Ravenville High School’s parking lot was entirely unremarkable.

The population of the school itself was small, and the parking lot matched that, only having a hundred or so spots in total. It was enough for the students that went there to have spots of their own, factoring in parking for teachers, and there would always be spare spots once things began developing as they always did in Ravenville. It was spacious, and so it was an empty space of concrete outside the school, devoid of all but the occasional lamppost and spray-painted lines that had begun fading long ago, the only thing bringing life and difference to any part of it being students leaning against their cars, talking to each other, discussing plans and quietly lamenting all manner of large and small problems.

Michael Jay did not lean against his car as he waited in the parking lot. He chose not to for several reasons, such as the cold of the metal, the dirt on the windows, and the fact that it was not his car that he was standing next to at that moment, it was Sarah’s. It was only polite to not lean on her car. It was, obviously, hers, not his.

Sarah herself was glancing around the parking lot with paranoia written all over her face next to him, bringing her car keys out of her pocket every minute to make sure it was still locked. Her other hand kept drifting to the driver’s side door handle, like she was ready to bolt at any given moment. She was being far from subtle, and if Michael had lacked context, he would have assumed that she was getting ready to run for her life from somebody, rather than trying to find somebody. Maybe the fear was setting back in.

Unfortunate. This phase could require confrontation.

Her criteria for a suspect had been clear, far clearer than anything he would have obtained working backwards from the weapon, and so he had been able to find a suitable candidate in a few days. All that was required now was more evidence to confirm a connection, whatever form that might take.

“Calm down,” he muttered. “You look like a paranoid maniac.”

“What if he notices?” She asked, voice breathy and nervous. “He might try and sic his friends on us.”

“He wouldn’t notice. But that fear is precisely why he needs to die.”

Sarah’s head whipped around. “We’re not going to just kill him out of the blue!”

“No, but if you convince me that he is the culprit, then he must die by the payback rule. By that very logic you have just presented me with.”

“Wait, he–Michael, that’s just assuming that we can’t talk him out of it.”

“Assuming that we can’t,” he replied, “he is going to have to die.”

Sarah’s jaw tensed, muscles flexing against each other as she turned the thought over behind her eyes. He ultimately didn’t care much for what she tried, if Jane wanted whoever it was dead, then whoever it was would die. Sarah could do her investigation, interrogate somebody however she could, and if she was in any danger he would pull her out of the way and slit a throat. Her death benefitted nobody, and there were still unanswered questions. But pausing the rules for an investigation that was outside the bounds of payback and was almost certain to not go anywhere was not his prerogative.

Movement past Sarah caught his eye, and he looked around her to see James casually strolling through the parking lot, hoodie unzipped and the graphic of some cartoon character displayed to the autumn afternoon. He was looking around with a placid expression on his face, not paying much attention to anybody else in the lot, but his face lit up when he saw Michael standing at the car, his pace speeding up a small bit as he attempted to make it to the car in time.

He saw him speed up at the same time that he heard Sarah mutter “Oh, damn,” looking behind him. He turned to see their suspect climbing into a pickup truck, bandage bright white against the dulling blue metal, and immediately glanced back down to the license plate to make sure it was the correct one. It was.

“Time to go,” Sarah said, unlocking the car and opening the door. She entered as fast as she could, starting the car before she had buckled herself in, and Michael glanced in James’s direction one more time before opening the passenger door, stepping into the car, and closing the door in one motion. He buckled himself as the pickup turned out of the lot, and reached into his pocket to remove the notepad that he had written his notes on as Sarah began moving to follow him.

“Damn, you just left your friend behind.” She glanced over at him with something wounded. “That was really mean.”

“He will survive.” Michael shrugged. “I was not running away from him. It was simply bad timing.”

“That’s cruel, man.” She sighed. “That was cruel.”

Michael did not have any words for that, or any deeper opinion on it. Not much beyond a shrug. James was nice, but their interests were drifting. He would have treated this as a social engagement, when it frankly was not. He did not have much of an opinion about it beyond merely another shrug.

Regardless. He looked down to his notepad and began going back over the identity of the suspect as Sarah followed behind him, license plate always in sight.

“Our suspects’s name is Joseph, or Joe, Walnut.” A bump in the road cut him off, and he shot Sarah a look before continuing. “To reiterate, he is a year older than us, and works part-time at the woodworking shop on the west side of town as a cashier in training to work there full time as a carver. According to his fellow cashier, he has not attended work for his last several shifts, citing an injury that he acquired during gym class.”

“I remember that part, yeah,” she muttered in concentration.

“He has also been staying out of his gym class and getting extensions on homework, claiming that he was badly injured during a mishap at his work. He has nobody to corroborate his claims of where he was the night that Jane was attacked, no note from work to validate the source of his injury, and no proper explanation of where he was without any friends to back him up. In summary, he has an injury that fits our suspicions, no alibi, and the means of acquiring a weapon fitting the criteria.”

Sarah responded with a nod, eyes focused on the pickup truck as she followed him down the road, away from the school and through the central intersection. He was turning to go towards the shops, not where he worked, the pickup truck rocking a bit on unstable axles as it rounded the long bend to the beginning of main street. Sarah’s car had no similar struggles, though she slowed down through the turn, fading behind another student going the same way to keep cover and not expose herself.

Michael’s eyes were fixed on the rear window, searching for any knowledge he could glean from this mission. Joe wasn’t making any calls, but he was looking around, the silhouette of his head turning back and forth as he wove the truck through the lattice of streets in Ravenville’s shopping district. Sarah held back, waiting in the turn lane just a moment longer before following him down the next street.

Electronics and repair stores stretched down the block, all of them covered in the layer of peeling paint and cracked siding marking buildings years past their original construction. Joe was slowly rolling along the storefronts, his neck craned to look through every window that he could see from the truck. He was searching for something, though giving away no clues as to what he was looking for. Michael followed his gaze, removing a pencil from his pocket and resting the tip against the notepad to record wherever Joe found what he was looking for.

The truck turned down another small side road and out of sight. Sarah reached for her turn signal, but Michael raised a hand, halting her.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Wait,” he said. “That street’s a dead end. Don’t follow him yet.”

“But we’re going to lose him.”

“Park somewhere. Wait to see if he comes out. If we follow him immediately, we give ourselves away.”

She obliged, pulling the car to the side of the road and in the space of a parking meter with some time left on it. There were still fewer people on the road than the average, student patronage on a pause as people met back up with friends and returned home to drop off bags and homework before going back out. It was a calm before the surge that would not last much longer, and so Joe’s dissent from that trend was something anomalous.

“What if it’s something innocent?” Sarah’s hands were tense on the wheel.

“Then we look for more evidence, and move on to the next suspect if it is not enough.” He glanced back down to his notes. A quick questioning at another student that also worked at the woodworking shop had revealed nothing unusual about the venue. No broken machines, no unusual orders. There could have been something missed, a delivery charged to the one that seemed unable to work with the business’s core activity, but that possibility had only grown less and less likely the more Joe had been looking around this area.

The truck came back around the corner, front wheels wobbling as the ancient suspension showed its age, and continuing back the way he had come through the streets. Sarah waited for him to turn off of the street and hooked around, tracing his path with greater distance and more caution but still on his heels.

Joe backtracked, all the way to the intersection, turning south and then east, towards the suburbs. The road to the suburbs was far more active, but Joe turned away from it, down a small road that led, winding, into the woods. He came to a stop next to another car, one whose occupant Michael recognized, and got out.

Sarah didn’t stop, driving out past them and only coming to a stop once she was a minute beyond the line of sight. Only then did she stop the car, looking around to ensure the area was clear before getting out. Michael followed, tapping her on the shoulder and signaling for her to follow him through the woods.

The trek back was slow and cautious, both of their profiles low to the ground and visibility minimal. Sarah kept slipping on branches, but Michael didn’t begrudge her for those mistakes. It was difficult to avoid such things, especially early in the season, when the leaves were freshly fallen and undecayed, hiding details on the ground that had been visible and taken for granted only days before.

It was easy to see the two in the conversation when they came into view, distant enough to hide finer details but visible enough to distinguish the tells that mattered. Joe was there, the bandage around his right hand stark amidst the dying trees, his brick-dust hair a bright sign that they had found the right person. His conversation partner, blocky, light-haired, and confused, kept looking around in a fit of fear of discovery. He never saw Michael or Sarah.

As expected of Brad Mansill.

Sarah’s jaw had dropped in shock, but Michael retained his focus, watching the moves of both parties with a gaze to the smallest things. They were too far away to read lips, but Brad’s posture was upset, his shoulders tense and arms jumping as he spoke. Joe seemed upset yet eager, as if appealing to a manager for a second chance at a difficult task. A clearly intense conversation, the sensitivity of whatever topic they were discussing confirmed by the secretive location. Only a few people lived up this road, and almost all of them were friends of Ken, and therefore friends of Brad. They had been expecting to not be discovered.

Brad spoke some more, mannerisms boisterous, before holding out his hand for Joe to place something in. Joe looked around and opened his car door, reaching inside to retrieve an object before handing it to Brad. A wooden object of some kind, thin and small, tapering to a point that Brad was hesitant to touch.

“That looks like our weapon,” Sarah whispered.

“Reproduced for a second attempt,” Michael replied. “Does that answer your questions about a connection?”

“Maybe. I’ll see if I can go ask a few more questions.”

“I don’t think it’s likely.” His eyes followed Joe and Brad as the both of them got back in their cars. “They seem to be preparing for a second attempt. Jane needs to know. I doubt that she will be letting him live for much longer.”

“Is this all the proof you need? Really?”

He looked to Sarah. “No. It still needs to be presented. It is very strong evidence, but it still needs to convince me. There are complications that may yet emerge.”

Her face lit up, an idea visibly striking her. “Brad’s gone now, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” His car was long gone, Joe’s a distant signal down towards the suburbs proper. They both hadn’t noticed them.

“Then call him. See if he knows what the knife was used for. If he knows something about what Joe has done, it will be obvious. And more than that, it means that there is something to know in the first place.”

An acceptable idea. Michael nodded and took his phone out, flipping it open. Brad’s number was in there, in a section of his contacts that he had added long ago and had never called. But he did, pressing his number and setting it to speaker so that Sarah could hear.

It only took two rings for an answer to come.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Hello, Brad. It’s Michael.”

There was a noise of sucking in air. “Hey, there, Michael. What the f–what makes you call me?”

“Nothing in particular.” His voice was flat. “I just wanted to check in with you about something.”

“And what could that be?”

“I don’t know if you heard,” Michael drawled, anticipating a response confirming his suspicions, “but somebody got attacked last week. They want payback for it.”

“Oh, no.” Brad sounded stiff. “That’s awful. Are they okay?”

“They’re fine, and alive.”

“That’s…that’s good. I hope you know I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“I’m aware of that. I already know about your alibi.”

Silence for a moment, Michael patient, and Sarah twitching with eagerness at whatever Brad would say. She was engaged, looking for any connection.

“Then…uh, why did you call me?” Brad asked.

“Your friend, Joe. He doesn’t have an alibi, not that I’ve found. I don’t want to kill the wrong person.”

“Are you saying that Joe did it?” “He doesn’t have an alibi.”

“Okay, Michael, listen here man. I know you’re the payback guy, but fuckin, leave Joe alone. I can’t believe that you’d even fuckin think that he would have something to do with her. Didn’t you hear he got all hurt at, uh, work? He almost broke his arm, give him some fuckin slack already.”

“Strange.” Michael met Sarah’s vindicated gaze. “I was under the impression he was hurt in gym.”

Brad spluttered. “He, uh, it got worse at gym, he got hit with a dodgeball and that, uh, set back the healing process, y’know? You gotta be nice to your wounds, yeah, or it gets way worse. Yeah. He got hurt worse in gym.”

“Hmm. I see. Thank you for explaining that, Brad.”

Michael hung up on him, flipping his phone shut. Sarah was smiling, her eyes wide and full of energy. She didn’t say anything as Michael put the phone away and jotted down the evidence.

“He said ‘her,’” she said after a minute.

“Yes he did,” Michael replied.

“What do we do now?”

He put the notepad away.

“Tell Jane.”