"Does this one look like the Elias in your photos?" Larry asked as he looked at Steven, who was still traumatized by the way he had found out that his mother was a killer.
"Yes, that's Elias."
"I don't get it. Is Elias also a victim?" Steven still had doubts about what exactly they were hoping to achieve by finding that person.
"Not for now. He might be a suspect. Either way, if you get any leads on him, you can call me on my personal number." Larry stood up from the chair and was about to leave when he suddenly heard a notification.
"It's him." Steven showed his phone to Larry—it was a message from Elias.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, this is Elias."
"Alright, stay here." Larry left the interrogation room and signaled to Ángel, showing him the message.
…
A few minutes later, police officers discreetly began clearing the crowd outside a church. In silence, a secure perimeter was soon established, and shortly after, several black vans arrived.
Larry stepped out of one of the black vans wearing a bulletproof vest. Behind him, Ángel followed with a shotgun in hand, and behind them was a SWAT team.
Sergeant Doakes looked at the special team officers and said, "The location is a church. Surround the area and go in when I give the signal."
"Are you sure you want to come with us?" Ángel was worried Larry might get hurt during the raid.
Larry, as usual, might have been underestimated. However, even though he had studied to become a forensic specialist and criminal profiler, he had also completed two semesters of FBI training, learned mixed martial arts, and could shoot just as well as the top marksmen in the police department.
Dangerous situations like this were nothing new to him—after all, he had molded himself into the perfect killing machine to hunt down his family's murderer.
"I'll be fine. Cover the exit," Larry said in a reassuring tone, following closely behind the breaching team.
Ángel nodded and said no more. Carrying a department-authorized service weapon, Larry more than deserved to be part of this operation.
"Zz... Team in position. All exits have been sealed."
Sergeant Doakes nodded and then signaled the SWAT team to enter the church, where the Ice Truck Killer might be hiding.
Boom!
As the door burst open, one officer tossed a stun grenade, and the team charged in behind another officer holding a ballistic shield.
"Miami PD, nobody move!"
"Clear the area!"
Larry moved with the lead team rushing into the church. His goal was to catch this killer, even though he had a good idea of what they would find inside.
But he couldn't halt the investigation, nor the necessary steps to catch a serial killer.
"Area clear!"
"West zone clear!"
Sergeant Doakes followed the officers deeper into the church, but at some point, everyone stopped.
"Holy God..."
"Larry..." Sergeant Doakes turned to look at Larry, who stepped forward to get a clearer view of what lay ahead.
The smell of blood was overwhelming—so much so that even the officers in front couldn't help but cover their noses.
What stood before them was a blood-soaked scene, as if a layer of blood had coated the church pews, religious figures, and anything within reach of an ordinary person.
"I figured..." Larry, unfazed by the scene or the stench, kept walking, stepping into the blood that was beginning to dry.
"You're contaminating the crime scene!" Sergeant Doakes stopped Larry by grabbing his shoulder.
Larry looked at Sergeant Doakes and said, "This is Miss Emma's blood—the girl we found at Ron's house."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, I'm definitely sure." Larry's hands clenched tightly, and his usually calm expression turned to fury. He forcefully shrugged off Doakes's grip and walked toward the altar.
He knew what would be there. After all, for the Ice Truck Killer to choose a church as his artistic canvas, the message was clearly directed at him.
Larry didn't know how, where, or when the killer had learned that his family had been murdered by a religious fanatic, but leaving this message here made it clear—he wanted to play.
"Alright, I'll play, you son of a bitch..." Larry stood in front of the stone table in the center of the altar, where a blank sheet of paper lay with only one phrase written on it: "I like hunting lambs."
Lamb.
The word Larry hated the most—and the only reason he had become a predator of serial killers. Today, he was anything but a lamb destined to wander the world alone. Now, he was what murderers called a judge of death—someone who everyone, no matter who they were, had to face before committing a crime.
He would definitely catch the Ice Truck Killer. But this would be the first time he wouldn't hand someone over to the police alive. If he was a target of this killer, Larry would patiently wait for the moment the killer struck—so he could kill him with his own hands.
"Larry, man..." Ángel approached quickly, slipping shoe covers on to avoid contaminating the crime scene. When he saw the paper in Larry's hands, he stopped and waited until Larry dropped it and walked away.
"You knew he wasn't here, didn't you?"
Without looking back, Larry said, "It was obvious. But it was worth a shot."
"Larry, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"The closest hotel—you'll find Elias there, or what's left of him." After saying that, he walked out of the church without another word.
Of course Larry knew Elias wasn't the killer—not after piecing together all the details and realizing the killer's profile didn't match Elias's.
When he asked Tara if she had seen Elias's face during Ron's murder, she said the man had worn a mask that day.
That's when Larry realized they had been chasing the wrong face the entire time. And when he saw that message on Steven's phone, he knew—it was another game.
What he still didn't understand was the killer's obsession with him. But that didn't matter. Sooner or later, he would find the killer—and uncover the truth himself.
…
About half an hour later, Ángel came over with a cold drink and handed it to Larry, who was smoking.
"Elias was found. His face matched the sketch you drew." Ángel sat down next to Larry and asked, "Can I ask why you're so upset? I read the phrase the killer left behind—it made no sense in the investigation. So I figured it was a personal message for you."
"Have you always been this observant?" Larry asked with a smile—he was calmer now.
"Well, I guess I'm getting better." Ángel was about to give up asking when Larry suddenly shared his secret.
"When I was a kid, my family was murdered by a religious killer. My brother and sister were posed like religious statues in the kitchen. My parents were killed in their bedroom. And on the wall, there was a message saying I'd be left alive to wander the world as a lonely lamb."
"Larry, I'm so sorry..." Ángel was speechless hearing Larry describe his family's murder. The details were precise, which meant Larry must've accessed the case after being in the FBI.
Larry put the cigarette aside and said in a colder tone, "I don't know how that killer found out about the case. But now that I'm on this path, I'm going to catch him, Ángel. I just hope I'm not alone when the time comes—or I'll kill him."
Ángel, a little shaken, placed a hand on Larry's shoulder and said, "I'll be by your side, man. I won't let you become something you're not. You've already shown you're better than them. You don't need to become like them to settle the score."
When Larry heard those words, he smiled. There was some truth in Ángel's words, so he said, "Thanks for that..."
"Masuka will take over the investigation. Let's get out of here." Ángel knew Larry needed a break.