Gone After the Wind

Chapter 13: Delight

GLANCING UP occasionally to the map Eric had provided for her, Cara took a sip from her canned coffee as she drove the silent highway at an agreeable speed. The afternoon weather was warm and almost dreamy. The sun is already at the peak of the horizon, leaving the whole sky with orange hues mixed with purple tones. Winds in the southern direction continued to blow at her side, making her brown hair sway with the motion. She has been driving this lone highway for hours and seldom sees any cars going by in the opposite and same direction. It was empty. Her green rented car was the only subject of its straight paved road.

Redline, as it's always called, was the destination Cara aimed to visit. Not to see its magnificent landscapes and enjoy the weather there but to visit the recent victim's family. Sandy Hupman lived near the outskirts of that sleepy town; her household belonged to a small neighborhood only miles away from the diner where she had worked. Based on the preliminary investigation of the local police and Eric himself, she was abducted at a specific location between her home and the diner on the night of a blistering snow storm.

They assumed that the killer had used that opportunity to fish her out, for the chances of witnesses are below zero. Cara agreed with that. The isolation being brought by the storm had favored the killer so well that his plan was victorious. He made the natural disaster as an asset to corner the victim and led her direction precisely to him. It benefitted him enough; it wouldn't be surprising if, in the subsequent murder, the same practice would be used, too.

In the plainest context, he's an opportunist, she thought. Unlike any other serial murderer, he works behind the shadow and solely depends on odd chances that could pave the way for the victim's capture.

As she let that thought pass on her mind, her grip on the steering wheel tightened, and her chest cramped with an unknown intense emotion. Back at the forest park, she didn't expect that she would produce those good leads. She didn't hope for something good when she arrived at that place, but the results turned out to be something the police might consider taking into deliberation. It wasn't that much, but Cara felt it was the big piece of the puzzle. They couldn't deduce that before. Their investigation orbited only on the victim's life, focusing on the 'why' she was targeted but never on 'what' was the actual definition of the crime she had been subjected to.

Still, despite those decent results, Cara couldn't avoid noting the emptiness inside her system, the short-lived satisfaction that she felt after declaring the central concept of the murders, and the displeasure that reigned unnaturally within the corners of her body. She hated to accept that. As much as she wished to deny she had such emotions, the void just keeps expanding, pulling over her sanity like a massive black hole fully conquering one beautiful universe.

And she knew exactly where it was coming from.

"Keep it together, you fool," she whispered when she felt an agonizing and invisible pain in her chest. Marco's murdered body flashed before her eyes. Haunting and downright terrifying. She blinked profusely. Shaking her head, she pushed it to the back of her mind and forced the s**t out of her to stay calm. "This is not the same monster that victimized Marco. It's different. Stop fantasizing that it is. He wasn't involved here."

Just as she revitalized her breathing, her phone rang loudly on the dashboard. Its ear-splitting noise snapped her back to reality. Hands trembling, she picked it up and brought the annoying damn thing to her left ear, not giving care who pushed the button that created this call.

"This is Detective Cara Black, ASPD, Homicide Division," she said skeptically, a bit weirded out by the sound and context of that phrase. After months of being unable to say it, the surreality hit her hard. It's unbelievable she has the power to introduce herself again in that way.

"It's Eric," said the voice on the other line.

"Well, that was fast," noted Cara. "I haven't reached the Hupman's residence, and yet you already have the outcome of your project."

"It ended fast than you think," Eric said. "And it went worse than we expected."

Cara's eyebrows knitted. A blue van appeared on the other lane, going towards her front. She steered the wheel, distancing the car away to the spacious center so the lone van could get that lane all by himself. Hot waves from the sun's powerful heat almost blinded her as she tried to look at the driver. "What happened? Alman rejected it?"

"Not by him." Eric sighed. "Faucalt was the one who had to hear it."

"What?" Cara asked. "What the hell is he doing there? Wait, did your call really reach Alman's line?"

"Undoubtedly so. But the timing didn't fit Alman's activities. He had a conference to attend, so he sent Faucalt to meet up with me instead."

Cara sighed despairingly. "Damn it."

"At first, he was genuinely interested. He probed like a real supervisor, excited for his underlings' insights. But when I started mentioning you, he went berserk."

"That's Faucault for you. He wouldn't let my name unscathed of insults."

"I convinced him to hear me out. He did. But the interest was long gone. Still, I tried to persuade. I showed him all the points we saw in the scene that really drew the marionette concept, hoping he could see the logic of what I was proposing. But it wasn't enough to open his mind. He stood his ground and refused to listen to me anymore. That's when I mentioned the FBI."

"What was his reaction?"

"Utterly disgusted. You should've seen his face. It was monumental." Eric chuckled. "He couldn't believe that I was suggesting to contact them. He looked like he could murder me at any moment. I didn't falter, though. I kept insisting we should do it. And to make matters worse, I presented a deal to him. That if he can't listen to us, then he should involve the FBI and have them lead us. I managed to disturb him, so he agreed."

"What about your suggestion? Was it really left like that?"

"That's where it got tricky," Eric said, excited. "Chief Alman arrived, and as it turns out, he overheard our conversation. He was furious at Faucalt, for dismissing our proposal and for not letting us bring the idea to him. It was the first time he ever reprimanded Faucalt. As for the FBI thing and your theory, he gladly accepted it. An agent is about to be with us this afternoon."

Gratified that the obstacle was put aside, Cara nodded appreciatively. "Give me the details about that agent and what airport he should be landing in. I want to be the first person to meet him."

"It's her," Eric said. "Can't offer you much other than the gender. Alman didn't spare me the full identification of that agent."

"Then how am I supposed to know which one should I pick up?"

"Melanie will send you the details about her via email, so you have all the time to know her well."

"Okay, keep me posted, will you?" Cara ended the call with satisfaction.

It's already overwhelming to accept that her theory has been taken into consideration despite what she did in the past but knowing the FBI will back them up is a whole different kind of deep excitement that she hasn't felt for years. The vastness of their resources and limitless manpower can speed up the investigation's progress, with or without the state police's help. But what Cara was actually looking forward to was the load of information, insights, and lectures she could gain from a natural field agent. She knew they were always at the top of the food chain, the upper hand at almost everything related to police work and the agency that fully enhanced the practice of criminal profiling.

She always dreamt of having her imaginations about them come to life. All there is to know about them was minuscule details projected by textbooks and media outlets, some don't even get close to the real ones, and the majority were exploited in an exaggerated narrative. Cara always wondered which had been accurate or which was created for fiction. Now that she has had the chance to know the answer, she felt like a precious child having her ultimate dream come true.

But that wasn't what really pushed her to suggest calling them. It's urgent to close the case and stop the killings before they could cause more damage to the people. And the feds' intelligence could do more than prevent it.

Glancing for a second time on the map, she took the last turn on the road before the sleepy town of Redvine could finally show its beauty. She clutched the can work tightly with one hand and casually threw it at the back seat. She stepped hard on the accelerator and let the speed of her car equal the blasting and forceful wind.

--

It did not take too much time and effort, and Cara found herself driving on the main street of Redvine, scrutinizing each establishment askew on either side. Just like any typical suburban town, it was brewing in isolation and tranquility. Only the standing difference was the dense woodlands clasping the town together and the steep mountains that served as its natural backdrop.

Cara didn't have to guess the prime livelihood of the locals there. A giant logging truck was parked on the sidewalk of Easton Street, its tires caked in mud. The pile of perfectly cut-up square logs occupying its back looked downright fresh and recently plucked out from the forest. Its rich, fruity smell attacked her nose, and almost immediately, dozens of memories displaying her hometown rushed into her brain. Hating the sudden nostalgia attack, she hit the accelerator hard and moved to another street.

Under construction facilities and small establishments made up the next street that Cara took, a clear statement that although this town looked out of the corner and outdated, it was still eager to have changes and developments. One final turn of her car, and Cara saw the small yet abundant neighborhood of Sunville, clamped on the edge of the town.

Houses were completely identical to each other. Squared and painted with pale blue, Cara wondered how she would know which one was the house of Sandy Hupman. Gratefully, Eric provided one detail that would make her searching a lot easier. As per the description he took note of, the Hupman residence was the first house she'd see in the only cul-de-sac located in that neighborhood. True enough, though, she immediately spotted that house, and outside was a moving truck with uniformed men loading several boxes and household stuffs one by one. Parked behind the truck was a black SUV; its back door had just been opened by a tall, languid man carrying a smaller box than those scattered on the lawn. He bent over to drop it, the reason why Cara didn't get a good look at his face. Judging by how he carried himself and acted when two of the working men asked him something, he's somewhat related to the house owner.

As Cara kept an eye on him, she slowly pulled over, not too far away but enough not to attract any suspicious attention. She turned off the ignition and sat idly for a moment. When the man in the sweatshirt turned around and Cara confirmed her hunch was true, she mustered up her courage and clicked the door open. She went out, suddenly rattled by the thought she'd be facing the most draining part of their job, and that is to have a face-to-face talk with the grieving family. If not for its essentiality to the investigation, Cara won't even consider it as a choice or part of the whole inquiry. She knew how nasty and grim it could go, for she had been in that state before. Grieve could not only block all the logic existing in mind, but it could also drive anyone to do things favored by their emotions, either pleasant or ill.

As a detective looking at the case out of the emotional spectrum, it's a workload to deal with.

Sighing, Cara slowly approached them, pulling the hem of her polo shirt to cover the gun. She tucked her hands inside her pocket and crossed the street with heavy, significant steps. Probably noticing her presence, the man looked up just as he pushed the car door. Confusion flickered over his face, but the traces of grief surpassed it. One study of his overall appearance, including that sullen look, was all she needed to confirm it was Sandy Hupman's spouse: Ryan Hupman.

"Ryan Hupman, I presume? My name's Cara Black, homicide detective from Albreska PD. I'd like to speak with you for a moment," she said, and Ryan bore no surprised expression. He nodded, appreciative, but there wasn't a single hint of care in there.

"I don't think I can answer any of the questions that the local police hadn't asked me," he answered, trudging past her. He pressed the key on the door of the driver's seat.

"Not to me," Cara said confidently.

"Would it make any difference?" Ryan said as if dismissing her to plunge into further interaction with him. "I've said all the information they had required for me to say, but nothing came out useful, so I don't see a point why I should spare the time to talk to you."

"I highly doubt that. Their perception is different from mine. I take a better approach on this than those officers you had spoken with."

Ryan's eyebrows knitted, and his round blue eyes stared at her intently. His gaze flitted towards the house. He sighed. "Alright, but make it quick, okay? We're actually swamped right now if it's not too obvious, and it's going to take a lot more time to finish this."

"No problem."

Ryan nodded. "Let's go inside." With that, he headed back to the house, urging Cara to follow him inside.

Wishing for good results, she took a deep breath and savored the surroundings for one last time. She gathered all the doubts poisoning her mind and released them all together with the air she stuffed into her lungs earlier. Feeling a bit better, she finally decided to trace Ryan Hupman's steps and went beyond the door, brimming with newly established courage.