The fluorescent lights of the morgue buzzed softly above us as Emma and I stood in silence, staring at the cold metal tables where the victims lay. The smell of antiseptic couldn't mask the lingering chill of death. Two young lives—gone. But why?
Emma flipped through the autopsy photos, frowning. "Both victims had similar ligature marks around the neck. No signs of sexual assault. No defensive wounds."
"That tells me one thing," I said, running a hand over my face. "They knew their killer—or they were drugged."
Emma nodded. "I already ordered toxicology reports. We'll have the results by tomorrow."
We stepped out of the morgue into the crisp evening air. My mind kept circling the same thought—this wasn't random. These kids were targeted.
The victims were Lina Torres, 19, and Daniel Marín, 20. College students. No criminal records. Good grades. No known connections to gangs or drugs.
We visited Lina's apartment. Her mother answered the door with red, swollen eyes.
"She left around 8 PM the night before last," her mother told us, clutching a photo of her daughter. "Said she was meeting Daniel for a study session. She never came home."
"Did she seem nervous? Scared?" I asked.
"She was… quiet. More than usual. I thought it was just exam stress."
Emma gently placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Did she have any enemies? Someone who might've wanted to hurt her?"
The mother shook her head. "She was a good girl. Kind. She'd never hurt anyone."
I noticed a framed photo on the wall of Lina and Daniel, laughing together at the beach. Best friends? Maybe something more.
Later that night, we went through Daniel's records. A small detail caught my eye—he'd recently withdrawn a large sum of cash. Five thousand pesos. No explanation.
"What would a college student need that kind of money for?" Emma asked.
I scanned his phone records. One number kept showing up—no name, just a burner phone. The last call? The night of the murder.
The next day, the toxicology reports arrived.
"No drugs in their systems," Emma confirmed. "They weren't unconscious. They were aware."
"Then they trusted whoever did this. Or were forced into submission."
We returned to the crime scene—an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city. Blood had been wiped clean, but not thoroughly. Emma noticed drag marks near a rusted staircase. I followed the trail and found something—hidden beneath a loose panel in the floor: a tiny silver necklace, stained with dried blood. On the charm was an engraving: "Siempre Lina."
She'd been here before. This place wasn't random.
"What if this was personal?" Emma whispered. "Someone close to them… someone they never suspected."
I called Judge Vega and requested access to the full witness list of a previous corruption case—one Lina's father had testified in before dying mysteriously in a car accident two years prior.
Was Lina digging into something? Did she and Daniel uncover something they weren't supposed to?
Back in the lab, Emma ran fingerprints on the necklace. One match popped up—Victor Zaldivar, a man recently released from prison after serving five years for obstruction of justice.
"He was tied to a bribery scandal," Emma said. "But he never served full time. Charges were reduced."
Victor was now working for a security firm—one with ties to former police officials under investigation.
Suddenly, everything clicked.
"They found something, Emma. Something connected to Zaldivar or whoever he's working for. And they paid for it with their lives."
We had a name. A motive. But no proof. Not yet.
As I stared at the crime scene photos again that night, something kept gnawing at me. The look in their eyes. The way they were positioned.
This wasn't just murder.
This was a warning.