Fence and Lee arrive at Blackwell's mechanic shop just before sundown. The building, a weathered structure surrounded by rusting cars and oil stains, seemed eerily quiet. No sign of Darren anywhere.
They forced their way inside, flashlights illuminating dark corners. It was disorganized mess--tools, old car parts and half-finished projects scattered throughout. But Fence's eyes narrowed when she spotted something on a workbench: a bloodstained wrench.
"Darren" Fence called, stepping forward cautiously. "We know you're here."
The shop's back door creaked open and Darren emerged, his eyes narrowing when he saw the officers.
"Look, I don't know what is this about," he said, his voice shaky. "I'm just trying to make a living here."
"You don't want to lie to us right now, Darren," Fence warned. "We know you were involved in the murder of Luke Davis."
His face twisted with a mix of fear and defiance. "You don't have any proof," he spat. "You have got nothing on me."
Fence instincts told her he was hiding something, but the pressure was building. As Lees moved to secure the scene, Fence took a step closer to Darren. "You aren't going to get away with this," she said softly, watching his reaction.
But before Darren could respond, the sound of an engine revved in the distance. Fence's gaze snapped toward the open door. Someone was approaching.