Chapter Text
Eduardo had been tracking the work of an unknown assassin for about two and a half weeks. He had found a common thread throughout the seemingly random murders. They were all high profile cases, from politicians to councilmen, and businesswomen. Each crime scene left a tiny piece of red thread. Eduardo had been the first person in his department to piece it together. His boss didn’t think the cases were connected, but luckily someone above his boss’s pay grade saw what Eduardo saw.
A woman named Vivian—the head of department—had selected Eduardo for a small, discreet team of her own. Besides Eduardo and Vivian, the team consisted of Christy, Dustin, and Chris. Christy and Chris were regulated to researching the psychology behind serial killers, like Eduardo. Whilst Dustin was the tech guy, he knew the ins and outs of a computer like he knew the back of his hand. They were dedicated to finding out the identity of the red thread assassin.
They had started to cultivate a profile for the assassin. It had to be someone in their early-to-mid twenties, experienced but highly volatile. Not all of their kills were messy or gruesome, but blood had always been present—no matter how small the splatter.
Dustin had been convinced they were looking for a woman, but Eduardo thought the opposite. He thought they were looking for a man.
So far, they haven't found any new leads. Not until the next dead body leads the team to Palo Alto—where a rich socialite was found dead in a hotel room that wasn’t hers. Found in a hotel room that had been listed under the name Eduardo Saverin.
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Despite Vivian’s warning about going to Palo Alto, a place where a serial killer had used his name—Eduardo had insisted on going anyway. The reality of an assassin knowing him hadn’t quite set in yet. Besides, he had Chris tagging along, he wasn’t alone at least.
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The hotel of the murder was obscenely large and expansive—it was a pale yellow with a golden trim. Chris had told Eduardo that they were staying there during the visit and investigation. It made Eduardo slightly uneasy, but he knew if he voiced his mild concern, Chris would probably make him catch a plane straight back to New York. He had hoped the assassin had left the city in search of their next target while he and Chris had time to figure any other clues left behind in the hotel.
His concern had become palpable when his luggage disappeared from the sidewalk. Chris had staggered into the lobby to check them in just a few minutes ago. Eduardo could have sworn he only looked away from his luggage for a second, but it was surely gone.
He hadn’t packed too many personable items into his suitcase, but he did pack his favorite jacket—one that was now gone. Along with his laptop and the rest of the clothes he had stuffed into his suitcase. He would have to change any and all passwords to his accounts and email. Eduardo isn’t sure if his luggage ended up in the wrong hands, but he wanted to be safe if someone attempted to hack into anything.
He would also have to go shopping. The budget Vivien had given them had been eaten up by the cost of the hotel, but Eduardo knew he could afford to at least buy some clothes for himself—plus, he’d always been good with money.
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Chris had offered to accompany Eduardo to shop for clothes, but Eduardo denied. Eduardo was methodical when it came to clothing, and he didn’t want to drag Chris around as he slowly made his way through the racks. He knew Chris would be patient as he always is, but still, Eduardo didn’t want to be a bother.
It was a decently sized shop Eduardo had picked. He had never been to Palo Alto (he’d never been anywhere besides Brazil and bouncing between Miami and New York, but it’s been a while since he left New York and traveled. He rarely saw his family in the past three years since his permanent move to New York) though Eduardo thought he picked as nicely as he could from the short distance from the hotel.
As Eduardo's eyes and hands gently roamed over the clothing, he felt like there were eyes staring into his backside. Though when he looked up and around, there wasn’t anyone really paying attention to him. Besides himself, there were only a handful of other men inside the store. No one looked particularly interested in what Eduardo was doing—each occupied in different clothing racks.
Eduardo ignored the feeling and picked a dark gray suit to try on. He passed a full body mirror next to the dressing rooms and worked his way into the nearest empty one.
When he came out to fully see how he looked in the suit, another dark blue suit had settled itself on a hanger on the previously clear mirror.
It was slightly weird to see the suit hanging from the mirror, but Eduardo figured he must’ve missed it before. He grabbed the suit off the mirror and examined it.
The dark blue suit would look better than the dark gray, he decided.
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The investigation didn’t lead to any new information. The only thing Eduardo was sure of was that the assassin certainly was a man. The brutality and grotesque display of the way the socialite (twenty-one-year, Paloma Cavaughn) was carved into made Eduardo very certain.
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Eduardo was glad to be back on the East Coast. Glad to be back in his homely apartment with his plants (ones that had been dead, but Eduardo was trying to desperately revive them).
One thing Eduardo had not expected when he got back to the East Coast was the suitcase he had lost, waiting right at his apartment door.
He had wondered how long the luggage had been sitting there. Eduardo had just gotten back. He’s sure someone would have moved the suitcase if it had been there for long. It was strange, but Eduardo grabbed the handle and took it inside after unlocking his apartment door.
He immediately went into his bedroom and hiked the luggage onto his king-size bed. When he unzipped it, he saw that the clothes he had packed remained untouched. The only things that were absent was his laptop and his North Face jacket. He’s not sure why the assailant who took his luggage would be interested in only taking his jacket as opposed to just swiping all his clothes, or at least the expensive tailored suits he had instead. It was obvious as to why someone would take a laptop, but one item of clothing seemed peculiar.
As he examined the suitcase further, he found in the front pouch a black box with simple writing on it—it was cologne. Taped to the bottom of the box was the message: Sorry Baby—MARK. P.s. Did you like the blue?
He dropped the box after reading the sloppily written note. Eduardo’s stomach turned sour as he realized that the red thread assassin, the serial killer he had been looking for, was the one who stole his luggage.
The assassin knew where Eduardo lived and apparently—his name is Mark.