Vegas Stripper Infected Lovers With HIV, Found Dismembered With Note Stuffed In Vag*na

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“Dlaney, you’re on in 5 minutes.

The audience is already waiting,” he said, and disappeared behind the door.

Cassandra stood up, straightened her shoulders, and looked at her reflection.

The fatigue instantly vanished from her face, replaced by a professional mask of confidence and seductiveness.

She ran her hands over her thighs, adjusting her costume, a silver bodysuit with a deep neckline and high fishnet stockings.

“Well, it’s time to earn a living,” she said, heading for the exit.

Zara watched her go, feeling a growing uneasiness somewhere in her chest.

Her friend had been having problems in recent months.

She had become more closed off.

sometimes even harsh.

They used to chat about everything under the sun, sharing plans and dreams, but now Cassandra seemed to have put up an invisible wall.

The music in the hall changed.

A slow hypnotic beat with deep bass began to play.

Cassandra came on stage and the spotlights caught her figure out of the darkness.

The hall filled with whistles and cheers of approval.

The men at the tables moved closer to the stage, and the bartender took a second break from making cocktails to watch the performance.

Cassandra moved smoothly and confidently, each movement calculated and rehearsed to perfection.

She wrapped herself around the pole, bending into unimaginable positions, her body seeming to merge with the music.

Zara watched from behind the scenes, as always, admiring her friend’s skill.

Cassandra was one of the best dancers in the club, which was why Larry Quinn valued her so much.

The performance lasted about 15 minutes.

When the music stopped, Cassandra gracefully descended from the stage to applause and cheers.

She headed to the bar to get some water when a man in an expensive gray suit approached her.

Deontay Hillard was a regular customer at Velvet Mirage.

He was about 38 years old, tall, well-built, with a neatly trimmed beard and attentive brown eyes.

Deonte owned several sportsware stores in the city and loved to spend money on entertainment.

At the club, he was known as a generous customer who was never stingy with tips.

“Cassandra, great performance as always,” he said with a smile.

“Can I get you something?” Cassandra turned and recognized him.

She had spent time with him several times before.

Deonte had invited her to a private room where they talked and danced.

He was always polite and respectful, never crossing the line.

“Hi, Deonte.

Thanks.

I’ll just have water,” she replied, taking the bottle from the bartender.

Deante paused for a second, then leaned closer, lowering his voice.

“Listen, I wanted to ask, would you like to keep me company tonight? I mean, come back to my place.

I’ll pay you $1,000 for a couple of hours.

We’ll just talk, have a drink.

Maybe you’ll dance for me.

What do you say you? Cassandra frowned.

She usually didn’t accept such offers.

Meetings outside the club were always risky, but $1,000.

It was a good amount that could cover part of her growing debts.

I don’t know, Deonte.

I don’t usually do this, you know, she began, but he interrupted her.

I understand, but I’m not asking for anything special, just company for the evening.

My home is civilized.

You don’t have to worry.

I’ll take you back whenever you want.

$1,000 in cash right now.

He took a thick envelope out of his jacket’s inside pocket and opened it slightly, revealing a stack of bills.

Cassandra hesitated.

Deonte seemed safe.

He was a regular customer and always behaved decently.

But something inside her protested against the idea.

At that moment, Larry Quinn, the club owner, approached them.

He was 51 years old, but he looked older.

The years of night life, cigarettes, and whiskey had taken their toll.

Larry was a short, stocky man with graying stubble and a heavy gaze.

He had been running the club for 20 years and knew all the ins and outs of the business.

“Deonte, good to see you, buddy,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake.

“I hope you enjoyed the show.

” As always, top-notch, Larry,” Deontay replied, shaking his hand.

Larry glanced at Cassandra, then back at Deonte, and his experienced eye immediately grasped the situation.

“Cassandra, did Mr. Hillard offer you something?” he asked with a slight smile.

“Yes, but I haven’t decided yet,” she replied.

Larry took her by the elbow and led her a couple of steps away, lowering his voice so that Deante couldn’t hear.

Listen, Cass, Deonte is an important client.

He spends a lot of money here every week.

If you go with him, it will be good for everyone.

He’s a decent guy.

He won’t do anything bad.

Plus, a,000 bucks is good money.

I think you should agree.

Cassandra looked at Larry and irritation flashed in her eyes.

She knew he would get his share of the deal.

Larry always took a percentage of private meetings arranged through the club.

Larry, I’m not sure I want to do this today, she said quietly.

Cassandra, his voice hardened.

You know how this business works.

Good clients are our bread and butter.

Deontay is asking for very little, just a couple of hours of your time.

Don’t make trouble.

Go with him.

Earn your money and everyone will be happy.

He patted her on the shoulder as if the matter had been settled and returned to Deontay with a broad smile.

It’s all taken care of, buddy.

Cassandra will be happy to keep you company.

Deonte smiled and nodded.

Cassandra stood there feeling a mixture of anger and helplessness boiling inside her.

She hated the way Larry controlled her life, but she also knew she couldn’t afford to lose this job.

She needed the money too badly.

“Okay,” she said, turning to Deante.

“Give me 10 minutes to change.

” “Sure, I’ll wait by the exit,” he replied, handing her the envelope with the money.

Cassandra took the envelope and headed back to the dressing room.

Zara was still there getting ready for her performance.

Seeing the look on her friend’s face, she immediately became alarmed.

“Cass, what’s wrong?” “Nothing, just going out with a client,” Cassandra replied, taking off her stage costume and pulling jeans and a plain black t-shirt out of her locker.

“Who? Cass, are you sure it’s safe?” Zara moved closer, her voice full of concern.

Deontay Hillard, you know him.

He’s a regular client.

Everything will be fine.

Z, I just need the money.

Cassandra quickly got dressed and grabbed her bag.

Does Larry know about this? It was his idea.

Cassandra’s voice sounded bitter.

Zara wanted to say something to stop her friend, but Cassandra was already heading for the door.

She turned around at the threshold.

Don’t worry, Z.

I’ll be home in a couple of hours and I’ll call you.

I promise.

Please be careful,” Zara whispered.

But Cassandra had already left.

She walked through the hall where music was blaring and the next dancer was getting ready to go on.

Deonte was waiting at the exit, scrolling through something on his phone.

When he saw her, he smiled and held the door open.

“Ready? My car is parked nearby.

” They went outside.

The night air in Las Vegas was warm, even though it was already March.

Deonte led her to a black Mercedes and opened the passenger door.

Cassandra got in, placing her bag on her lap.

Zara stood by the dressing room window, looking out onto the street.

She saw Cassandra get into the car and Deonte walk around to the driver’s side.

The car pulled away and disappeared into the night traffic.

Something inside Zara tightened with anxiety.

She couldn’t explain the feeling, but it was strong and persistent.

She watched the car’s tail lights disappear and thought she would definitely call Cassandra in the morning to make sure she was okay.

The clock on the wall of the dressing room showed 12:15.

Cassandra Delaney had left the Velvet Mirage Club for the last time in her life.

The morning of March 12th greeted Las Vegas with bright sunshine and cloudless skies.

Fremont Street, located in the old part of town, was slowly waking up.

Residential building number 4117 was a three-story red brick building built in the 1960s.

Detective Ira Kendrick got out of his sedan and looked at the building, squinting in the bright sun.

He was 42 years old and had 18 years of police work behind him.

Ira was a tall, broad-shouldered man with short graying hair and tired looking brown eyes.

His partner, Detective Nia Bareris, got out of the car on the other side holding a clipboard.

Nia was 35 years old, had been a detective for 6 years, and had earned a reputation as a tenacious investigator.

She was of average height, slim, with her hair braided into neat pigtails.

A neighbor found this body around 4 in the morning, Gloria Sutton, who lives across the hall.

She heard a gunshot around 4:00 and at first thought it was a firecracker.

Nia read from her tablet as she climbed the stairs.

Then she heard something heavy fall.

She waited 10 minutes, knocked on her neighbor’s door, which was unlocked.

She went in, found the body, and called the police.

A patrol officer was standing at Cassandra’s door.

The detectives put on gloves and shoe covers and went inside.

The small one-bedroom apartment with a combined kitchen and living room looked normal.

An old sofa, a coffee table, a TV on a nightstand.

Cassandra Delane’s body lay on the floor between the sofa and the table.

She was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt.

There was a dark spot of blood on her chest, slightly to the left of the center.

The shot had been fired at point blank range.

Next to the body, on the coffee table lay a white sheet of paper.

Four words were written on it in black marker.

An eye for an eye.

Ira crouched down next to the body.

Cassandra was lying on her back with no signs of a struggle.

The furniture was in its place.

Nothing was broken.

She knew the killer.

She let them involuntarily.

There were no signs of forced entry, said Ira.

The note is the key to the motive.

An eye for an eye is a biblical principle of retribution.

The killer believes they have committed an act of justice.

Nia went into the bathroom, used cotton pads with makeup on them, lay in the sink.

She came home and started getting ready for bed.

She was removing her makeup.

Then someone came.

She opened the door and she was shot, said Nia.

Revenge, jealousy, or a criminal dispute.

We need to find out who this girl really was.

Ira stood up and looked around.

What do we know about the victim? Cassandra Delaney, 26 years old.

She worked as a dancer at the Velvet Mirage Club.

No criminal record, clean biography.

Her neighbor says she was quiet and didn’t cause any trouble, Nia replied.

They interviewed Gloria Sutton, the neighbor, who couldn’t add anything significant.

She didn’t see or hear anyone before or after the shot.

Let’s go to the club, Ira decided.

The Velvet Mirage Club looked dim in the daytime.

The neon lights were off.

The detectives went inside where cleaning was in progress.

A middle-aged man stood behind the bar.

Las Vegas police.

We’re looking for the club owner, Larry Quinn.

Ira showed his badge.

A couple of minutes later, Larry Quinn appeared.

He looked tense, his face gaunt with dark circles under his eyes.

Detectives, what’s going on? His voice betrayed his alarm.

Mr. Quinn, we need to talk about Cassandra Delaney.

She was found dead in her apartment this morning.

Murdered, Nia said.

Larry turned pale and sank into a chair.

It can’t be.

I saw her yesterday.

She was working here.

How did this happen? When was the last time you saw her? Ira asked.

Last night.

She performed around 11:00.

After the show, she was talking to Deontay Hillard, a regular customer.

He asked her to go with him and she agreed.

They left around midnight.

Larry nervously rung the towel in his hands.

Tell us about Deontay Hillard.

Nia took notes.

He’s a regular customer.

Has been coming for over a year.

He’s a decent guy.

Owns a sportsware store.

never had any problems? Larry was clearly nervous.

His answers were evasive.

How often did Cassandra leave with customers? Nia asked.

Larry hesitated.

Look, I run a legitimate business.

If the girls arranged to meet outside the club, that’s their business.

I don’t control their lives outside of work.

But yesterday, you saw her leave with Hillard.

You knew what was going on.

Nia’s voice took on a slight edge.

Deonte is a good customer.

He spends a lot of money.

I didn’t think it was dangerous.

Larry wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Do you have surveillance cameras? Ira asked.

“Yes, at the entrance above the bar and in the parking lot.

The recordings are stored for a month.

” Larry led the detectives into a small office behind the stage and turned on the computer.

The recording showed Cassandra leaving the club with a tall man in a gray suit.

The time was 12:15 am They approached a black Mercedes.

The man opened the door for her and they drove away.

“Zoom in on the license plate,” Nia requested.

“Larry enlarged the image.

” “The plate was partially visible, but enough to search for.

” Nia took a photo of the screen.

“We need copies of all the recordings from last night,” Ira said.

While Larry was copying the files, a young woman in sportsware, Zara Oluvo, looked into the office.

Seeing the detectives, she became alert.

Larry, what’s going on? Zara, these are detectives.

I have bad news.

Cassandra was found dead this morning.

Larry said quietly.

Zara froze.

Her eyes widened, then her face contorted with pain.

She covered her face with her hands, tears streaming from her eyes.

No, that can’t be true.

I just saw her yesterday.

We talked.

Her voice trembled.

Nia led her into the hall and sat her down at a table.

Miss Alo, we need your help.

Tell us what you remember about last night.

Ira asked.

Zara wiped her tears trying to calm down.

We were in the dressing room before her performance.

Cass looked tired.

I asked if everything was okay, but she said she just hadn’t slept well.

Then she went on stage.

After the performance, Deontay Hillard approached her and suggested she go to his house.

Cass didn’t want to go.

I could see it in her face, but Larry insisted, saying that Deontay was an important client and she had to go.

I watched her leave.

I had a bad feeling about it.

Zara spoke quickly, her words pouring out one after another.

Did Cassandra have any enemies, conflicts with anyone? Nia asked.

She didn’t have a boyfriend.

She had become withdrawn in recent months.

We had been best friends for four years, but she had changed lately.

There were no particular problems with clients.

Sometimes they can be intrusive, but nothing serious.

Zara wiped her tears again.

The detectives took her contact information and received a flash drive with Larry’s recordings.

Leaving the club, Nia immediately ran the car’s license plate number through the database.

The Mercedes is registered to Deonte Hillard.

Address: Summerland, Pine Valley Drive, 74.

No criminal record, clean biography, she said.

Shall we go? Let’s go.

Ira nodded.

Deonte Hillard’s house in Summerland was a two-story Mediterranean style building with a well-kept lawn.

A black Mercedes was parked in the garage.

The detectives approached the door and rang the bell.

Deontay opened the door in his home clothes, sweatpants, and a t-shirt.

When he saw the detectives, he frowned.

“Yes, how can I help you?” Deonte Hillard, Detective Kendrick, Detective Bareris, we need to talk to you.

Can we come in? Ira showed his badge.

What’s this about? Have I broken something? It’s about a murder.

Cassandra Delaney was found dead this morning.

You were with her last night, Nia said firmly.

Deante pald and stepped back, letting them in.

Cass is dead.

My god, how did this happen? They walked into the spacious living room.

Deonte sank onto the leather sofa.

Mr. Hillard, tell us what happened yesterday after you picked Cassandra up from the club.

Ira said, “I invited her to my place.

We drank wine, talked, she danced a little.

Nothing special, just company.

She was here until 2:00 in the morning.

Then I called her a taxi and she went home.

I didn’t do anything bad to her, I swear.

” Deontay spoke quickly, his voice agitated.

Half 2 in the morning.

Can you prove that? Nia asked.

I have security cameras installed in my house.

I can show you the recordings.

You’ll see that she left alive and well.

Deonte stood up.

Wait, I’ll be right back.

He left the room and returned with his laptop.

He opened the program for viewing the camera recordings.

Here, look.

This is the entrance to the house.

He turned on the recording.

An image of the front door appeared on the screen.

The time was 2:27 am Cassandra was leaving the house, walking down the steps to the gate.

A taxi pulled up to the house.

She got in and the taxi drove away.

“Can you rewinded and show me when she arrived?” Ira asked.

Deonte rewound the recording.

At 12:28 am, a black Mercedes appeared on the screen.

Deontay and Cassandra got out of the car and entered the house.

See, she was here from 12:30 to 2:30.

Then she left.

Deonte looked at the detectives imploringly.

Ira and Nia exchanged glances.

The recording was convincing.

Cassandra left Deonte’s house alive at 2:27 am Mr. Hillard, we’ll need a copy of these recordings.

We also need information about the taxi, the name of the company if you remember.

Nia said, “I called it through the yellow cab app.

I can show you the order on my phone.

” Deonte took out his phone and opened the app.

Here, the order is for 225.

The destination is 417 Fremont Street.

Nia took a photo of the screen with the order information.

You’re coming with us to the station to give an official statement.

Ira said, “Of course, I’m happy to help, but detectives, I didn’t kill her.

I didn’t even know anything had happened to her until you arrived.

Deonte looked genuinely shocked.

Well check all the facts, Mr. Hillard.

For now, you are the prime suspect, but if your statement is confirmed, we will release you, Nia said.

At the station, Deontay gave a detailed statement.

The detectives requested records from the Yellow Cab Taxi Company.

An hour later, the response came.

The order was confirmed and the driver, Reginald Ford, confirmed that he picked up a passenger at Pine Valley Drive at 2:27 am and drove her to 4:17 Fremont Street.

Time of arrival, 2:58 am Cassandra returned home at 3 minutes to 3:00 in the morning, Nia said, studying the data.

A neighbor heard a gunshot around 4:00 in the morning.

That means someone came to her house between 3 and 4:00 and killed her.

Hillard isn’t guilty.

His alibi is confirmed by camera footage and the taxi driver’s testimony.

Ira rubbed his nose.

Let him go, but don’t let him leave town.

Deontay Hillard was released with a warning to stay in touch.

The detectives returned to their desks in the homicide department.

So, what do we have? Ira began to summarize the facts.

The victim is a dancer from a strip club.

She was shot in the chest in her apartment between 3:00 and 4:00 in the morning.

There was a note nearby that said, “An eye for an eye.

” Which points to revenge as the motive.

She returned home around 3:00 in the morning and began to get ready for bed.

Then someone came or rang the doorbell.

She let the person in and he shot her.

There were no signs of a struggle, which means she trusted the killer or he took her by surprise.

Revenge for what? That’s the key.

Nia looked at the crime scene photos on her computer.

Larry Quinn is hiding something.

He was nervous when we questioned him.

And this Zara said that Cassandra had changed in recent months, become withdrawn.

We need to dig deeper.

Let’s talk to Zara again when she’s a little more herself.

Maybe she knows more than she’s saying.

Ira leaned back in his chair.

In the meantime, let’s check Cassandra’s financial records, phone calls, social media.

The answer to who killed her and why is hidden somewhere there.

Nia nodded and began filing requests for information.

The day was drawing to a close and the detectives had more questions than answers.

Someone had methodically planned this murder, left a message, and disappeared into the night.

And it was up to the detectives to find out who was hiding behind those four words, an eye for an eye.

The morning of March 13th began with a phone call.

Ira Kendrick was sitting at his desk in the homicide department studying Cassandra Delane’s financial records when an unfamiliar name appeared on his phone screen.

He answered, “Detective Kendrick here.

Detective, this is Zara Olo.

We spoke yesterday at the club.

I’m a friend of Cassandra’s.

” The voice on the other end of the line was quiet but firm.

I need to talk to you in private.

It’s important.

Ira sat up straight in his chair.

Of course, Miss Olo.

When would be a good time to meet? This afternoon, but not at the club.

I don’t want Larry to know I’m talking to you.

Maybe at a cafe somewhere.

Her voice sounded anxious.

Okay.

There’s a place on the corner of Charleston and Marlin, the Sunset Cafe.

Will you be there at 2:00? Ira suggested.

I’ll be there.

Thank you, detective.

Ira hung up and looked at Nia, who was working at the next table.

Zara Oluo wants to meet.

She says it’s important and doesn’t want the club owner to know about this conversation.

Interesting.

Maybe she knows something she didn’t dare say yesterday in front of Larry.

Nia put down her documents.

Let’s go together.

At 2:00 in the afternoon, the detectives sat at a table by the window in the small Sunset Cafe.

The place was quiet with almost no customers, just a couple of retirees at the next table and the barista behind the counter.

Zara showed up at two sharp, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair hidden under a baseball cap.

She looked exhausted, her eyes red from crying and lack of sleep.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet here,” she said, sitting down across from the detectives.

Miss Alo, you said you had something to tell us.

Ira began gently.

Zara took a deep breath as if gathering her strength.

I didn’t sleep all night thinking about Cass, about what happened, and I realized I have to tell you the truth.

The whole truth.

She clenched her fists on the table.

Cassandra was sick.

She had HIV.

Nia and Ira exchanged glances.

This was information that could radically change the direction of the investigation.

When did she find out about the diagnosis? Nia asked, taking out her notebook.

About a year ago, last March.

She came to me in tears and said she had taken a test and the result was positive.

I tried to support her, told her that you can live a normal life with HIV now, that there is treatment.

But Cass, she took it as a death sentence.

Zara said quietly, wiping away tears from time to time.

She changed after that.

She became angry and withdrawn.

Before she was kind and cheerful.

We talked all the time and made plans.

And then she seemed to put up a wall between herself and everyone else.

Was she undergoing treatment? Ira asked.

For the first few months, yes.

She took her pills and went to the doctor, but then she stopped.

She said there was no point, that her life was over anyway.

I tried to convince her to continue therapy, but she wouldn’t listen.

Zara covered her face with her hands.

And then I started noticing strange things.

What kind of things? Nia leaned forward.

Cass started going out with clients more often.

She used to rarely agree to meetings outside the club, but then she suddenly started doing it all the time.

and she said things, scary things.

Once I asked her why she was doing it and she replied, “If my life is ruined, let others feel what it’s like.

” At first, I didn’t understand what she meant.

But then I put two and two together.

Zara looked up at them, her eyes full of pain.

I think Cass was deliberately infecting these men.

She didn’t use protection.

She didn’t tell them about her diagnosis.

She was taking revenge for what happened to her.

Ira felt a chill run down his spine.

Revenge.

The note, an eye for an eye, took on a new, terrifying meaning.

Did you talk to her about it? Did you try to stop her? He asked.

I tried.

About 2 months ago, I asked her directly.

Cass, do you realize what you’re doing? You’re infecting people.

She looked at me and said, “They deserve it.

They’re all the same.

They use people like us and then throw us away.

Let them pay.

I was shocked.

I told her it was wrong, that she had to stop.

But she only distanced herself from me even more.

I stopped sharing, stopped talking heartto-heart.

Zara’s voice trembled.

Did Larry Quinn know about this? Nia asked.

Zara nodded.

Yes, he knew Cass had HIV.

I overheard them talking in his office once.

It was about 3 months ago.

The door was open and I happened to hear them.

Larry was telling her that she had to be careful, that if anyone found out, it would be a problem for the club.

And Cass replied that everything was under control, that the clients had no idea.

And Larry, he just said, “Okay, do what you want.

Just don’t cause me any trouble.

You bring in good money.

That’s all.

” He knew what she was doing and kept quiet because she was profitable for his business.

Zara’s voice was filled with anger and disgust.

Ira leaned back in his chair, processing the information.

The picture was becoming clearer.

Cassandra was deliberately infecting clients with HIV.

One of them found out the truth and decided to take revenge.

Miss Alo, do you know any of the men she was seeing, their names? He asked.

Not all of them.

Cass didn’t share details, but I saw some of them at the club.

Deonte Hillard, who she was with that night.

There was another guy, Terrence, who seemed to come in a lot in December and January, and a few others, but I don’t know their names.

Zara replied.

Nia quickly took notes.

Thank you for telling us this.

We understand how difficult it is for you, she said.

I should have said something right away, but I I still loved Cass despite what she did.

She was my best friend.

But now that she’s dead, I can’t keep quiet.

If someone killed her because she infected them, I can’t say they’re wrong.

It’s terrible of me, but I understand them.

Zara wiped away her tears.

The detectives talked to her a little longer, took additional statements, and let her go.

Leaving the cafe, Ira looked at Nia.

We need to check all the men Cassandra dated.

If one of them found out about the infection and decided to take revenge, “We have our killer.

” Larry Quinn is involved in this too.

He knew and kept quiet.

“We need to question him again hard,” Nia said.

They got in the car and drove to the station, planning their next steps.

But before they reached the police building, a message came over the radio.

“All patrols, we have received a call about a body in the parking lot at 523 Eastern Avenue.

Suspected gunshot wound.

Detectives required.

Ira picked up the radio.

Kendrick here.

We’re taking the call.

What information do you have about the victim? It hasn’t been confirmed yet, but witnesses say it may be a middle-aged man.

The patrol is already on the scene.

Ira and Nia exchanged glances.

A bad feeling came over them both.

They turned the car around and drove to the address.

Eastern Avenue 523 was a residential area not far from the city center.

When they arrived, two patrol cars were already there and a cordon had been set up.

The parking lot was small with space for only a few cars and a two-story house stood nearby.

A body lay on the asphalt between two cars.

Ira and Nia put on gloves and approached.

One of the patrol officers turned to them.

Detective Kendrick, Detective Baris.

The victim is a man about 50 years old, shot in the head, almost point blank.

A note was found next to the body.

Ira approached and looked at the victim’s face.

He recognized him instantly.

Larry Quinn, owner of the Velvet Mirage Club, was lying on his back, his eyes open and staring at the sky.

There was a bullet entry wound visible on his forehead.

Next to him, on the hood of his car, lay a white sheet of paper.

Nia approached and read the note aloud.

He knew.

Silence hung over the parking lot.

Ira crouched down, examining the body in the crime scene.

There were no signs of a struggle.

Larry had apparently left his house and headed for his car when the killer approached him and shot him.

Time of death? Nia asked the arriving forensic scientist.

preliminarily around 6 or 7:00 yesterday evening.

The neighbors found the body this morning when they left for work, but the body had been lying here all night, replied the forensic scientist.

6 or 7 in the evening on March 12th, 12 to 13 hours after Cassandra’s murder.

Ira stood up and looked at Nia.

It’s the same killer, same method.

Shot at point blank range, note left at the crime scene.

He knew.

The killer knew that Larry was aware of Cassandra’s actions and didn’t stop her.

He killed her for infecting him and Larry for being an accomplice.

Nia photographed the note.

This isn’t just revenge.

It’s execution.

The killer sees himself as judge and executioner.

Ira nodded.

We have a serial killer with a clear goal.

He is methodically destroying everyone he considers guilty of infecting him.

Cassandra is the source.

Larry is the accomplice.

The question is, who’s next and who is this person? They returned to the station and immediately got to work.

First, Ira requested all surveillance camera footage from the club owners for the past 3 months.

Larry was dead, but his assistant, the club manager, provided access to the archive.

Nia spent the next 6 hours at the computer reviewing the recordings.

She compiled a list of all the men Cassandra had left the club with between December and March.

There were seven in total.

Deontay Hillard was one of them, but his alibi was ironclad.

That left six.

Seven men in 3 months.

That’s a lot, Nia said, printing out stills from the cameras showing the men’s faces and their license plate numbers.

Run them all through the databases, names, addresses, criminal records.

And then we need a warrant to check their medical records.

Ira said it’s difficult to get a warrant for medical records.

We need justification.

Nia frowned.

We have justification.

The victim deliberately infected people with HIV.

We are investigating a double murder whose motive is directly related to this infection.

The judge will grant the warrant.

Ira was already dialing the prosecutor’s number.

2 hours later, after talking to the prosecutor and making an urgent appeal to the court, the warrant was obtained.

The detectives sent a list of seven names to the health department with a request to check which of these people had visited medical facilities with an HIV diagnosis in the last 6 months.

The response came the next morning, March 14th.

Three of the seven men had visited hospitals and clinics and received a positive HIV diagnosis.

Terrence Wade, 32, sales manager, diagnosed in January.

Kevin Drake, 29, security guard, diagnosed in February.

Gerald Morris, 44, truck driver, diagnosed in February.

Nia read from the screen.

Check their whereabouts and alibis at the time of the murders.

Ira said Nia began to dig deeper.

Terrence Wade left the country on March 5th with a record of departure to Kenya.

He could not have committed the murders on March 11th and 12th.

Kevin Drake was arrested in mid January for a bar fight and had been in the county jail since January 22nd.

He was also ruled out.

That left Gerald Morris.

Gerald Morris, 44 years old, works as a truck driver for a transport company, married, two children, lives in the Henderson area.

Nia brought up all the available information on the screen.

Checking his work schedule, the company provided the data.

On March 11th and 12th, he was on leave, not working.

No alibi.

It’s him.

Ira stood up.

Request a search warrant.

We need to find the weapon.

The search warrant for Gerald Morris’s home was obtained by noon.

The detectives, along with a support team of four patrol officers, drove to the address in Henderson.

The house was a modest one-story building in a quiet neighborhood with a small garden in front of the entrance.

Ira and Nia approached the door and knocked.

No one answered.

They knocked again louder.

Gerald Morris, police, open the door.

We have a search warrant.

Ira shouted.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

Standing on the threshold was a tall, thin man with a tired face and deep wrinkles around his eyes.

Gerald Morris looked worn out, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes dull.

Yes.

His voice was quiet, almost indifferent.

Mr. Morris, I’m Detective Kendrick.

This is Detective Baris.

We have a search warrant for your home.

Ira showed him the document.

Gerald looked silently at the warrant, then at the detectives and stepped aside.

Come in.

Do what you have to do.

The patrol officers entered the house and began a systematic search.

Nia stayed with Gerald in the living room while Ira went with the patrol officers.

They checked the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.

In the bedroom, in a bedside table drawer, one of the patrol officers found a gun, a 9mm semi-automatic.

“Detective, over here,” the patrolman called out.

Ira approached, put on gloves, and carefully removed the weapon.

“The pistol was loaded with several rounds remaining in the magazine.

” “Pack it up as evidence.

We’ll send it for ballistic analysis,” he said.

They returned to the living room.

Gerald was sitting on the sofa with his hands in his lap.

He didn’t even look at the detectives, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“Mr. Morris, we found a gun in your bedroom.

Do you own this pistol?” Nia asked.

“Yes,” he replied simply.

“Where were you on March 11th around 4:00 am?” Ira asked.

Gerald slowly raised his head and looked at the detective.

There was no fear in his eyes, only endless fatigue.

I was on Fremont Street at Cassandra Delane’s apartment.

I killed her.

His voice was even without emotion.

And on March 12th around 6:00 in the evening, Ira continued, “I was on Eastern Avenue.

I killed Larry Quinn.

” Gerald made no attempt to deny it, no attempt to defend himself.

Gerald Morris, you are under arrest on suspicion of double murder.

You have the right to remain silent.

Anything you say can be used against you in court.

You have the right to an attorney.

Nia began reading his rights as she handcuffed Gerald.

He didn’t resist.

He allowed himself to be handcuffed and walked silently to the car.

At the station, he was placed in an interrogation room.

Ira and Nia gave him time to calm down while they sent the gun for urgent ballistic analysis.

The results came back 3 hours later.

The bullet extracted from Cassandra Delane’s body and the bullet from Larry Quinn’s body were fired from the same weapon.

The gun found in Gerald Morris’s house.

Now they had all the evidence they needed.

Ira and Nia entered the interrogation room.

Gerald was sitting at the table, his hands still in handcuffs.

There was a glass of water in front of him, but he hadn’t touched it.

“Mr. Morris, ballistic tests have confirmed that your weapon was used to kill Cassandra Delaney and Larry Quinn.

Do you want to make a statement?” Ira asked, turning on the tape recorder.

Gerald nodded.

Yes, I want to tell everything.

I’m tired of hiding.

He took a deep breath and began to speak.

A month ago, in midFebruary, I felt sick.

I had a fever, weakness, and body aches.

I thought it was a cold, but the symptoms didn’t go away.

My wife insisted that I see a doctor.

I took a test and the result was positive.

HIV.

I couldn’t believe it.

I was in shock.

I’ve been married for 17 years.

I have two children.

I’ve never cheated on my wife except once.

His voice trembled.

6 months ago, I had a fight with my wife.

A serious fight.

I was angry, so I went out drinking.

I ended up at the Velvet Mirage Club.

That’s where I met Cassandra.

She was beautiful, charming.

We talked and she agreed to come home with me.

We spent the night together.

Once.

Just once.

Then I went back to my wife.

We made up and I thought it was all behind me.

He paused, wiping away the tears that had welled up in his eyes.

When I found out about the diagnosis, I realized where it came from.

From Cassandra.

I told my wife the truth.

She left, taking the children with her.

She said she would never forgive me.

My life fell apart in one day.

The family I had built over 17 years was gone.

My children don’t want to talk to me.

My wife filed for divorce.

Everything I lived for was gone.

Gerald covered his face with his hands.

I couldn’t accept it.

I started looking for information about Cassandra through acquaintances, through friends who had been to that club.

I found out everything about her meetings with clients.

And the club owner, Larry, he knew too.

He knew and did nothing.

Gerald raised his head and his eyes burned with anger.

They ruined my life.

Cassandra and that Larry.

They took everything from me.

My family, my health, my future.

And I decided they had to pay.

An eye for an eye.

Justice, he said firmly without remorse.

I followed Cassandra for several days.

I found out where she lived.

On the evening of March 11th, I waited near her house.

I saw her come back in a taxi around 3:00 in the morning.

I waited half an hour for her to calm down, then went up to her door and knocked.

She opened it.

She probably thought it was someone she knew.

I went in and told her who I was.

I asked if she remembered me.

She didn’t.

To her, I was just another client.

I told her she had infected me, that my life was ruined.

She looked at me and said, “So what? You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.

Life is unfair.

Get used to it.

” That was it.

“No remorse, nothing.

” I took out my gun and shot her.

I left a note on the table and left.

“What about Larry Quinn?” Nia asked.

The next evening, I drove to his house.

I found the address on the internet.

I waited for him to come out.

Around 6:00 in the evening, he left the house and headed for his car.

I walked up to him and told him who I was.

I told him I knew he knew about Cassandra and kept quiet.

He tried to justify himself, saying it wasn’t his business, that he was just the owner of the club.

I told him he was an accomplice, that he could have stopped her, but didn’t for the money, and I shot him.

I left a note and left.

Gerald leaned back in his chair.

I don’t regret what I did.

They deserved it.

They ruined my life and the lives of others.

I just restored justice.

Ira and Nia were silent for a few seconds.

The confession was complete.

Gerald Morris not only did not deny the crime, but also openly stated his motives.

Mr. Morris, you will be charged with two counts of first-degree murder.

Do you understand the seriousness of your situation? Ira said, “I understand, and I don’t care.

My life is already ruined.

” After these words, he fell silent.

The story was over.