A few kilometers away, in the bar, Abigail was still fuming. The customer had not only spilled his scalding coffee on her but also knocked over her beer. The combination of hot and cold had spared her from a burn, but she was seething. While Carmen helped her blot her outfit, Abigail inquired if she knew the man who had left without an apology or even acknowledging the chaos he caused. Without hesitation, her friend provided his name, first name, and the usual time he frequented the bar. Abigail's only acknowledgment was an inquisitive look. A "What? He's a regular! And he's quite attractive," justified her interest in the man, eliciting laughter from both women. Abigail decided she would have to return the next day at the same time to settle scores with the stranger. However, with the memory of her already hectic day, she doubted the feasibility and entrusted her friend to let her know if he altered his routine. With a mischievous glance, Carmen agreed, and Abigail left the bar, sticky and yearning for nothing more than a shower.

After a night that was all too short, she was already entering the police station. As anticipated the day before, the place was already packed upon her arrival, and she could see despair in the eyes of her receptionist colleagues. Quickly changed, Abigail took her position and ushered in the first complainant.

"Hello, what can I do for you?" she asked with her usual formula.

— So, I was walking on the street, and a man bumped into me and stole my phone," began the man, a forties-something with a strong accent.

— Alright, we'll file your complaint together. Name and first name, please.

— Timothy McJones," the man replied.

— Place of residence?" she asked, deducing the man's origin from his way of speaking.

— London, England.

— Very well, Mr. McJones," she said in a cheerful voice, amused by her small victory. "Where were you when it happened?"

Twelve hours and about thirty recorded complaints later, she harbored the slim hope of being able to go home. She was far too tired to make a detour to the bar and had no doubt that Carmen would be delighted to call her and provide a report. She left the office, bag in hand, only to see the captain approaching, the same contrite expression on his face. Turning around, she returned to her seat and waited for a new person to be brought in. Her head was dropping on its own during the bus ride back home, but she warned herself not to fall asleep until the moment she finally collapsed on her couch. How could she accept working so much when none of her colleagues did? Even if they annoyed her at first, Abigail knew that the people who came to file complaints were lost without their belongings and were only trying to retrieve them. They didn't want to burden her with additional work; they just sought help. So, she stayed, to assist another person. It was both her job, her motivation, and her duty, reasons she believed in less and less. The photo of her sister on the coffee table, however, reminded her of how people left to themselves could behave in the cruelest moments of need. Her head fell once more, and she finally succumbed to sleep.

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A piercing ring abruptly woke her. Still drowsy, she felt around with her hand and almost threw everything on the coffee table to the ground. It wasn't until the sound of broken glass reached her that she decided to open her eyes. She found her phone a few centimeters from her hand and sighed as she answered, discovering what had just shattered.

"Damn…

— Am I interrupting, perhaps?" asked the voice on the other side of the phone.

— No, no, Carmen," reassured Abigail, sweeping the debris away with her foot. "Go ahead, I'm listening.

— What happened?

— Nothing, I just broke the ashtray that Sam left there.

— Good, that's one less reminder of your ex," replied her friend categorically, well aware of the ins and outs of her relationship. "Now, onto more interesting things. Our dear Mr. Staan Fleruci.

— Did he come by again today?

— Yes! I expected to see you rush in, but well, it gave me the chance to approach him. By the way, he apologizes for last night!" Carmen recounted before continuing, more mischievous. "He also asked me some questions about you... You seem to interest him.

— Not my cup of tea. Spare me the details.

— Alright..." she retorted. "You can be quite grumpy when you wake up.

— How do you know that…

— Abi, I'm your best friend: I recognize that voice. Anyway, you wanted information? So, listen to this! Earlier, I was cleaning the bar glasses and took the opportunity to spy on him. I didn't think glasses could double as binoculars, but apparently, they can! I saw him with a city map, but the weird thing is that there were things marked on it. Well, it didn't intrigue me more than that until I saw him unfold the newspaper, flip through it, and add a mark on his map. It looked like a cross.

— Today's newspaper?" asked Abigail, searching for said newspaper among the debris at the foot of her coffee table. "Is that it?

— Yup. You know, with the front-page article about the new king of the United Kingdom, William V. He didn't even glance at it!" exclaimed the young woman, outraged. "Can you believe it? It's only in a few months, and… — Carmen, the essentials, please," Abigail interrupted, accustomed to her friend's propensity for endless digressions.

— Yes, yes! Anyway, he went straight to the local pages, to the article about the serial killer.

— Ah?" encouraged Abigail, her mind flooded with theories.

— He also circled an empty place on his map. Wait... You don't think it's related to the murders, do you?" Carmen asked, arriving at the same hypotheses as her friend.

— I don't know, but it's worth taking a look," she concluded. "Do you remember where it was?

— Near the port. The docks, the warehouses, the pier," listed her friend. "Basically, all of the second district.

— Okay... That's definitely suspicious," summarized Abigail.

— In your opinion, why do you think I'm telling you about it?"