Chapter 1191: The Second Victim — A Call for Help from Castle

“So what we’re really dealing with is either two people or a whole gang of vigilantes? Alabama has its own Robin Hood now?” Clay asked curiously once they got back in the car.

Aubrey spread his hands in uncertainty. “I asked the state police. There hasn’t been any recent activity involving a theft crew with similar characteristics.”

“I know Zorro used to carve a ‘Z’ on bad guys, but a vigilante who kills and then cuts off ears? This feels more like an act of revenge,” Jack said, sensing a stronger undertone of rage and retribution in the case.

After urging the local state police to speed up the analysis of fingerprints, footprints, and other evidence, the trio returned to Georgia overnight.

The “Black Belt” region had law and order conditions reminiscent of West Ceres in the ’80s and ’90s: rampant violent crimes and a multitude of issues either hidden or deliberately ignored.

It was the poorest region in the entire country, so sparsely populated that one might have to drive dozens of miles just to find a store. Police coverage was extremely uneven.

The small town they had passed through earlier only had two full-time officers—worse off than Margrave in its worst days.

The next morning, the town of Margrave held a lively celebration. Though the town center had been expanded, it was still packed to the brim.

Roscoe had organized a parade float and even brought in a solid carnival troupe. A variety of amusement rides had been set up in the open field outside town.

This was Jack’s first time attending this kind of American fair. With a Coke in hand, he walked around curiously and, with some coaxing from Hannah, ended up “playing dirty” at a shooting booth—helping the kids beat the “stingy” booth owner and win a pile of stuffed animals.

In the end, it was Alice—the only one who had stayed back at the police station working—who called everyone back.

“Did you find something new?” Jack offered her a fruit slush.

Alice, biting on her straw, turned her laptop screen toward him. “I think I’ve found our suspect.”

The photo showed a white man in his thirties. Though the image wasn’t extremely clear, it had enough key features for facial recognition software to work with.

The others crowded around. Jack was surprised as he watched the recognition program running. “I thought the parking lot footage wasn’t clear enough for a match.”

This world still operated on scientific principles to some degree—poor resolution was still poor. You could sharpen it a bit, but there was no miraculous tech that could turn a pixelated mess into an HD photo.

Alice looked rather smug. “Yeah, but I tracked down a big rig that had parked across from the Bodets’ truck using the lot’s footage, then contacted the owner and got their dashcam recording.”

“Nice work.” Jubal gave her a thumbs-up. Aubrey, standing nearby with a proud look like he was the one who’d done it, added to the odd scene.

Though Alice had run the recognition software remotely through a server in the New York office’s underground garage, the sheer volume of data meant the process would take a while.

Just as Jubal suggested grabbing a drink to celebrate, JJ received another alert from the Alabama State Police. That morning, a home invasion murder had occurred in a small town in Dallas County.

Dallas County was in the southwestern part of Alabama. Given that multiple incidents had now occurred within state borders, the team had no choice but to bid Roscoe a temporary goodbye and leave Georgia for Montgomery.

Montgomery was Alabama’s capital and one of its few relatively thriving cities, with a population nearing 200,000.

Once in town, the Fugitive Task Force split into two groups: Jubal and Alice went to the local FBI office while Jack and the others headed west to Dallas County.

A local FBI agent was already waiting at the crime scene. When the team arrived, the young white agent was in the front yard clutching a tree and vomiting violently.

“Sorry. This is my first crime scene,” he apologized, gratefully accepting the bottled water JJ handed him, visibly embarrassed.

Jack entered the quaint-looking house. The smell of blood immediately led him to the victim’s location.

In the living room was a long dining table covered with a floral embroidered tablecloth. At one end, a severely overweight elderly woman was bound to a high-backed chair with duct tape.

Her throat had been slit, and arterial blood had sprayed all the way to the other end of the table. A swarm of flies buzzed in and out, creating a spine-chilling hum.

Jack’s eyes landed on a fine English bone china teacup placed in front of the victim. Inside was a severed tongue.

“The mailman knocked but got no answer. When he peeked through the window, he called the police immediately. Both the local PD and our office had received the BOLO about the murdered truckers, so we contacted you right away,” the rookie agent said, still pale and covering his mouth to avoid vomiting again.

“You’ll get used to it eventually,” Clay said, patting his shoulder. “What do you know about the victim?”

“Not much,” the agent said, pulling out a notepad and reading from it. “The victim’s name is Mary Strong. According to the mailman, she rarely went out and usually ordered daily necessities online.

There’s almost no sign of forced entry or rummaging. Her jewelry is still in the bedroom. I contacted her son, and he confirmed there shouldn’t have been any large sums of cash in the house.”

Just then, Jack’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and was surprised to see it was Castle calling.

“What’s going on?” he asked, stepping outside as he answered. The famous author knew Jack was out of town on assignment and rarely interrupted him at times like this.

Sure enough, Castle’s voice sounded a bit downcast. “Jack, I think we need your help.”

Jack glanced back at his teammates still busy inside. “Is it urgent?”

“Uh, not exactly. But I think we might be in some real trouble.” Castle’s voice was low, as if he were hiding from someone while speaking.

“When you say ‘we,’ you mean you and Beckett?” Jack had a vague idea what this was about. Alexis had previously mentioned that her dad had been busy helping Beckett investigate her mother’s cold case.

That storyline had stretched through nearly the entire show, so Jack didn’t recall the details well—just that the real culprit was someone powerful and dangerous.

“Yeah. Any idea when you’ll be back in New York? I’m starting to worry about Beckett’s safety,” Castle said, sounding deeply concerned and lowering his voice even more.

“Hard to say. But if it’s necessary, I can head back immediately.” Realizing Castle was probably sneaking in this call, Jack didn’t press further and responded readily.

“No need for that,” Castle replied, swallowing nervously. “But I think I need some advice. Things are starting to feel... off. But it’s not something I can explain over the phone.”

If Jack hadn’t known Castle was essentially the main character, he’d have thought from that ominous tone that by the time he got back to New York, he’d be collecting Castle’s body.

“Send me the details or any files you have. Then contact NYPD Commissioner Frank Reagan. Don’t do anything until I get back. Got it?”

Looks like this case needed to be wrapped up fast. Jack ended the call, now deep in thought.