Chapter Eight: Gunshot

Mark could only chuckle softly at Julie's words, while Julie, seated beside him, squinted her eyes.

"You're laughing?"

"Of course, he'd recognize my scent. Don’t you realize the perfume I use is not something other men wear?" Mark chuckled again, his logic making sense to Julie.

"Ah, you're right. Anyway, I’m too tired to argue over nonsense."

Julie rubbed her temples, and Mark offered a faint smile before refocusing on driving. The smile faded shortly after.

It didn’t take long—just a few minutes—before they arrived at Mark’s apartment.

"Get some rest. I’ve got work to finish," Mark said with a smile, leaning in to kiss Julie, who was already drifting into sleep.

Something was troubling him—a strange, unsettling thought playing in his mind. While Julie slept, Mark methodically removed all traces of his previous cologne and replaced it with a completely new scent. Once he was done, he left the apartment and headed to the police station to attend to his duties.

As soon as Mark arrived, one of his subordinates approached.

"Sir, someone’s here to see you."

"Who?" Mark’s voice was cold and commanding, his piercing stare freezing the subordinate in place.

"The owner of the factory where the victim…." The subordinate trailed off, silenced by Mark’s sharp reaction as he immediately walked to his office. 

Inside, the factory owner was already seated, waiting.

"Have you been waiting long?" Mark asked. Though there was no prior appointment, he still managed to show a degree of courtesy. Leaning back in his chair, he fixed a steady gaze on his guest.

"Officer, I should’ve come forward sooner, but now it might be too late," the man said, his tone heavy with regret.

"No, don’t say that. It’s never too late for me. Speak up now," Mark encouraged him.

The factory owner hesitated but finally spoke. "At a bar, I met some old acquaintances who seemed to be targeting workers at my factory. Officer, you might want to investigate them."

Mark’s eyes lit up, his determination rekindled. This could be the lead he needed to uncover what had happened to Elizah.

"Your timing is late, but that’s irrelevant. Tell me everything. I’ll see this through—understood?"

The man detailed everything he knew, describing the events, locations, and the individuals involved—four vile perpetrators responsible for the horrific attack on Elizah.

"That’s all I have, Officer. I’ve also provided their names. You can interrogate them," the man concluded.

Mark stood, offering a firm handshake. "Thank you for your cooperation." He even managed a wide smile, though it vanished the moment his visitor left.

Turning to a colleague, Mark declared, "I’ll handle this case alone."

"But sir, the case is closed. Why reopen it?"

Mark’s sharp gaze silenced the objection. "I know. That’s why I don’t want to waste your time."

He donned his black coat and left the station, driving his patrol car to a nearby pub. Inside, he showed the bartender the names from the list.

"I don’t recognize the names, but show me their pictures, and I might," the bartender replied.

Mark sighed. He didn’t have any photos, but he did have descriptions of the suspects.

"A mustache, light brown hair, and bright brown eyes—there’s no mistaking it," he thought as he approached a group of men seated in a corner.

"Excuse me, is one of you is Ryan Mike?"

The men exchanged uneasy glances before a mustachioed man replied, "Do I know you?"

"No, but you will. Step outside; we need to talk."

"Hey, man, nothing’s hidden here. Speak up, or you’re asking for trouble."

Mark’s eyes hardened as he flashed his badge. "Police. You don’t have the option to refuse."

Reluctantly, the man followed Mark outside. Once there, Mark grabbed him by the collar and pinned him against the wall.

"You’re a pathetic piece of garbage. Tell me, how many of you destroyed Elizah Hartman’s life?"

The man trembled but stared wide-eyed at Mark. "I didn’t do anything to her!"

"Then why are you shaking? Tell me the truth, scum—how many of you hurt Elizah?"

"No!" he shouted. "Yes, we were there, but we ran when we heard police sirens!"

"Oh, so now you’re blaming the police?" Mark barked.

"No! That’s not what I meant!"

Mark shoved the man into his car, cuffed him, and gagged him with a cloth to silence his protests. He drove to an abandoned building, dragging the man up several flights of stairs until they reached the top floor.

Terrified, Ryan Mike struggled but couldn’t speak until Mark removed the gag.

"What do you want from me, you bastard?" Ryan shouted, his fear mingled with rage. "You…" Mark stared intently at him. "You look familiar. I saw you near the crime scene before it happened—"

Bang! 

Before Ryan could finish his words, a gunshot echoed through the empty building. Mark stood over Ryan’s lifeless body, his weapon still smoking, his face devoid of remorse.