Chapter 8

Bartholomew Carter became a superstar overnight because of the murder of Salazar Simmons. Whoever sent her those files gave him the best scoop of his life. Every time he walks the street, people would cheer for his name.

He's like a modern-day superhero. Inspiring youths, exposing the evil, and giving women the strength to stand up for themselves. Now, more and more women are speaking up. Female motivational speakers. Rape victims who are finally coming out of the dark.

"You're doing great, Barth. Keep up the good work." The senior editor of their network praised him. That made Carter scoffed.

"You're the one who didn't me reporting the Simmon's case on my program, right? Now that it's making a noise, I'm doing great? Unbelievable."

Bartholomew could no longer stand the presence of his senior. In the industry that he belongs to, leeches are everywhere. People who are always ready to swat you out if you prove useless and they will be so quick to worship you if you're bringing them money, fame, or convenience.

Barth left his senior editor dumbfounded. Her eyes were wide opened due to shock. Probably she could not believe that Carter talked to her that way. No one, not even once in her entire career as a senior editor that someone dared to speak to her that way.

Neil still cannot believe what Barth just heard. He's been working with the reporter for four years, and he's always been patient with the senior editor's attitude. But what Carter said was true. They don't want Carter to involve the network with his scandalous reports about the painter.

"That was totally badass, Barth. I mean, did you see the look in her eyes? That was priceless!"

"Well, don't rejoice too much. I just bitch-talked our boss. We might as well be packing our things."

Carter sat on his recliner and unlocked her computer. Since his first video blog about Simmons, his email has been flooded. Emails from different types of people. Offering him a sponsorship, testimonies of victims, messages of commendation, moral support, and some sad excuses for threats.

But one email stood out from the others. The moment he opened it, Barth knew that it was from the person who sent him the list of Simmons victims. It contained another list of names. Some other victims of Muller and Simmons, but those who are already dead.

Bartholomew read through the files sent to him. They contained death certificates, police reports, suicide notes from the victims, and the letters of the anonymous person helping him. This person cross-referenced the suicide letters to other written articles of the victims.

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Detective Sullivan has been at the station for two days straight. He'll just have his wife bring him clothes and some home-cooked meal. A price he has to pay for being a law enforcer.

A thought popped into Marvin's mind. If the murdered victims were ordinary people, the fuss wouldn't be this big. He bet no one would even bat an eye. Why is the world like that? A question that sprung out of nowhere.

He's a law enforcer, but Marvin always wonders why the world is full of inequality, unfairness, and chaos. Is it because mankind is naturally corrupt? One of the reasons he wanted to be a detective was because he was born in a town when a crime was as natural and as frequent as breathing air.

"Daddy!" A smile quickly formed on Sullivan's lips when he saw his youngest daughter ran towards his desk.

"Sheila, sweetheart."

"Mommy is outside, talking to Uncle Fred. Daddy, why aren't you coming home? Did you and mommy fought?"

"No, baby. Why would you say that?"

"Because my friend's dad left their house when her parents' fought?"

Sullivan laughed with his daughter's explanation. He can't help but be astonished by how fast children are learning things these days. In his time, children only played hide and seek, ran through the woods, and go to church.

Now, children between the ages of seven to nine years old already know things about couples arguing. If his parents are still alive, her daughter would have been scolded. Sheila is an intelligent kid, sometimes too brilliant for her own good.

"Look, Daddy. Mommy's here." Sheila announced.

"Marvin, when are you coming home?" His wife asked.

"I can't say for sure, honey. We still don't have any solid lead about the serial killer. I'm so sorry, sweetheart.

Their family conversation was interrupted when a commotion erupted outside the station. Raised voices of people outside made all the detectives and police officers alert. Marvin's eyes drifted to his wife and daughter. They both looked shocked and afraid.

Detective Sullivan walked to the entrance of the station. That's when he saw the protesters. Hundreds of people rallying outside. They were all screaming for justice for the murdered painter and judge. Some of them even have plaque cards.

"You got to be kidding me," Sullivan muttered.

"Tell me about, brother," Fred responded beside him.

"How are you, officers? Do you have any leads on who murdered Salazar Simmons? You remember him, right? The man who brought so much honor to this town and to the entire country!" One of the protesters said on a megaphone.

"No one is questioning the honor that Salazar Simmons brought us. I can assure you that we are doing our best to find whoever killed him." Fred stepped out of the station with his hands raised.

"Really? So have you made the arrest?" The man responded.

"We can't just arrest anybody. That's why there's an investigation procedure. Real-life is not as easy as you're movie tries to portray. I suggest that you all go home. Come on, guys." Fred tried to give them some clarity.

"We will not leave unless you arrested someone for the murder of those innocent men!" Another protester screamed.

"You sure about that? I can arrest you now. You're trying to instill chaos among the people. And innocent? Even you don't believe that!" Detective Sullivan finally joined Fred outside the station. "With the number of women testifying against them, only a fool would believe a hundred percent that they are innocent."

Marvin shouldn't have said those words. The next thing that happened will shake the very foundation. A long bang echoed and tear through the loud voices of the people.