American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

Lynn nodded, then produced photos of the evidence. "And what about these? The eastern white pine needles found on your parachute pack, the soil characteristic of the Adirondack Mountains found on your jump suit. Were these all left behind when you were 'planning to go somewhere in the future'?"

Martin's face began to turn pale. His lawyer quickly flipped through the evidence photos, his expression also becoming serious.

“I might have hiked in that area before, and my gear got covered in these things,” Martin continued to argue, but his voice was no longer as confident as before.

“Really?” Lynn pulled out a radar tracking chart. “Then can you explain why your friend Michael Chen’s plane flew towards the Adirondack Mountains last Wednesday, conducted a standard parachute drop operation there, and then returned on Thursday night?”

Martin's eyes began to flicker. "I didn't know about Michael's flight plans."

“Really?” Lynn’s voice grew stronger. “But Michael has confessed everything. He told us that you paid him $10,000 to take you to the Adirondack Mountains for a skydive. He also told us that he met you on the edge of the mountains Thursday night and took you back to Albany.”

The news hit Martin like a punch. His face turned ashen, and his body trembled noticeably.

His lawyer immediately said, "I need to speak with my client privately."

“Of course,” Lynn stood up, “I’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

Lynn stepped out of the interrogation room and observed Martin and his lawyer's conversation through the one-way glass in the observation room. Although he couldn't hear anything, his body language revealed that Martin was breaking down. He had his head buried in his hands, while his lawyer spoke solemnly beside him.

Sarah entered the observation room. "He's about to confess."

“That’s not enough,” Lynn said. “I need him to fully acknowledge the entire process.”

Fifteen minutes later, Lynn re-entered the interrogation room. Martin looked ten years older, his eyes red and swollen, clearly having cried.

“Mr. Reynolds,” Lynn sat down again, “is there something you want to say?”

Martin stared at the table, remained silent for a long time, then looked up at Lynn. "If I cooperate, what will I get?"

“It depends on how cooperative you are,” Lynn said truthfully. “If you confess honestly and show remorse, the judge may take that into consideration when sentencing. But I can’t promise a specific outcome.”

Martin was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I need immunity."

“Impossible,” Lynn refused outright. “This is a premeditated murder. We have enough evidence to prosecute you, even if you plead not guilty. The only thing you can do is cooperate and make the legal process more favorable to you.”

Martin's lawyer whispered something to him, and Martin nodded, finally making his decision.

“Okay,” he said softly, almost in a whisper, “I admit it. I killed Sarah.”

There was a few seconds of silence in the interrogation room. Although Lynn was already convinced that Martin was the murderer, hearing him confess still brought a significant breakthrough to the case.

“I need you to explain the whole process in detail,” Lynn said, while making sure the recording equipment was working properly, “starting from the beginning.”

Martin nodded and began to recount the meticulously planned murder.

“I couldn’t accept it after Sarah and I broke up,” he began. “I loved her, I thought we would get married, that we would have a future. But she said we weren’t right for each other, that she needed her freedom. I tried to win her back, texted her, called her, but she rejected me. She even threatened to get a restraining order if I continued to bother her.”

"So you decided to kill her?" Lynn asked.

“No, not immediately,” Martin shook his head. “At first, I was just angry, wanting revenge, wanting to make her regret it. But later, I started planning. I knew she loved photography and often went to remote areas alone to take pictures. I thought that if something happened to her in the mountains, no one would suspect murder.”

How did you know she was going to Adirondack?

“I’ve been following her social media,” Martin admitted. “Although she blocked my main account, I created a fake account to follow her. She posted some things on Instagram about plans to shoot in Adirondack, and even mentioned specific locations.”

"And then you made a plan?"

“Yes,” Martin nodded, “I spent several weeks preparing. I already have skills in skydiving and hang gliding, hobbies I started learning a few years ago. I studied the terrain, calculated the best landing spots, and planned my escape route. I also bought a hunting rifle and practiced shooting.”

How do you ensure your alibi?

“I’m a software engineer, I know how to fool electronic systems,” Martin said, a self-deprecating wry smile playing on his lips. “I wrote a program that can automatically control my phone, simulating normal activities—sending messages, checking emails, even browsing the web. I leave the phone at home, making it look like I’m always there.”

What happened on Wednesday?

“In the afternoon, I went to find Michael with all my gear,” Martin continued. “He thought I was just going to take pictures. I paid him ten thousand dollars, which was a lot of money for him, and he didn’t ask many questions. After the plane flew over Adirondack, I parachuted and landed at the designated location.”

What happens after landing?

“I hid the parachute, changed into regular mountaineering clothes, and hiked to the location Sarah planned to take photos,” Martin’s voice began to tremble. “I waited there for several hours. The next morning, she arrived. She didn’t notice me at all, focused on finding the perfect angle for the shot.”

"How did you do it?" Lynn needed to know the exact details.

Martin closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face. "I came out of the hideout and called her name. She turned around, shocked to see me, and asked why I was there. I raised my gun. She started begging me not to hurt her, saying we could talk. But I... I had no way back. I pulled the trigger."

Silence fell in the interrogation room once more. Lynn looked at the distraught man, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside her. Martin seemed like an ordinary person, even a successful one, but his obsession with love had turned him into a murderer.

"And then what happened?" Lynn continued to ask.

“She collapsed, but wasn’t dead,” Martin’s voice was filled with anguish. “She lay on the ground, looking at me, saying something. I moved closer to hear her, and she said, ‘Martin, why…’ Then I… I panicked. I didn’t know what to do.”

So you left the scene?

“No, I wanted to make sure she was dead, but just then, I heard other people’s voices,” Martin said. “I hid and saw a hunter find her and start trying to save her. I thought maybe she would survive, maybe everything could be salvaged. But then another person came—you.”

Lynn nodded, which explained the underlying hostility that Jack McKesson had sensed at the scene.

“I saw you start the investigation, and I knew I had to leave,” Martin continued. “I used the hang glider I had hidden beforehand to fly away from that area, landing a few miles away, and then hiked to the designated rendezvous point. Michael picked me up Thursday night and took me back to Albany.” “Do you regret it?” Lynn asked a question that wasn’t part of standard interrogation procedure.

Martin looked up, his eyes filled with tears and despair. "Every second I regret it. I loved Sarah, but I killed her. I ruined her life, and I ruined mine. If I could do it all over again, I'd rather never have met her than have come to this."

Lynn stood up. "Martin Reynolds, I'm arresting you on first-degree murder charges."

With Lynn reading out Miranda's rights, the week-long case finally came to a close. Martin was taken away, followed by his lawyer, ready to begin a lengthy legal process.

After leaving the interrogation room, Sarah approached him. "Well done, Lynn. That was a perfect case."

“There are no perfect cases,” Lynn shook his head. “Only one young woman lost her life, and one man will spend the rest of his life in prison. There are no winners here.”

Sarah nodded, understanding Lynn's feelings.

That evening, Lynn returned to the cabin—though the vacation had been interrupted, George and Gwen had insisted on keeping the lease. When he entered, he saw his father and sister sitting in front of the fireplace waiting for him.

"Is the case closed?" George asked.

“It’s over,” Lynn said wearily, sitting down on the sofa. “The murderer has confessed.”

“That’s great,” Gwen said, handing him a cup of hot tea. “You must be very tired.”

“Yes,” Lynn took the teacup, “but at least justice has been served. Sarah’s family can find some solace in knowing the killer has been brought to justice.”

“That’s the meaning of your work,” George said. “Even in the darkest times, you speak out for the victims and fight for justice.”

Lynn nodded, watching the flickering flames in the fireplace. This case made him realize once again the complexity of human nature—love can elevate a person, or it can corrupt them. Martin could have had a wonderful life, but he chose a path of no return.

“You know,” Lynn said, “sometimes I think, if Martin had been able to accept the breakup, if he had sought psychological help to process his emotions, none of this would have happened. Sarah would still be alive, and Martin wouldn’t be a murderer.”

“But he didn’t,” Gwen said softly. “That’s the tragedy. Some people can’t let go, can’t accept the changes in their lives.”

“That’s why mental health is so important,” George added. “Many tragedies could have been avoided with timely psychological intervention.”

The three sat quietly, each pondering the lessons learned from the case. Outside, the lake flowed silently under the moonlight, the tranquility of nature contrasting sharply with the darkness of the human world.

“We still have a few days of vacation left,” Gwen broke the silence. “How about we go fishing tomorrow? We’ve already got the permits.”

Lynn laughed. "Good idea. I think I need some normal, peaceful activity to clear my mind."

“It’s settled then,” George clapped his hands. “We’ll go fishing tomorrow morning.”

At 5:30 a.m., Lynn was awakened by George's gentle knocking on the door.

“Get up, fisherman,” George said in a low voice. “The fish are waiting for us.”

Lynn stretched and got up to get dressed. It was still dark outside, but the eastern horizon was beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn. This was the prime time for fishing—around sunrise, when the fish were most active.

When they came downstairs, George had already prepared a simple breakfast: hot coffee, bread, and fruit. Gwen was also up; although she still looked a little sleepy, her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“I remember the last time I went fishing, I caught the biggest fish ever,” Gwen recalled, sipping her coffee. “Dad and Lynn were both very jealous.”

“That was luck,” Lynn joked. “Today I’ll prove who the real fishing master is.”

“We’ll see,” George laughed, “but I think you’ve all underestimated Dad’s abilities.”

After a quick breakfast, the three began preparing their fishing gear. George took out his treasured fishing rods, which were well-maintained and still functioning perfectly despite their age. He also prepared various baits—live bait, artificial bait, and some homemade special recipes.

"What is this?" Lynn picked up a small jar containing a strange-looking mixture.

“My secret weapon,” George said mysteriously, “is a special bait recipe I’ve researched for years. It’s guaranteed to attract big fish.”

“It looks like kitchen waste,” Gwen said, taking a closer sniff and immediately frowning. “Oh my god, it smells awful!”

“It’s precisely because of the strong flavor that the fish are attracted,” George explained proudly. “It contains fish powder, shrimp paste, and some secret ingredients.”

“If this catches fish, I’ll eat upside down,” Gwen laughed.

“Then we’ll wait and see,” Lynn said.

At 6:10, the sky was already beginning to lighten. They carried their equipment to the dock in front of the cabin. A thin layer of mist shrouded the lake in the morning, the water as calm as a mirror, with occasional fish leaping out of the water, making a "plop" sound that was particularly clear in the quiet morning.

"Did you hear that?" George exclaimed excitedly. "The fish have already started feeding."

They boarded the small boat they had rented the day before—a simple but sturdy wooden rowboat that could hold three people and all their equipment. George sat at the stern to row, while Lynn and Gwen sat on either side.

“Let’s go to the middle of the lake,” George suggested. “The water’s deeper there; there might be big fish.”

Lynn and Gwen nodded in agreement. George began paddling, and the boat slowly left the dock, heading towards the center of the lake. The morning air was fresh and cool, carrying the moist scent of the lake. As the sun gradually rose, the mist began to dissipate, revealing the entire lake to them.

“It’s so beautiful,” Gwen exclaimed softly. “This scenery is more beautiful than any painting.”

Ten minutes later, they arrived at what George considered an ideal fishing spot—slightly north of the center of the lake, where the water was about twenty feet deep, a depth George had found to be ideal for catching large fish. (End of Chapter)