"This case just keeps getting weirder," Aubrey grumbled, munching on a bag of vending machine chips for breakfast.
"Agreed." Even Alice, who had been summoned along, seemed exasperated. She handed the team a freshly printed report before getting into the car. "This is the latest crime scene report from the ERT team.
They didn't find any evidence linking Javier Pérez's house to the murder of the three assistant prosecutors. No Uzi, no .22LR ammunition—nothing."
"So, our killer is still out there," Clive muttered, passing out extra bags of chips to the others as they sped toward the latest crime scene.
Skip Hardy hadn't been reckless—unlike the oblivious victims in Hollywood crime dramas. He had listened to Jubal's warning and had stayed at the district attorney's office in the courthouse all night. Even when he did leave, he had two sheriff's deputies assigned to protect him.
And yet, this morning, his body had been found in his office.
When they arrived at the St. Francis County Courthouse in Forrest City, multiple sheriff's vehicles had already cordoned off the area.
Flashing their badges, the FBI agents entered the courthouse, heading straight for the district attorney's office.
Jubal and JJ had been here just two days ago, collecting case files from Hardy. Now, they were back under far worse circumstances.
Standing outside the office was an older man in a navy-blue uniform with a seven-pointed star badge pinned to his chest. His dark brown skin gleamed slightly with sweat as he rubbed his bald head in frustration. Next to him stood a younger white deputy in an identical uniform, except for the additional lettering on his shoulder patch—Court Security.
Jack stepped into the office. The door had been left wide open, and the crime scene was fully visible.
Files were scattered across the floor, a decorative painting had fallen from the wall, and a potted plant had been knocked over by the entrance. The scene suggested a brief struggle—enough to make a mess, but not an all-out brawl.
Behind the desk lay the body of a middle-aged Black man. No visible wounds. No blood.
Skip Hardy was dead.
"I'm Sheriff Simone Long. This is Deputy Duncan Davis, the courthouse night guard," the bald sheriff introduced himself, his tone grim and unfriendly.
He clutched his cowboy hat in both hands but made no effort to shake hands with the FBI agents.
None of the FBI agents bothered to extend a hand either.
Jack donned gloves and shoe covers before stepping carefully around the scattered papers. He crouched beside the body, studying it in silence for several seconds before lifting one of the victim's hands.
Then, he looked up at Jubal and shook his head.
"Body's still slightly warm. Rigor mortis hasn't fully set in. Given the room temperature, time of death is within the last six hours."
His gaze shifted to the younger deputy. "When did you find the body?"
"Three a.m.," Duncan Davis answered stiffly. "I was doing my night patrol when I noticed something was wrong. I opened the door and found him like this."
Even though the St. Francis County DA's Office wasn't large, a district attorney was still a big deal in a small town like this.
For someone of Hardy's stature to be murdered on his watch, Davis clearly understood how bad this looked for him.
"You didn't hear or see anything suspicious before that?" Jack pressed.
The courthouse was a modest two-story stone building—small enough that any loud disturbance should have been noticeable. The first floor housed the DA's office and other administrative departments, while the second floor held the judge's chambers and the courtroom.
"No," Davis said, his fingers twitching as he absentmindedly scratched his jaw. "I patrol every hour. Nothing seemed off before this. After 11 p.m., the entire place was empty."
Jubal stomped a foot against the office floor. Unlike the hallway's standard vinyl carpet, the office itself was lined with thick wool carpeting. Even if something had fallen, it wouldn't have made much noise.
JJ looked around in confusion. "Why aren't the coroner and forensic team here yet?"
Sheriff Long let out an irritated huff. "They're just as 'busy' as you folks are."
His sarcasm wasn't lost on the group.
"In New York, maybe a few dead prosecutors and lawyers wouldn't cause much fuss," he said bitterly. "But here, this has crippled us. The entire DA's Office has been wiped out. My coroner hasn't even finished autopsying the first three bodies yet."
As he spoke, Jack loosened Hardy's necktie. A quick examination confirmed what he had already suspected—ligature strangulation. He stood up, his expression unreadable, and shot Sheriff Long an unimpressed look.
"We are busy," Jack said bluntly. "The moment your office called for help, we got on a plane and flew here. And yet, after two full days, this is the first time we've seen you."
The air grew tense.
Sheriff Long's jaw tightened. The young deputy kept his gaze locked on the floor, clearly wishing he were anywhere else.
Jubal stepped in before things could escalate.
"Since we're all so busy, let's skip the bureaucratic nonsense and focus on catching the killer," he said smoothly. "I doubt you want more bodies piling up in your jurisdiction. Am I right, Sheriff?"
Long exhaled sharply and gave a reluctant nod.
Jack, who had originally considered using this as a training exercise for the others, opted instead to simply deliver his conclusions.
"The killer was likely someone Hardy knew and trusted—someone with knowledge of the courthouse's security measures.
The attack was sloppy. The murderer probably approached under the pretense of conversation, relaxed Hardy's guard, then moved behind him and strangled him with his own tie.
Hardy struggled, but he didn't have a chance to fight back properly. He couldn't even call for help. And with this thick carpeting, no one outside would have heard a thing."
Sensing the lingering awkwardness, Aubrey pointed at a small safe tucked against the wall. "What's inside that?"
The safe was smaller than a microwave—not large enough for important files.
"Oh, that's where Hardy kept sensitive evidence for court cases," Davis said, snapping out of his daze. He moved toward it but let out a startled curse when he opened the door.
"It's empty."
Aubrey peered inside. "What was in it?"
Davis' expression darkened. "Hardy's last case involved illegal possession of fentanyl. Yesterday, I personally locked a small bag of fentanyl inside. Now it's gone."
"Who was the defendant?" Jubal asked.
"Guy named Jimmy Barnett," Sheriff Long answered, his tone less combative now. "I arrested him myself."
(End of Chapter)
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