SPOILER

SPOILER ALERT: major plot details revealed below.

Sirens scream and a tense chase tears through a rain-slicked street as officers close on a dark Range Rover. “That’s him,” someone calls. “Hands up — get your hands up!” The target is told to keep his palms where they can see them. A man steps out of the vehicle slowly, defiant, quipping that it took them long enough to find him. The officers bark orders: get out of the car and shut your mouth. What begins as a routine stop instantly feels like the center of a long, rotten mystery.

They pop the trunk — nothing obvious. Danny scans the scene and, with rising alarm, realizes the woman they’ve been desperately searching for isn’t there. “Where’s Rosanna Diaz?” someone demands. The man in the Range Rover, a doctor with an unnerved composure, swears ignorance. But the detectives press hard. One officer — hungry for leverage and keen to tie this moment into the larger case — offers a bargain: tell us where Rosanna is and we’ll inform the DA that you cooperated; answer our questions and we’ll reveal the same. It’s a cold, transactional mercy. The doctor pushes back: what questions?

The interrogation begins with a cruelty that’s intimate and surgical. The lead prosecutor — or detective playing prosecutor — starts with the doctor’s private life, needle-sharp and personal. “Your wife has been dead for five years,” they say, “and you’re still not in a serious relationship. Why?” It’s an ugly, insinuating question, designed to unbalance. They push further, insinuating connection between the doctor and someone named Bas — a former partner — and even accuse him of sending a severed finger in a box, an obscene, forensic taunt meant to shock. The line between professional questioning and personal torment is blurred; the interrogators use emotional wounds as leverage to get facts.

The doctor resists. He’s defensive, wounded, and baffled. He insists he has no idea where Rosanna is. The detectives don’t accept confusion for an answer; they prod and pry, asking whether he’s ever fantasized about past partners, whether he fears intimacy because anyone close to him always ends up harmed. The questions are designed to plant doubt: are you cursed? Will the people you love be murdered? The insinuation is terrifyingly clear — the implication that history repeats itself, that his relationships end in tragedy, that perhaps he’s a magnet for death.

Danny warns the lead officer not to let the doctor get under their skin. He pleads calm — every second spent wrangling emotions is a second Rosanna might be in danger. The urgency is palpable: Rosanna could be alive right now and any delay could be fatal. The detective bites back, unable to control his own fury; the personal barbs keep flying, and each one could push someone over the edge. The team knows that losing composure risks losing the trail.

When the doctor finally speaks, it’s halting but revealing. He admits he avoids serious relationships because he’s terrified of exposing loved ones to risk, especially with enemies as clever and cold as Jeremy. That name — Jeremy — pivots the interrogation from domestic pathology to conspiracy. The detectives suspect Jeremy is the mastermind behind a series of brutal crimes, including murders of women close to the doctor. One officer is adamant: Jeremy didn’t merely commit the killings — he masterminded them. He kept a reporter alive as part of an elaborate scheme, proof of his twisted cleverness. Why else would he leave a witness breathing?

A heated back-and-forth follows. The doctor insists Jeremy had nothing to do with the string of murders; another detective counters that Jeremy set the doctor up — made him look complicit and then watched him squirm. According to that theory, Jeremy wanted to be the brains behind the operation while the doctor, who is more impulsive, would appear as the fall guy. The accusation is poisonous: Jeremy, they claim, is both puppetmaster and manipulator, smart enough to orchestrate events so the doctor takes the blame.

The doctor grows increasingly agitated, rejecting the idea that he’s anyone’s pawn. He explains that if anyone kept Rosanna alive, it was him — or at least that keeping her alive was his idea. He insists he hid her in her car, keeping her breathing, preserving her chance to testify. His voice cracks between defense and accusation; he’s desperate to prove agency in a world that keeps assigning him culpability.

But the detectives don’t settle on a neat story. Each new claim opens a jagged fracture of possibilities: did Jeremy set them all up to prove his intellectual superiority? Did the doctor act to protect Rosanna, or was he covering something darker? Did someone in the police force aid the cover-up? The bedrock certainty is simple and terrifying: somebody knows where Rosanna is — or someone wanted her hidden for a reason — and the clock is running out.

Tension explodes when evidence of a wider plot surfaces. Witnesses claim Jeremy engineered a setup so the doctor would be publicly exposed, bit players in a cruel game where the real architect remains shielded. Meanwhile, the team finally settles on the practical: they must expand the search now, mobilize all units, and comb every possible place Rosanna could be. Orders shout over radios: “Get all units out. Expand the search. Find her.” The scene becomes kinetic and raw — squads deploy, patrol cars fan out, helicopters cut through rain-streaked skies.

The film’s middle beats focus on the scramble: investigators reexamine cell-tower pings, CCTV frames, and payment trails. Flashes of Rosanna’s last known movements — a café, an argument, a note left on a dashboard — are reconstructed in quick, forensic montages. The detectives interview suspects, re-open cold calls, and pressure low-level associates until someone breaks. A ring of lies and self-preservation begins to unspool: people close to Jeremy are evasive; those who trust the doctor are defensive. The plot doubles back on itself as alliances shift.

As the search intensifies, the film digs into motive and method. Jeremy, if he exists as the detectives fear, is painted as a methodical predator who enjoys being two steps ahead. He cultivates chaos, then watches it bloom, untroubled by the carnage. If the doctor is complicit, his motives become murky — is it protection, guilt, or both? The moral fog thickens when the audience learns that keeping someone “alive in the car” is less a rescue and more a perverse standoff: a hostage kept for leverage, for a future reveal that could vindicate or damn.

The climax of this thread arrives when a breakthrough tip — a frightened informant, a mislaid SIM card, a breathless confession — points teams toward a remote storage yard. The scene is cinematic: headlights pierce fog, officers fan out, and a single car sits quietly in the gloom. When they pry open the trunk, the truth is brutal. Rosanna is found — alive but terrified, weakened from confinement and trauma. The discovery sets off a cascade: arrests, frenzied interrogations, and media storms. The film doesn’t give a tidy moral; instead it shows the messy aftermath — the unraveling of lies, the exposure of collaborators, and the crumbling of reputations.

In the denouement, accusations are levied, truths are half-true, and culpability is shared across a broken system. Jeremy’s role — whether mastermind, instigator, or scapegoat — is clarified enough to indict some and exonerate others. The doctor’s motives, too, are judged with tempered pity: he may have been protecting someone he loved, but his secrecy and arrogance fed the chaos. Rosanna’s rescue leads to testimony that upends the city’s fragile peace, and the film closes with the sense that justice, while momentarily served, is an ongoing struggle — a ledger of small victories in an otherwise dark ledger of human cruelty.