James Morrison had been retired for five years, and he liked it that way. His days were filled with fishing, reading, and trying to forget the cases that still haunted his dreams.
But when the phone rang at three in the morning, he knew it wasn't good news.
"Morrison," he answered, his voice rough with sleep.
"Detective Morrison," a familiar voice said. "It's Chief Martinez. I need you to come in."
James sat up in bed. "Chief, I'm retired. Remember?"
"I remember," Martinez said. "But we have a situation. A body was found this morning. And it matches the pattern."
James felt his blood run cold. "What pattern?"
"The Blackwood Killer," Martinez said. "The one case you never solved. The one that made you retire."
James closed his eyes. The Blackwood Killer. Three victims, all young women, all killed in the same way. He had spent two years chasing leads, following every clue, but in the end, he had nothing. The case had gone cold, and he had walked away, unable to face the fact that he had failed.
"Chief, I can't," he said.
"You have to," Martinez replied. "Because this victim - she left something behind. A note. And it has your name on it."
James felt his heart stop. "What does it say?"
"It says, 'Detective Morrison, you were close. But not close enough. Come find me, and I'll show you what you missed.'"
James hung up the phone and looked at his reflection in the dark window. The face that stared back was older, grayer, but the eyes were the same - the eyes of a man who had never stopped hunting. Never stopped wondering.
The Blackwood Killer was back. And this time, James wouldn't let him get away.