Chapter 2

The rain was falling harder now, washing the streets of Seattle into a watery blur.

I sat in my car, ready to leave.

But only one name kept circling in my mind: Robin.

I am a medical examiner. I’ve worked in the underground morgue of the Seattle Police Department for thirty years.

With a scalpel in hand, I had personally stripped away the disguises of countless killers, helping the police solve hundreds of bizarre unsolved cases.

Ironically, I could seek justice for countless strangers, yet I couldn't find the monster who murdered my own flesh and blood.

The agonizing contrast and crushing defeat were threatening to drive me mad.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to recall the night seven days ago—the night that had nearly broken my sanity.

It was the night Stella was murdered.

I was at home making soup when Detective Davis called.

By the time I rushed to the crime scene—an abandoned, camera-less industrial district—the torrential rain had already washed away any valuable evidence.

I ducked under the police tape, took a deep breath, and pulled back the white tarp.

In that moment, I felt my very soul being ripped apart.

My Stella—my daughter whose smile was always as bright as a sunflower—lay motionless in the muddy water.

The most gruesome part was her abdomen.

The killer hadn't just murdered her; they had brutally sliced her open.

"Don't look!" Detective Davis tried to pull me away.

But my eyes were glued to that incision.

Right then, Oliver arrived.

The moment he saw Stella's body, he scrambled frantically past the police tape.

"No... No! Stella! Wake up! Please, wake up!"

Several burly officers tried to drag him away, but he thrashed around like a madman.

Finally, he slammed his head against a nearby police cruiser, blood instantly streaming down his forehead.

He fell to his knees, howling in utter despair until his voice gave out, until the sheer agony sent his body into shock.

That night, outside the ER, I watched as Oliver was wheeled in for resuscitation.

When he woke up the next morning, the crushing grief had literally turned the hair at his temples white.

Every news outlet in Seattle was covering the murder.

Everyone sympathized with Oliver, hailing him as the most devoted husband.

He even emptied his life savings, offering a $500,000 reward for any clues leading to the killer.

Whenever Oliver was mentioned, my colleagues at the precinct would sigh. "Your daughter married a good man. It's just a shame God is so cruel."

On the night of the murder, Oliver had been at the downtown hospital performing a complex, six-hour heart bypass surgery.

There were security cameras in the operating room, and seven medical staff members who could vouch for his alibi.

So the killer definitely wasn't him.

But why on earth would he mention Robin?

I couldn't make any sense of it.

Just as I was about to drive away from the cemetery, Oliver walked up to my car and tapped gently on the window.

"Mom," he looked at me through the glass, a hint of pleading in his eyes. "You and Stella were inseparable growing up. Are you absolutely sure you don't know this Robin?"

I didn't tell him the truth. I just looked at him, stayed silent for a couple of seconds, and calmly shook my head.

"I don't."

He turned and walked away.

Watching his exhausted figure retreat, the doubt in my heart only grew heavier.

Ever since my husband died in the line of duty, I had raised Stella on my own. She was so kind and gentle, a girl who wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone forge the kind of bitter feud that would get her killed.

That was one of the reasons the police were struggling so much to crack the case.

As for Oliver, from the moment they fell in love in medical school, he had always treated her like gold.

Stella had told me about Oliver's endless devotion countless times. If she casually mentioned craving a French pastry from the south side of town, Oliver would drive halfway across the city after a night shift just to line up for a fresh batch. If she woke up from a nightmare after a horror movie, he would stay awake the entire night, just holding her hand to make her feel safe.

As a veteran medical examiner who had seen all kinds of people, I knew the love in his eyes couldn't be faked.

If it weren't for him, I probably would have collapsed by now.

Just as my brain felt like it was about to explode, my phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

It was Detective Davis.

I snatched it up and answered.

"Martha." Detective Davis’s voice was tight, heavy with a suppressed urgency. "Get to the precinct. Right now."

My breath hitched. "What's wrong?"

"Someone just anonymously sent us a video over the dark web. It's hidden camera footage from the night Stella was murdered."

My blood instantly boiled. I slammed on the brakes.

At the next intersection, I whipped the steering wheel around, slammed on the gas, and sped like a madwoman toward the precinct.