“It's not the same, but...” Gabe started, “in my teens, I was home with my older brother. My parents were out somewhere, and I was doing something stupid like watching TV inside. My brother was out working in the garage on this car. It was his baby. Complete project car. Around dinner time, I went out to ask if he wanted to order a pizza or something.”

Ruby's brow furrowed. In the context of the conversation, the story was not about to take a good turn.

“The jack had slipped while he was under it. Looked like he knocked it loose reaching for some tool. He got crushed,” Gabe said. “He died in the ambulance. I just kept thinking about how all he had to do was ask me for help and I would've hung around, handing him wrenches and he would still be alive.”

There was nothing good to say. It wasn't quite the same, but an echo of the right emotions: being just a little too late.

“I'm sorry that happened to you,” she said. Maybe there was a reason Gabe was always ready to kick down a door, more prepared to ask for forgiveness than permission.

They had different experiences that shaped their judgements. Ruby was a little surprised that Gabe had even decided to share this with her.

Gabe gave her a long look, tiredness worn into his face. He got up, maybe restless from freshly brewed coffee. He paced in front of the wall of murdered women.

“The only thing we can count on then is some 13s, new victims on the horizon, and new lunatics in the wings to throw us off,” Gabe said. “We've raked through their histories already. Tell me where the hell I should be looking and I'll look, but what's left?”

They had already exhausted their present evidence only to be led astray. Instead of fighting her instincts, maybe it was time to fully embrace them.

“We aren’t equipped to narrow down leads in all this new information,” she said. “Maybe it's time to start looking through old files. What do we have to lose by trying?”

Gabe considered that for a long moment before nodding.

“Let's pilfer the archives, then.”

*

Boxes and boxes surrounded them, looking like a make-shift fort with cardboard walls.

Gabe shouldered through the door, carrying the last of the file boxes.

“You collected all this?” he asked, setting the box down.

Ruby squinted at the sticker on the side, detailing the date and the contents. Interview notes.

She opened it up, flipping through the file folders inside.

“There were a lot of bodies and a lot of persons of interest,” Ruby said.

“Starting to sound familiar,” Gabe replied.

Scanning the names on the folders, Ruby remembered each of them, the impressions she got from all the people she sat across from, asking questions.