Morning found me at the precinct before dawn, the quiet hours perfect for focused work. I spread the Winters case photos across my desk—a young woman with auburn hair forever silenced. Her apartment had been orderly, no signs of struggle. Just an empty pill bottle, a glass of water, and a handwritten note expressing despair that no one believed her.
"You're here early," Reeves commented, appearing beside my desk with two coffees. He handed me one.
"Following a lead," I replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Something about the Freeman angle doesn't sit right."
Reeves studied the photos. "Melissa Winters. I remember this case. Clean suicide. Why the interest?"
"She filed a complaint against Freeman before her death. Claimed he assaulted her while she was sedated. The hospital ruled it anesthesia hallucinations."
He frowned, picking up the toxicology report. "And then she conveniently kills herself. Giving Freeman a dead accuser who can't testify."
"Exactly."
"It's thin, Blackwood," he warned. "Freeman is connected. Chief of neurosurgery, hospital board connections, donors to the Mayor's campaign. We go after him without solid evidence, the department faces blowback."
"So we get solid evidence," I countered. "Martinez barely investigated. We deserve a closer look."
Reeves set down the report, considering. Finally, he nodded. "Forty-eight hours. Dig into Winters, see if there's anything concrete connecting Freeman to her death. But keep it quiet and don't neglect the assault cases. Those are still priority."
"Understood."
After he left, I examined the suicide note more carefully. Something about the handwriting bothered me—too deliberate, too neat for someone in emotional distress. I made a note to have it analyzed by the handwriting expert downstairs.
Alvarez arrived an hour later, carrying a thick folder. "Hospital records from Winters' surgery," she announced. "Had to call in a favor with Judge Chen for the warrant."
"Find anything?"
"Freeman was her surgeon. Recovery room nurse was Diane Haynes—the same one who avoided my questions yesterday." She dropped into the chair beside my desk. "And guess what? Haynes resigned from Eastbrook two weeks after Winters died. Now works at a clinic in Queens."
I raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like someone we need to talk to. Immediately."
The clinic was small, specializing in women's health. We waited forty minutes before Nurse Haynes finished with her patient. She froze when she saw us in the hallway.
"Detective Alvarez," she acknowledged stiffly. "And colleague. I'm afraid I have another appointment—"
"Melissa Winters," I interrupted quietly. "We need to discuss what really happened to her."
Color drained from Haynes' face. She glanced around nervously, then ushered us into an empty exam room.
"I can't talk about this," she whispered, hands trembling. "I signed confidentiality agreements."
"Those don't supersede a police investigation," Alvarez replied. "Especially a potential homicide."
"Homicide?" Haynes' eyes widened. "No, she killed herself. The note said—"
"Did she?" I asked. "Or did someone make it look that way?"
Haynes sank onto a stool, conflict evident in her expression. "I don't know anything about her death. I just... I knew her claims weren't hallucinations."
"How?" Alvarez pressed gently.
"Because she wasn't the first," Haynes admitted, voice barely audible. "There were others. Women who woke confused, upset. Claiming Freeman had touched them inappropriately during recovery. Administration always dismissed it—drug reactions, confusion. But I saw things... patterns."
"What patterns?" I leaned forward.
"Freeman volunteering to check specific patients in recovery. Always women between twenty-five and forty. Always when staffing was minimal." She looked down at her hands. "I started watching him. Staying late after my shift. One night I saw him with a patient—his hand under the blanket. When he saw me, he said he was 'checking incision stability.'"
"Did you report it?" Alvarez asked.
Haynes laughed bitterly. "To who? Administration protected him. When I raised concerns to my supervisor, I was transferred to a different floor. After Melissa died, I couldn't stay there anymore."
"Do you have names? Other victims who might still be alive?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Three that I'm certain of. I kept my own notes. Not in the official records."
"We'll need those names," I said. "And your official statement."
Fear flashed across her face. "If Freeman finds out I talked..."
"We'll protect you," Alvarez assured her. "Your name stays out of any reports for now."
After securing Haynes' preliminary statement and the list of potential victims, we left the clinic with renewed purpose. Freeman wasn't just a potential predator—he was a serial offender using his position and the hospital's protection to assault vulnerable women.
And if our suspicions about Winters' death proved correct, he'd graduated to silencing those who threatened to expose him.
Back at the precinct, we divided the names—Alvarez would approach two of the women, I would contact the third and return to the hospital to interview Freeman's surgical team members.
By evening, the picture was becoming clearer. Alvarez had spoken with one woman who admitted "strange memories" after surgery but had been convinced by hospital staff they weren't real. The second had moved out of state, unreachable for now.
My interview with Elena Rodriguez, the third name on Haynes' list, proved more fruitful.
"I never filed an official complaint," Elena explained in her living room, nervously twisting a tissue. "They made me feel crazy when I mentioned it to the nurse. Said it was the drugs. But I know what I felt."
"Can you describe what happened?" I asked gently.
"I was waking up in recovery. Everything was foggy, but I felt... hands. Not medical touching. He was standing beside my bed, Freeman. The curtain was drawn. His hand was... inside my gown." She swallowed hard. "When he realized I was conscious, he immediately switched to checking my pulse, acting professional. But I saw his face first—the expression. Like he was enjoying himself."
I nodded, making notes. "Did you tell anyone else?"
"My sister. She wanted me to report it, but after the nurse's reaction..." She shrugged helplessly. "Who would believe me over him? He's Dr. Lawrence Freeman. I'm just a school teacher."
The divide was familiar—the powerful versus the powerless. The same dynamic that drove my night work.
"We believe you, Ms. Rodriguez," I assured her. "And you're not alone. We've identified other victims."
Hope flickered in her eyes. "Really? You're actually investigating him?"
"Yes. Would you be willing to make an official statement?"
She hesitated. "Will it be public? I don't want my name in the papers."
"We'll protect your privacy as much as possible," I promised. "But your testimony could help prevent this happening to other women."
Slowly, she nodded. "Okay. For them, I'll do it."
As I left Elena's apartment, my phone buzzed with a text from Walsh: "Thinking about our dinner. When will you be back in town, Katherine?"
The parallel investigations—official and personal—were colliding. Freeman now occupied my professional focus, while Walsh still awaited justice through my other channel. Both predators. Both using power and position to victimize women. Both believing themselves untouchable.
I texted back as Katherine: "Unexpected schedule change. May need to postpone."
Justice for Walsh would have to wait. Freeman had become the priority—a more immediate threat, with potentially more victims at risk every day he remained in his position.
That night, I revised my evidence board in the hidden room of my apartment. Coleman's case was complete—justice delivered. Walsh would remain on the board, but moved to "pending." Freeman now occupied the central position—photos, hospital records, victim statements arranged in meticulous order.
If the official investigation succeeded, Freeman would face charges, trial, potential incarceration. But hospital connections, expensive lawyers, sympathetic judges—the system had too many escape routes for men like him.
If that system failed, my justice would not.