Shortly after his boss left, Pete had seen enough himself and cleared the scene for forensics to do their thing. They documented every detail with photographs, marked off each thing that was out of place and anything that might lead to the identification of their suspect. He watched forensics from a distance, hoping one of them would find something that might give homicide a lead. Something juicy like a fingerprint would be perfect, but even Gibbons knew that was asking for too much. Highly unlikely, Pete thought to himself, this killer looked to be too meticulous and organized to make such a careless mistake. He was going to have to dig around and look for the answer himself through investigation. Pete left the apartment and went straight to the female officer standing in the hallway.

     "Who found the bodies?" he calmly asked.

     "The maid," she quickly answered. "She was coming in for work in the morning when she found everyone dead."

     "That's one hell of a head start," Pete said as he let out a deep sigh. "Since the maid arrived around eight and the kids left school around three, that means these bodies were here for at least fifteen or sixteen hours, and before that another eight hours after the kids left for school."

     "That's plenty of time to torture the victim," the officer replied.

     "It also means the suspect knew the maid's schedule," Pete added as he paced the hallway. "Where is she now?"

     "She's been taken to the hospital," the officer answered. "She had a nervous breakdown and had to be removed."

     "We'll get to her later." Pete scanned the hallway. "Do we know who was home when this was all going down?"

     "Not really," the officer answered.

     Pete liked to ask the uniforms questions. While their job was just to stand there, they always listened and had just as much intel about the scene as anyone else.

     "Let's ask then." Pete walked to the closest door.

     He proceeded to knock on almost every door and when someone was nice enough to answer, he identified himself, showed his credentials and then asked a few simple, non-evasive questions, such as did they hear any loud noises between two and four in the afternoon the previous day? Did they see the kids come home? Have there been any incidents with the people who resided in 1301? By asking simple questions such as those, Pete was able to gather the intel he needed without giving away anything himself. If anything, his questions made it sound like a domestic disturbance rather than a grisly homicide. This was necessary to make sure specific details were not spread, which always had a habit of making the six o'clock news. He interviewed several residents on the thirteenth floor and everyone gave the same statements: they didn't see anyone suspicious and didn't hear anything during the time when someone was being tortured and killed.

     Just because there wasn't a gag on Mr. Steinbach's mouth didn't mean there wasn't one there when he was being tortured. That would certainly explain why no one heard anything, Pete thought to himself as he checked his notes and knocked on another door. No answer. He knocked again.

     "I'm sorry, but no one's there," one of the neighbors came out to let him know.

     "Do you know where this person is?" Pete asked.

     "She went to New Hampshire to visit her mother," the neighbor answered. "She's been gone at least a week."

     "Does she have a dog sitter?" the officer in the hallway asked.

     "No," the neighbor replied. "She doesn't have any pets."

     "Why did you ask that?" Pete asked the officer.

     "I heard something in there while I was standing guard," the officer answered. "Either someone was stealing her stereo or..."

     "Or it could be our suspect," Pete said as he pulled out his gun.

     The officer beside him also drew a gun. Without warning and in an effort to take the possible suspect or thief by surprise, Pete kicked the door down and immediately walked in with his gun at eye level and started to search the apartment. Both Pete and the officer behind him swept the apartment rather quickly and there was no one there.

     Pete tossed up his hands. "We need to find out whose apartment this is."

     The officer passed him one of the letters from a table near the door, a power bill addressed to the tenant of the apartment: Jessica Hauser.

     "I'm sure she won't be pleased to hear she had a freeloader while she was visiting her mom," the officer said with a grin.

     "In this neighborhood, I doubt it." Pete tossed the mail back onto the small desk then noticed that the door to the balcony was open. Once he got outside, he saw a rope tied to the end of the balcony, which led down to a fire escape twenty-feet below. He held up the rope.

     "This is how our suspect got in and out without being seen," Pete said with a disappointed tone. "All the security cameras are useless."

     "That's a bad break," the officer replied. "I'll go let forensics know they have another place to check for prints, and we might get luck with DNA on the rope."

     "I doubt they'll find anything," Pete called back. "But it never hurts to check."

     Gibbons continued to look around after the officer left. Things didn't seem out of place so it was clear this was just an exit for the suspect to get out undetected. There was a corporate building across the street, so he'd have to send a few uniforms over there to see if any of them saw the suspect make his or her escape. He strolled around the deserted apartment and checked the garbage to see if anything was left recently. Nothing. As a few men from forensics came in, he left the room and met up with his boss, who was still lingering in the hallway. The officer was informing him about the discovery of the suspect's possible exit.

     "We're going to need to secure this place as well but I doubt we'll find anything," Pete called out.

     "So I've heard," McManus said, strolling over. "Do it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. We'll do a sweep and then close up. Does this mean our suspect used a similar means to get in to avoid all cameras?"

     "We'll still check them anyway," Pete continued, "There's always a chance the perp walked in through the front door and was only creative with his exit. The kids came back too soon might have spooked our suspect into using the backup exit sooner than expected, we might have a witness across the street."

     "Alright, I'll meet you back at the station." McManus started to walk toward the elevator. "Don't stay here too long; you've got a killer to catch."

     Pete nodded and watched as his boss walked into the elevator and disappeared. He walked back to his crime scene to get an update from forensics on what they had found. "Give me some news, you got anything?"

     "Not yet, Detective," one of them called back without even looking.

     "Damn," Pete cursed as he was hoping to catch an early break. He looked around a bit more then moved back into the living room to check the huge message, which took up most of the wall. The suspect had taken a large painting off the wall and leaned it up in the hallway to make space for it. Respect the ninety-nine. This wasn't going to go away quietly, Pete thought to himself as he looked closer.

     "Everything okay?" the same officer from the hallway politely asked him.

     Pete looked back. "I'm fine, Officer..."

     "Jones," she answered. "Emma Jones."

     "Please to meet you, Officer Jones." Pete gestured to the message on the wall. "What does this scene tell you?"

     "It tells me that someone takes their politics far too seriously." Jones said as she stepped in to get a better look.

     "It says a lot more than that." Pete took a step back and made way for her. "Take a closer look."

     Emma walked closer to the wall and took a moment to examine it. "Are these brush strokes?"

     "Yes, they are," Pete confirmed. "Our attacker used a paint brush to write his, or her, message on the wall. Since our killer didn't go back to the days of kindergarten past and finger paint, what does that tell us?"

     "This person took the time to bring tools to make sure the job was done correctly." Jones surmised.

     "That's right," Pete circled the table in the middle of the dining room. "What does that also tell us?"

     "That would suggest premeditation," Officer Jones replied.

     "Exactly," Pete said, impressed, "This wasn't a crime of passion; it was planned well in advance."

     "Also tells us our killer is very organized," Jones added.

     "What tells you that?" Pete asked.

     "The emergency exit," she answered, "Using the occupant's vacation time to their advantage, which puzzles me. How did our suspect know she was out of town?"

     "My money is on social media," Pete replied with a grin. "People these days are posting way too much information online about where they're going and what they're doing. They're just begging for someone to break into their home."

     "What does this person have against the one percent?" Jones asked. "Could this be a former employee who was mistreated, underpaid and underappreciated for so long before finally snapping?"

     "That's a good hypothesis," Pete said. "But we have to investigate all angles, including that this whole ninety-nine percent thing might be a decoy, something thrown in to completely misdirect us."

     "Is that possible?" Jones asked.

     "Most of the stuff you see on television, killers leaving cards and signatures are mostly fiction." Pete took a seat at the head of the dining room table. "Real life is usually never that dramatic nor clichéd."

     "Never?" Jones disagreed.

     "Give me one example," Pete demanded. "One killer who was as theatrical as the bull we see in the movies."

     Jones smiled. "How about Jack the Ripper? He sent letters to the police and the press, taunting the people who were chasing him."

     "That he did," Pete concurred with a grin. "But he was the exception to the rule. Chances are this isn't real. Look at how the old man was tortured; it has personal vendetta written all over it."

     "So does this." Jones pointed to the words on the wall.

     "I hope you're wrong," Pete confessed.

     "And why is that?" Jones asked.

     "Because if you're not," Pete said as he got up out of the chair, "and this really is his true motive, then that means this is far from over. We're going to see more bodies."

     "Shit." Emma said, deeply sighing.

     "I concur," Gibbons said, aware this was just the beginning.