1960: My Uncle is the Director of the FBI

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Detective Brown's interrogation continued to yield nothing but frustration. He sat across from them like a sphinx, answering questions with silence and meeting their stares with the blank expression of a man who'd made peace with his decision to say nothing at all.

The single crumb they managed to extract was spoken between the lines, a reluctant admission that both victims might be connected to illegal activities involving people in high places.

It dovetailed perfectly with Theodore's growing conviction that their killer saw himself as an agent of divine justice, cleaning up messes the system refused to touch.

Around noon, a .38 caliber lead-core bullet arrived from the forensic lab in a small evidence bag that rattled like a deadly die. At Theodore's request, the ballistics expert had compared slugs from both victims' skulls, matching the distinctive scratch marks left by the gun barrel's rifling.

The verdict was unequivocal: both bullets had been fired from the same weapon.

When Theodore asked the forensic tech about the autopsy report's completion, the man practically sprinted from the conference room, leaving behind only the lingering scent of nervous perspiration and institutional disinfectant.

That afternoon brought another revelation, this one delivered by a detective carrying a property records search that made everyone in the room suddenly understand Detective Brown's stubborn silence.

The villa where they'd found the second victim was registered to Anthony Howard II—Little Howard, scion of one of Felton's most influential families, particularly within the police hierarchy.

The moment that name appeared on the paperwork, the investigation's political dimensions crystallized like frost on a winter window. Supervisor George looked at Ricky. Ricky looked at Theodore. And Theodore, oblivious to the weight of institutional concern pressing down around him, simply suggested they bring Little Howard in for questioning.

Two hours later, the Howard delegation arrived at the East District Branch like a small army preparing for siege warfare.

Little Howard came flanked by his father, a sharp-suited attorney, and a member of Councilor Howard's staff, not Keller, but some anonymous functionary whose presence spoke of serious political concern.

Councilor Howard's face carried the haggard look of a man who'd backed the wrong horse in the recent battle between Councilor Miller and Councilor Santos. Political miscalculations had consequences in Felton, and those consequences were written in the deepening lines around Howard's eyes.

The Deputy Police Chief personally received the delegation while Chief Garcia made his way to headquarters, presumably to plead Theodore's case with Chief Adams and buy them whatever time remained before political pressure shut down their investigation entirely.

Little Howard entered the interrogation room with the casual familiarity of someone who'd spent considerable time in police stations. He settled directly into the suspect's chair, sitting ramrod straight while conducting whispered consultations with his attorney.

A young man whose expensive suit and nervous energy suggested he specialized in keeping wealthy sons out of serious trouble.

Theodore and Ricky had interrogated Little Howard before, during the Santos investigation that had reshuffled Felton's political deck. The experience had taught him valuable lessons about police procedure and the art of strategic silence.

When Theodore and Ricky entered the room, Little Howard ceased his lawyer consultation and asked about the purpose of their meeting. His voice carried the measured cadence of his father's political training, every word carefully weighed, every inflection calculated for maximum effect.

Ricky slid the property registration across the scarred metal table. "Does this villa belong to you?"

Little Howard glanced through the glass partition where his father's staff member was engaged in an animated conversation with Supervisor George. After a moment's calculation, he nodded slightly.

"It's mine. Bought it from a friend with money I'd saved up. We use it for parties, no one lives there permanently. Several people have keys."

In the hallway, Supervisor George's conversation with the political operative died mid-sentence. Inside the interrogation room, the attorney shot his client a look that mixed surprise with professional concern.

Ricky maintained his poker face while asking if Little Howard knew Mark Ramirez. The name produced a moment of confusion before Ricky provided a physical description that triggered recognition.

Little Howard explained that he'd been expanding his social circle since the Santos case, learning from painful experience, he called it.

This had led him to Mark Ramirez and a group of similar young people who appreciated having access to a private venue for their recreational activities.

"What happened to him?" Little Howard asked, and his voice carried genuine concern. He knew Theodore and Ricky's specialization well enough to understand that their presence meant serious trouble.

Ricky looked to Theodore, who opened his case folder and began arranging crime scene photographs with the methodical precision of a dealer laying out cards for high-stakes poker.

Little Howard leaned forward to examine the images, his eyes widening as understanding dawned. The color drained from his face like water from a broken dam.

After confirming with Ricky that these photographs documented his friend's death, Little Howard stared at the images with the horrified fascination of someone witnessing the aftermath of a car accident.

Theodore finished arranging the photographs and straightened a few that Little Howard's shocked reaction had askew.

"We received a report this morning that he was murdered," Ricky explained with clinical detachment.

"The killer tortured him extensively before death. Based on the ritualistic nature of the crime, we believe the killer considered him a sexual predator."

Ricky paused, letting that information settle before delivering the crucial question: "Did you know he was a rapist?"

Little Howard remained frozen in shock, staring blankly at Ricky while his mind processed the implications. His expensive attorney immediately intervened, reminding everyone present that his client was cooperating voluntarily and deserved respectful treatment.

Ricky raised a placating hand and softened his approach. "How well did you know Mark Ramirez?"

The answer proved disappointingly limited. Little Howard knew Ramirez's name, his appearance, and his part-time work schedule, nothing more. His knowledge of all his new friends remained similarly superficial.

They held parties every few weeks, and he'd attend when his schedule permitted. When he couldn't make it personally, he'd send someone to help with arrangements and cover expenses for food, drinks, and venue costs.

Ricky fell silent for a long moment, perhaps contemplating the isolation that wealth and political prominence could create.

Finally, he asked about Little Howard's old friends, James Carter, John Davis, the tight circle that had imploded during the Santos investigation.

Little Howard shook his head sadly. They'd attempted a couple of gatherings after Paul Miller's arrest, but the atmosphere remained poisoned by recent events. The group had dissolved naturally, and he'd even dismissed John Davis, his most loyal follower, rather than maintain connections that reminded everyone of past troubles.

Ricky looked at the lonely young man and felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Political scandals created casualties beyond the immediate participants.

Theodore, unmoved by the emotional undercurrents, collected the photographs and requested a list of Little Howard's current associates.

After consulting with his attorney, Little Howard accepted paper and pen, laboriously compiling twenty-seven names and nicknames in handwriting that suggested he wasn't accustomed to manual tasks. He tried his best to be thorough, including everyone he could remember.

Ricky scanned the list without recognizing a single name, hardly surprising, given that he moved in very different social circles. He handed the list to Supervisor George, who would coordinate with the Patrol Department to identify and locate these individuals.

After the Howard delegation departed, Ricky reflected on Little Howard's dramatic transformation since the Santos case. Supervisor George, who'd heard about that political earthquake, considered the change entirely natural.

When your childhood best friend murders another close friend, psychological adaptation wasn't just normal; it was essential for survival.

Before they could begin processing Little Howard's associates, the Patrol Department provided their intelligence: a list of wealthy young people who'd been observed socializing with the second victim.

After reviewing this document, both Ricky and Supervisor George agreed that pursuing this avenue would be political suicide. Even Chief Garcia's considerable influence might not protect them from the institutional backlash such an investigation would generate.

The fact that Ricky had obtained the list at all spoke to his growing reputation and connections within the department.

Theodore examined the names with professional curiosity, noting that Chief Garcia's son appeared among the entries, though he wasn't the most prominent figure listed. The document included children of high-ranking police officials throughout the city hierarchy.

Theodore even recognized a young Flores on the list, which suddenly explained Mark Ramirez's pristine criminal record. With friends like these, charges tended to disappear before reaching official filing systems.

Theodore set down the list, and Supervisor George immediately tore it into confetti before depositing the pieces in the waste basket. A detective appeared to announce that Little Howard's first associate had been brought in and was being processed through booking.

They hurried to the interrogation room where a tall, nervous young man sat fidgeting under the harsh fluorescent lights. His bewildered expression suggested he had no idea why he'd been dragged into a police station.

When asked about Mark Ramirez, he shook his head blankly. His connection to Little Howard proved similarly tenuous, he'd met the wealthy host at a single party, attended as someone else's guest.

Further questioning revealed a bookish personality who preferred libraries to social gatherings. Apart from occasional parties where friends dragged him along, he spent his time working part-time jobs and studying.

Little Howard's friends arrived in a steady stream throughout the afternoon. Most proved equally innocent of any useful information, but eventually they found someone who confirmed knowing the second victim and had witnessed him in animated conversation with two other young men at recent gatherings.

These two were identified as Brooks and Kenneth, both of whom seemed to spend considerable time in Ramirez's company.

Based on witness statements, Brooks and Kenneth were brought to the station for questioning. Unlike the nervous bookworm, these two entered the building with the casual confidence of frequent visitors. They greeted various officers along their route with the familiarity of neighborhood regulars.

None of the detectives returned their greetings.

Ricky stood at the corridor's end with his arms crossed, carefully noting which officers these two had attempted to engage. Their knowledge of department personnel was extensive and long-standing.

After processing, both were taken to separate interrogation rooms while Ricky visited the Patrol Department to interview the officers Brooks and Kenneth had greeted.

As expected, their familiarity stemmed from the same source as Mark Ramirez's police recognition, frequent encounters during wealthy youth recreational activities.

Theodore and Supervisor George settled across from Brooks in the cramped interrogation room. The young man appeared completely relaxed despite the circumstances, leaning back in his chair with one arm draped over the backrest and the other drumming restlessly against the table.

His legs were spread wide under the table, thighs constantly bouncing with nervous energy that suggested either ADHD or stimulant use. Everything about his posture communicated casual disrespect for the authority confronting him.

Theodore left briefly to collect the crime scene photographs, returning to arrange them methodically across the table without explanation or preamble.

Brooks leaned forward curiously, then recoiled with a sharp cry, reaching out to push the images away. Supervisor George caught his wrist in a grip that spoke of hidden strength beneath his mild exterior.

The contrast was striking.

Supervisor George appeared soft and timid in most circumstances, but his current expression carried iron authority that commanded immediate attention.

"Do you know Mark Ramirez?" Supervisor George asked in a voice that brooked no evasion.

Brooks nodded reluctantly, stealing glances at the photographs while rubbing his wrist where Supervisor George had grabbed him.

Theodore began with simple questions designed to establish rapport before moving to the crucial inquiry: "Did Mark Ramirez sexually assault anyone?"

Brooks glanced nervously at the crime scene photos and shook his head.

Theodore slid the images closer. "The person who killed him believed he participated in rape."

Brooks turned his head away, but Theodore simply moved the photographs into his line of sight. The images showed the second victim's mutilated body in stark black and white detail, capturing every wound and indignity the killer had inflicted.

Theodore found the photographs insufficiently graphic for his purposes, so he began describing the crime scene in clinical detail, the torture timeline, the symbolic castration, and the public display by the window.

His description remained dry and procedural, like a coroner dictating autopsy findings. Supervisor George recognized the inadequacy of Theodore's approach and took over the narrative, weaving in Theodore's psychological analysis of the killer's methodology and future intentions.

Brooks grew increasingly silent as the description continued, his head drooping lower with each detail. When Supervisor George mentioned the killer's intention to strike again soon, Brooks showed obvious signs of fear.

"You participated in that rape, didn't you?" Theodore asked quietly.

After a long silence punctuated only by the building's ambient sounds, Brooks nodded.

Supervisor George leaned forward eagerly. "Where? Who was the victim?"

Brooks turned to look through the interrogation room window into the hallway beyond. Theodore and Supervisor George followed his gaze.

The door opened, and Ricky gestured for them to join him in the adjacent room. Once inside with the door closed, he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper.

"A patrol officer mentioned that the second victim and these two were seen following Richard Garcia II around town."

Theodore needed a moment to connect the name to Chief Garcia's son. Little Garcia, heir to the East District Branch's commanding officer.

Supervisor George whispered that Brooks had admitted participating in sexual assault with the second victim, then fell silent as the investigation's implications became clear.

Theodore looked between his colleagues, noting their obvious reluctance to proceed. "Should we go back and continue the interrogation?"

The two exchanged glances that mixed professional duty with institutional survival instinct.

Theodore shook his head, stepped between them, opened the door, and walked back toward the interrogation room. Whatever political consequences awaited, the investigation had to continue.

They found Chief Garcia and the Senior Police Supervisor waiting outside the interrogation room door like sentries guarding a tomb.

Garcia shook his head regretfully. The Senior Supervisor stood silent for a moment before delivering the verdict: "You've been removed from this case."

Theodore pointed to himself. "Why?"

"The case has become too politically sensitive," Garcia explained, sparing the Senior Supervisor the discomfort of delivering bad news. "This decision came from headquarters. We fought for you as long as we could."

He tapped his wristwatch. "You have until the end of shift today, and that's your final deadline."

Theodore glanced at the wall clock. Quitting time was exactly now.

Supervisor George gestured toward the interrogation room. "Brooks has admitted participating in sexual assault with the second victim. We're close to identifying the killer and closing this case."

Garcia glanced through the window but showed no reaction to this breakthrough.

"What's your plan now?" Theodore asked Garcia and the Senior Supervisor. "Pray the killer doesn't strike again?"

Behind Garcia, Ricky's mouth twitched in what might have been suppressed agreement.

Theodore fixed Garcia with a steady stare. "This morning you promised to buy us more time."

His voice carried the weight of betrayal and professional disappointment.

"After all your efforts, we went from seventy-two hours to forty-eight hours."

The accusation hung in the air like gun smoke, highlighting the gap between political promises and institutional realities. In Felton's police department, even the best intentions eventually collided with forces beyond any individual's control.

[End of Chapter]