Aylin, with her back leaning against the steel door, stood still in the dark entryway with that deadly Oleander flower in her hand. She could have called the department. She could have piled guards at her door, called the fingerprint teams, and had the whole street blockaded. But with the current arrogance and blindness of the Department, she knew very well that they would interpret even this flower as "a threat left by Cem while escaping". No. The hunter wanted to corner her not in the parking lot, but right inside her mind. And Aylin was not going to hide in her apartment like a sacrificial sheep. She carefully placed the flower into a transparent evidence bag. She put on her bulletproof vest, attached her spare magazines to her waist, and left the police badge standing on the table right where it was. There was no longer any room for rules, prosecutor permissions, or the Chief of Police's nonsense. The word "soil" echoed in her brain. The killer had clearly shouted his own identity, where his kingdom was, to her. Around 03:00 in the night, Aylin's civilian vehicle stopped in the back street of the Izmir Metropolitan Municipality Nursery in İnciraltı, with its headlights off. The police had thoroughly searched this nursery during the day, and after finding Cem's so-called murder weapon, they left this place as an "abandoned crime scene" and shifted all their focus to intercity roads. The padlock on the massive iron gate of the nursery was intact; around, there was only the sound of crickets and massive palm leaves rustling in the wind. Aylin climbed from the blind spot of the wire fences and jumped inside. The glass panes of the massive greenhouses gleamed in the moonlight like giant sleeping monsters. The smell of mud and fertilizer burned her throat. She headed straight to the workers' locker room and the material warehouse. She silently opened the door with a lockpick and slipped inside. She started to pan the thin, pale light of her flashlight over the rusty metal lockers. The doors of the lockers whose locks had been broken during the day were slightly ajar. What Aylin was looking for was not a weapon; she was looking for the traces of the mind that created that "flawlessness". She stopped in front of a nameless locker at the very end, left in the corner, whose door hadn't been fully broken by the police. She forced the door open. The inside of the locker was the exact opposite of that chaotic and dirty world outside. Everything was arranged with millimeter-precise order. A medical sterilization fluid, handmade whetstones, curved pruning shears of different sizes... And on the top shelf, a glass jar with "Pine Resin & Antifungal" written on it in handwriting. That cursed, transparent paste she had seen on Hale's neck in the morgue... Aylin's breathing accelerated. She shifted the light of the flashlight to the inner door of the locker. Pinned there with thumbtacks were maps of human neck veins torn from anatomy books. And right under them lay a blue spiral folder. When she opened the folder, Aylin realized that this psychopath was not just a killer, but also a highly intelligent, systematic chess master. Inside the folder, there was an official document with the Izmir Metropolitan Municipality logo. The document contained a request for a lateral transfer/reassignment to the Muğla Bodrum Municipality Parks and Gardens Directorate, protecting the worker's acquired severance and annual leave rights under Labor Law No. 4857. Under the name section of the request, there was only a signature. The killer had already planned the final act of this bloody theater he created in Izmir. When things went wrong or when the "harvest" was over, he would request his reassignment to Bodrum through legal means with that invisible worker identity; he would go down south to choose new orchids with his pruning shears in the municipality of that touristic, crowded, and hot coastal town. As Aylin tossed the folder into her bag, she heard a dull thud coming from outside, from the open area right behind the greenhouses. Clack. Clack. Clack. The sound of metal rubbing against metal. She drew her gun and turned off the flashlight. Leaving the locker room, she blended into the shadows and walked towards the direction of the sound, to the "Biological Disposal and Fumigation" area at the back of the nursery. The lid of the massive, rusty disposal tank was open. Right next to the tank stood a man wearing a thick raincoat, holding a long, iron rod in his hand. With the iron rod, the man was pushing down things inside that bubbling, acidic liquid in the tank. When the wind changed direction, the smell of burnt flesh mixed with that disgusting chemical odor rising from the tank nauseated Aylin. At that moment, Aylin realized in terror that the fugitive subcontractor Cem they had been looking for had actually escaped nowhere. Cem was melting inside that tank. The police had been searching for a handful of acidic mud for days. Aylin pointed her gun at the man, her finger settled on the trigger. "Don't move!" she shouted from the darkness. "Drop that rod and put your hands behind your head!" The man stopped. He slowly left the iron rod on the edge of the tank. But he didn't panic, he didn't raise his hands in the air. Over his shoulders, from under the hood of his raincoat, he slowly turned towards Aylin. His face wasn't fully discernible in the dark, but that morbid, arrogant smile on his lips gleamed in the moonlight. Yekta was once again amazed by the intelligence of this woman who found him directly. She had decoded the message of the Oleander flower, bypassed that stupid army of the Police, and come straight to his lair, all alone. "Welcome to my soil, inspector," said Yekta. His voice was cold and deep enough to drown out the sound of the bubbling acid tank. "I see you liked the Oleander." Aylin kept aiming, maintaining the distance between them. "You killed Hale. You killed Cem. The game is over. Get on the ground!" Yekta chuckled softly. "The game isn't over, Aylin. It's just... the Izmir act is closing. And you are my last, most beautiful scene in this theater." Yekta slowly moved his hand to the pocket of his raincoat, towards his infamous crescent-bladed pocketknife. 41Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0KR6PUP80U
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