his black hair shot through with a gray, clean-shaven face, except for a thick mustache – he has a dignified air about him.

The receptionist points to Ava, and the cop nods, and starts heading in our direction. Ava sighs and steps into my office.

“Well, this should be fun,” she says.

“You have a strange idea of fun.”

“So I've been told.”

The man enters my office, looking at the two of us carefully before introducing himself.

“Deputy Chief Curtis Avilla,” he says. “Long Beach Police Department.”

“Ava Drake, editor-in-chief,” she says, then motions toward me. “Emma Simmonds, lead investigative journalist.”

“Ahhh,” he says. “The woman I wanted to speak with. May I sit down?”

“Please,” I say, and gesture to the chair in front of my desk.

Ava shuts the door and takes the other chair facing me. We all sit in a moment of awkward silence, until Deputy Chief Avilla finally speaks.

“I read your article, Ms. Simmonds,” he says. “So did the Chief. And a lot of other people.”

“That's great,” I say. “We're definitely looking to expand our readership.”

He looks at me, his face expressionless as a stone. He's clearly not amused. I'm not sure if they beat a sense of humor out of him at the Academy, or if he was born that way.

“LBPD Command thinks you're making some pretty bold assertions,” he says.

“Just following where the story leads me,” I say.

“And you're also jumping to some pretty big conclusions.”

“Or, she's making some very solid connections,” Ava chimes in. “Connections that were maybe – missed – during the initial investigation.”

His chuckle is a low rumble and sounds like an oncoming freight train. “So, in addition to jumping to some wild, and outlandish conclusions,” he says. “You’ve also accused the department of doing shoddy police work.”

“I never explicitly stated that in my article.”

He gives me a sour look. “It's definitely implied.”

Ava shrugs. “Well, you have to admit, she has some solid points.”

“I don't have to admit anything,” he snaps. “As for some solid points, I don't think very much of junior, wannabe FBI profiler work. It's not very reliable.”

“You seem awfully hostile, Deputy Chief,” Ava says. “All this article is meant to do is spotlight the murder of three young women – murders which are all seemingly connected – and have pretty much been forgotten. The killer is still out there, Deputy Chief.”

“Killers. Plural,” he says. “These were three random incidents, and as tragic as it is, these three young lives were taken. But, there isn’t a connection between them. No matter how many conclusions you may jump to. And it is irresponsible for you to stoke fear in the community by suggesting that a serial killer is operating in the city.”

“I think it's actually very responsible,” I say. “I'm alerting the community that there may be a serial killer operating in the city. And since you won't see the connection, let me remind you that each of these girls was around the same age, build, body type, same hair color, similar eye color, and oh yeah, they were all strangled with some unknown ligature.”

“I'm aware of the details, Ms. Simmonds.”

“If that's so, how can you not draw a connection between these killings?” I ask, honestly stunned. “I mean, how likely is it that three girls who could pass for sisters, basically, are strangled by three different men, with the same, or a similar ligature?”

He continues to stare at me, stone-faced. He knows I have a point. I can see it in his face. But, he must toe the party line. Which tells me, it really was either shoddy police work that failed to find a connection any ten-year-old who regularly watches Criminal Minds could draw. Or, more ominously, that the department is covering up for Carlyle.

And I really want to find out which one it is.

“That's your theory, and you're entitled to it, Ms. Simmonds,” Avilla says. “But, I'm here to appeal to you, in the public's interest, and our concern for them, that you drop this. There is no serial killer operating in the city. We've conducted a thorough and proper investigation, and the links you're claiming, just aren't there. There is no serial killer. If there were, we would have found, and caught him already.”

“Maybe,” Ava says. “I mean, how long did it take the police to find Ted Bundy? Jeffrey Dahmer? Dennis Rader? Shall I go on? How long did those killers operate before they were taken in by the cops?”

“Apples and oranges,” he says.

“How about this,” I say. “What if I told you that I found a string of open unsolved murder cases that involved women very similar in age, and appearance, to the three I already wrote about? And what if I told you this string goes back to 2010, and this killer has claimed twenty-three lives?”

“I'd say you have quite an imagination, Ms. Simmonds,” he says, chuckling again. “And I'd also say you should probably consider dropping the journalistic gig and take up fiction writing.”

Ava snorts. “Based on what I've seen, I would suggest most of the brass in your department drop the policing gig and go into something better suited to your skills – like clowning.”

My mouth falls open, and I barely contain the guffaw that threatens to come bursting out of my mouth. I can't believe Ava just said that to the Deputy Chief. Apparently, neither can he, since he's staring back at her with dead eyes, and the darkest, angriest expression I've ever seen on a person before.

“I don't appreciate the commentary, Ms. Drake,” he says flatly.

“And I don't appreciate you coming in here like some bully, trying to intimidate us and shut down a legitimate line of inquiry,” she says.

“You have a funny definition of the word legitimate,” he snaps.

“No funnier than your definition of proper and thorough investigation,” she retorts.

“So, am I to take all of this to mean, that you will not retract or amend the story?” he asks.

“You would be correct, Deputy Chief. There's some sharp detective work for you,” Ava says. “And you can also take this to mean, that we will be adding onto and expanding the scope of this story.”

“That would be a mistake, Ms. Drake,” he says, and then turns to me. “I'm appealing to your sense of civic duty, Ms. Simmonds. Drop the story.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that,” I say. “This is a legitimate story. There's a legitimate suspect out there, and I am of the belief, that either incompetence on the part of the PD, or somebody inside the command structure, is helping cover up for this person.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head. “So, now it's a conspiracy,” he says. “This gets better and better. I should remind you though, that libel lawsuits can get very, very expensive.”

“I'm aware of that,” Ava says. “And we have been very careful to avoid naming anyone or printing anything that could even be construed as libelous. That's not how we operate here. We only print the facts.”

“You sure could have fooled me with that fairytale you printed.”

“That's your opinion, and you're welcome to it,” Ava says. “Just as all of our readers are free to read our work and form their own opinions. That is the basis of a free society, isn't it? Freedom of thought?”

Avilla stands up, casting a disapproving frown at both of us. “This is disappointing,” he says.

“Life is a series of disappointments,” Ava continues to jab. “I would have thought, at your age, you would know that by now.”

He snorts derisively. “Papers like yours are why people hate the media these days.”

“The only people who hate the media are those who fear the truth,” she counters. “People who fear being exposed by the light of day.”

“One day you're going to need our help,” Avilla says. “Be a damn shame if our response times are lagging because we're chasing phantom serial killers.”

“Is that a threat, Deputy Chief?” I ask, my blood really starting to boil. “I can quote you on that, right?”

Avilla gives us both a long, meaningful glare. “Good day, ladies.”

We watch him walk out of my office, tracking him until he walks out the front doors of the building. It's only then, we both slump back in our seats and let out a long breath. We both look at each other and start to laugh like idiots.

For the first time since I came back to the Times Daily, I feel like Ava is really on my side. Like she'll go to bat for me. Watching the way she handled Avilla was amazing, and really pumped me up. I had my doubts, but I can see now that she's the type of editor who will go to war for her staff.

“Thank you,” I say. “For handling the Deputy Chief.”

She waves me off. “That was fun,” she says. “And, just a warm-up. Just you wait until the Chief himself comes in here. I always prefer sparring with the higher-ups, rather than the underlings.”

“I think we should put that on pay-per-view,” I laugh.

She falls silent, and the mood in my office starts to turn serious. She looks at me, and I can see the concern in her eyes.

“The ball is rolling now, Em,” she says. “We can't stop it anymore. And I have a feeling that things are going to get a lot nastier before they get better.”

“I understand,” I say, and give her a crisp nod. “If I couldn't handle it, I wouldn't have put the story out. Hawkins needs to be brought to justice. One way or another, he has to go down. I'm not going to back down just because some pencil-pushing bureaucrat came in here and pitched a fit.”

She gives me a tight smile. “That's my girl,” she says. “I think we're going to turn you into a damn fine journalist yet.”

I give her a warm smile. “Thanks, boss.”