Clarice Starling’s excited voice came through the receiver, and Axel Vance immediately felt some of the frustration from Gerald Olin’s death fade. They had finally found another breakthrough, and although only a few days had passed since the prison collapse, the investigation already felt as though it had lasted for weeks. "Good. I found something important here too, but I need to deal with it first. I’ll come over as soon as I’m finished."
After hanging up, Axel headed directly toward Chief Woody’s office. Olin’s death had made one thing painfully clear: the Dolphin Hotel shareholders were connected to people capable of killing a protected witness inside a police interrogation room without leaving an obvious method behind. That was far beyond what Axel, still effectively a rookie officer, could safely pursue without someone powerful standing behind him.
Fortunately, Axel knew exactly one man in Miami reckless enough to grab a burning problem with both hands.
He knocked twice on Woody’s door and heard an impatient voice order him inside. Axel entered and immediately slowed because the office looked less like a police administrator’s workspace and more like the private museum of an armed lunatic. One wall displayed revolvers, shotguns, rifles, and newer tactical weapons, while the opposite side was covered with framed newspaper clippings documenting Woody’s career.
The headlines were exactly what Axel should have expected. CHIEF WOODY BREAKS ANOTHER GANG, LONE COP SURVIVES DOWNTOWN SHOOTOUT, and several equally ridiculous stories were accompanied by photographs of Woody grinning at cameras while handcuffed criminals lay around him. Woody stood behind his desk with a cigar in his mouth and spread his arms proudly when he noticed Axel looking.
"How about it?" Woody asked. "Half my life is hanging on those walls, and every weapon has a story." Axel studied the collection for another moment before giving the only answer likely to satisfy him. "Impressive, Chief. Very impressive."
Woody laughed loudly and dropped back into his chair. "All right, enough kissing up. You didn’t come here to admire my decorations, so tell me what happened with your cult case." Axel remained standing because he first wanted to know exactly how far his superior was willing to go.
"Chief, hypothetical question," Axel began. "Suppose this investigation eventually points toward someone extremely powerful. I mean somebody with enough money and influence that normal officers would hesitate before touching them."
Woody’s eyes widened with sudden excitement.
He crushed the cigar into the ashtray and jumped out of his chair. "You found somebody in Washington, didn’t you? I knew one of those bastards would eventually give me a reason to drag him out of a government office." Woody immediately reached toward one of the rifles mounted on his wall. "Give me twenty minutes, a helicopter, and six officers who know how to shoot."
Axel felt sweat appear on his forehead.
"Chief, stop."
Woody looked disappointed.
"I’m not talking about the president, Congress, or anyone in Washington," Axel quickly explained. "The people I’m looking at are wealthy businessmen here in Miami. They’re connected to the Dolphin Hotel."
Woody slowly returned the rifle to the wall.
"That’s it?"
Axel stared at him.
Woody dropped back into his chair with visible disappointment. "For a second I thought you had finally brought me a historic case. Fine, which rich idiots decided cult murder was a reasonable hobby?"
Axel took a seat and explained everything Gerald Olin had confessed. He described the shareholders’ apparent lack of interest in ordinary hotel profits, their deliberate encouragement of Room 1408’s reputation, their visits after deaths, and the conversation Olin overheard about creating a "perfect human." He ended with Olin’s sudden death inside the interrogation room and the preliminary finding that his heart had catastrophically ruptured without any visible external injury.
Woody listened without interrupting, which was unusual enough to make Axel take the matter even more seriously. When he finished, Woody leaned back and grinned. "That’s enough for me. I’ll take the shareholder side of the investigation."
Axel relaxed slightly.
Then Woody suddenly leaned forward.
"When Olin talked, did you record the interview?"
Axel thought back. "Steve said he would handle the tape recorder when I went into the interrogation room."
Woody froze.
His face slowly changed.
"What?"
Axel blinked. "Steve handled the recording."
Woody exploded out of his chair and grabbed Axel by both shoulders. "You trusted something that important to Steve?"
Axel was shaken hard enough that his vision blurred. "He seemed reliable!"
"Reliable, my ass!"
Woody released him and marched toward the door. "He’s my son. I know exactly how unreliable he is!"
Axel remained seated for several seconds after the chief disappeared.
"His son?"
The image of Steve immediately appeared in his mind. The young officer was slightly chubby, mild-mannered, usually buried beneath paperwork, and spoke with the nervous politeness of someone who apologized to filing cabinets after bumping into them. Nothing about him seemed genetically compatible with the six-foot-plus wall of muscle and aggression known as Chief Woody.
Axel rubbed his head and stood.
Maybe genetics had a sense of humor.
At least Woody had accepted the dangerous half of the investigation, which left Axel free to pursue Clarice’s new lead. He headed out of the office and toward the federal facility without realizing that Woody was already storming through another part of the department.
The chief kicked open the records-room door and found Steve crouched over an old tape recorder. The machine’s cover was open, several wires were exposed, and Steve was carefully trying to fix something with a screwdriver. He looked up at the sound of the door and immediately went pale.
"Steve."
The younger officer swallowed. "Chief."
Woody pointed toward the recorder. "Tell me you did not involve yourself in an active homicide and cult investigation after everything I’ve told you."
Steve looked genuinely hurt. "I only recorded Officer Vance’s interview. I didn’t go into the field or question anyone."
"That is still involvement."
Steve lowered his eyes.
Woody folded his arms. "How many times have I told you what your job is?"
Steve quietly recited the familiar rule. "Stay inside the station, handle reports, evidence paperwork, and administrative work. Don’t volunteer for investigations or field assignments."
"Exactly."
Steve finally looked up. "But Dad, I joined the department because I want to be an actual police officer."
Woody’s expression hardened immediately. "Enough."
Steve fell silent.
"You do the job I assigned you, and you stay alive long enough to complain about it later." Woody stepped forward and snatched the tape from the machine. "And when we’re inside this building, you call me Chief."
Without waiting for an answer, Woody left.
Steve stared after him with a complicated expression.
Several minutes later, Woody found Detective Mark Hoffman working in another office. He slapped the cassette onto Hoffman’s desk and said, "This contains part of Gerald Olin’s statement from the Dolphin case. I want every person he names located, brought in, and thoroughly interrogated."
Woody placed unusual emphasis on the final word.
Hoffman understood perfectly.
"Understood, Chief."
Woody nodded and left to deal with another crisis.
The respectful expression on Hoffman’s face remained until the footsteps disappeared down the hallway. Then the detective calmly stood, locked the office door, and picked up the telephone.
He dialed a number from memory.
The call connected after several rings.
An older man answered. "How are things progressing?"
Hoffman’s posture became noticeably more respectful. "You were right about Axel Vance. He’s capable, and he’s moving faster than we anticipated. He has already exposed several people connected to the operation."
A quiet chuckle came through the receiver.
"Very good."
Hoffman waited.
The older man continued, "Then it may be time to begin another game. I’ll have the others prepare the setting properly."
Hoffman hesitated for a moment. "What about Axel? I think he has potential."
There was a brief silence.
"Not yet."
Hoffman’s eyes narrowed.
"Let him finish what he’s doing," the voice said. "There is still cleanup to handle before he becomes part of anything larger."
Hoffman relaxed slightly.
"Understood, Mr. Kramer."
The man on the other end said nothing more before disconnecting.
Hoffman slowly lowered the receiver.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
John Kramer.
The man others would one day know as Jigsaw.
By the time Axel arrived at the hidden federal facility beneath the laundromat, Clarice was already waiting for him with the unmarked vinyl record on a worktable. Several photographs, technical notes, and maps surrounded it, and her excitement was obvious before she even started talking. "We found where the record came from."
Axel immediately stepped closer. "How?"
"The record has no label, serial number, or normal manufacturing marks, but the technicians analyzed the physical pressing characteristics." Clarice pointed toward several enlarged photographs showing tiny imperfections along the vinyl. "Different presses leave small repeatable patterns, and this one matched archived samples from a specific production facility."
Axel looked toward the map.
Clarice tapped a location on Miami’s west side. "The factory closed almost ten years ago. The building is still standing, but according to municipal records it has been abandoned ever since."
Finally.
A physical location.
Axel felt more satisfied by that single address than by hours of speculation about occult symbols.
"What about Laurie’s nanny?" he asked.
Clarice’s excitement faded slightly. "That part didn’t go nearly as well. Based on Laurie’s memories and the record, I’m comfortable saying the woman was probably connected to the same organization, but we still don’t have a reliable name."
"Nothing?"
"Too much time has passed. Employment records are incomplete, neighbors moved away, and the few names we found couldn’t be verified."
Axel was disappointed but not surprised.
"One real lead is enough."
Clarice nodded.
Axel looked again at the marked factory. "A group large enough to dig beneath a prison, influence a hotel, plant people around Michael Myers, and manufacture its own ritual recordings can erase plenty of evidence. It can’t erase everything."
"That’s my thinking too."
Axel picked up the address and memorized it.
Then he turned toward the armory.
Clarice watched him. "Where are you going?"
"To prepare."
Axel entered the equipment room and found Marcus sitting at his workbench cleaning a rifle. The armorer looked up when Axel approached and immediately noticed the expression on his face. "You found somewhere interesting?"
"Looks like it."
Marcus set the rifle down.
Axel glanced toward the reinforced door leading deeper into the facility.
"Marcus, can I use your shooting range?"
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