“They planned this. They knew exactly what to do to cover their tracks. Cowards.”
The suspects remained silent, their confidence returning as they realized the police had
hit another dead end.
The tension in the station was palpable as the police shifted focus to the final suspect- the missing fifth man. His face and details were plastered across every screen, bulletin board, and news outlet.
A hefty reward was offered for any information leading to his capture. The high–profile approach left him with nowhere to hide.
But the unintended consequence was that my identity was now public knowledge. Elijah Hartman, the boy who never reached the academy, became synonymous with the tragedy
gripping the city.
I watched as my story unraveled in the public eye, my name dragged through the headlines, and my family left to bear the weight of a pain I could no longer shield them
from.
It’s out now. There’s no going back.
16
Mar
“Son of a DEA agent falls victim to brutal cartel revenge–family’s tragic fate stuns the
nation!”
A single, cutting headline set off a media firestorm.
In the U.S., law enforcement, particularly those working in drug enforcement, often carries a certain reverence among communities. The public initially believed this was just
the tale of a rebellious teenager fighting with his mother and running away.
But the revelations behind this story held a far darker truth that shook the core of every
household following it.
The media caught fire, and the nation rallied behind the Hartman family. Citizens, activists, and local organizations began circulating information, offering tips and volunteering assistance, driven by a shared desire to see justice served.
The break came quickly.
A tipster on the Southwest border reported a suspicious man attempting to leave the country. His demeanor was nervous, his pockets full of cash, and his accent marked him as an outsider. Border Patrol detained him, and the description matched the fifth suspect, the last piece of the puzzle in this horrific case.
The man was transferred under heavy guard to the state police headquarters.
When he was brought into custody, Bayport PD received a call from the precinct handling
his transfer.
“Captain Boone? We’ve got something big here. The gatekeeper at your station identified this man as the one who delivered the package to the coroner’s office. It’s your guy.”
Boone wasted no time. Within hours, the suspect sat in an interrogation room, smug but visibly rattled.
“Tell us why you sent that package. You knew what was in it, didn’t you?”
Thu, Mar 13
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The man smirked, leaning back in his chair.
“I was just the delivery guy. I don’t know anything about what was in the box. Someone handed it to me and said it needed to go to the coroner.”
Boone’s hand slammed against the table.
“Don’t play games with me! You expect me to believe you carried a decapitated head and
didn’t know what was in there?”
The suspect shrugged, feigning innocence.
“Not my job to ask questions. Maybe someone else did the dirty work. I just did what I
was told.”
The deflection sent waves of frustration through the department. Each denial added fuel to the growing sense of urgency.
Boone barked orders: “Separate the suspects. Put each one in a different room. Let’s see
if they all stick to the same story.”
Meanwhile, Vanessa Hartman–Elijah’s mother–finally stirred from her fainting spell. The
shock had knocked her out for hours, and the rest gave her the briefest reprieve from her
anguish.
As she awoke, however, the storm of reality returned with full force.
She rose to her feet with quiet determination.
“I’ll handle the body,” she told Boone.
Boone hesitated, his expression a mix of pity and respect.
Vanessa, you know you’re too close to this. If you examine his body, it won’t hold up in court. You need to recuse yourself as family.”
Vanessa nodded.
“I know. He can be the official examiner.”
Mar
She gestured toward a nervous young medical intern standing nearby.
The intern paled.
“M–me? But I’m only an intern…”
Vanessa offered him a weary smile.
“Every path begins with a first step. Do your job well, and you’ll go far. Consider this a
rare opportunity.”
Her words carried a sense of finality as if she knew this case would mark the end of
something for her.
She turned to the table where Elijah’s body lay, still incomplete without the head that now rested in a separate box.
Vanessa’s fingers trembled as she lifted her son’s head, placing it gently on the table. Her
voice softened to a tone that even Elijah had never heard. in life
“Don’t worry, Elijah. Mommy’s here. I’ll make it right. I’ll put you back together.”
The tenderness in her voice carried a depth of pain and love that brought tears to the eves of those present.
Floating unseen, Elijah could only watch, guilt pressing heavily on his heart.
Mom… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I should have been smarter more careful. I shouldn’t have walked down that alley alone. I shouldn’t have called you in my
moment of desperation.
I just wanted you to notice me. To save me. To show me you cared.
But my selfishness hurt us both. I let my pride destroy me–and now, I’ve brought you this unbearable pain.
Vanessa began her work, her movements slow and methodical, as though each piece of Elijah’s fragmented body held a part of her shattered soul. The room was silent except for the soft hum of fluorescent lights, a reverent quiet that even the most hardened officers
K821
For the first time in her life, Vanessa Hartman–renowned for her precision, professionalism, and unshakable resolve–worked not as a coroner but as a grieving
mother.
17
