《Shadows of Eaverstead : A Noir Mystery》 The beginning
Eaverstead, Zone A ¡ª Johan Reed¡¯s Office | Sunday, 15th October 2015 | 5:00 PM In a quiet neighborhood of the bustling city of Everstead, a private detective sat at his desk, staring blankly at the empty, utterly silent office. His fingers drummed against the surface as he sipped his lukewarm coffee. Inside, the air was stale, carrying the continuous ticking of the clock, Each tick adding to his discomfort, leading him to shift his legs¡ªfirst crossing one over the other, then the other over the first. Bored out of his mind, he sighed heavily, muttering under his breath, ¡°Babysitting toddlers, walking dogs, watching cats¡­ I lowered my standards yet barely anyone walks through that damn door.¡± His voice trailed off as his head dropped to the desk in resignation¡ªthe soft thud echoed in the room, but it didn¡¯t faze him. He quickly straightened up and walked to the small TV in the corner. Remote in hand, he flopped onto the sofa, and with a press, the screen came to life. News Reporter:¡°¡­Authorities are still searching for seven-year-old Emily Parker, who went missing from her local park two days ago. The young girl was last seen playing on the swings before her disappearance.¡± A small photo of Emily appeared in the screen''s corner¡ªa smiling child with sparkling eyes, holding a stuffed bear. Clearing her throat, the anchor continued, ¡°Police urge anyone with information to come forward...¡± Johan¡¯s forehead wrinkled, as he switched the channel. News Anchor:¡°Yet another horrifying case of violence against women has shocked the city. This morning, a body was discovered in an alley. Her identity remains¡­¡± Johan shook his head as he aggressively pressed the remote, landing on a wildlife documentary. The serene scenes of animals in their natural habitats contrasted with the grim reports he¡¯d just heard. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he muttered, ¡°Wildlife, huh? They seem more civilized.¡± A soft knock at the door broke his reverie. Johan glanced up as a tall, skinny man in his late thirties entered. With a polite, almost hesitant tone, he called, ¡°Hello, anybody inside?¡± ¡°Yes, come in,¡± Johan replied, his eyes lighting up as he scrambled to his feet, eager for some action. He rushed to the guest, quickly examining him from head to toe: a long-sleeved Man United jersey and flip-flops. The sight made his initial hope fade instantly, but a client was better than an empty office. With a forced smile, he waved to a worn chair. ¡°Please.¡± The man complied. His hands trembled as he began, his voice low, barely audible. ¡°I heard you do all sorts of jobs.¡± Johan nodded. The man took a deep breath, then cleared his throat and continued, ¡°I think my wife is cheating on me. Can you verify it? It¡¯s legal, right?¡± Johan leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant as he bit his lip. ¡°It¡¯s legal, as long as I don¡¯t break any laws in the process. I¡¯ll do it, but I need details.¡± The man nodded eagerly as he leaned in closer, a hint of hope in his lifeless eyes. ¡°How much will it cost?¡± ¡°$50 a day.¡± The man blinked twice, thinking, I¡¯ve heard they charge $50 an hour. Is he even competent? He reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture, handing it over with shaky fingers. ¡°My name¡¯s David Walker. My wife¡¯s name is Abigail Foster. Here.¡± Johan¡¯s pupils dilated as he took in the photograph, a low whistle slipping out before he caught himself. ¡°Apologies,¡± he muttered quickly, glancing at the client. Abigail was strikingly beautiful; her smile was tender¡ªthe kind that made you feel seen, understood, and cared for. Johan¡¯s mind wandered briefly.There might be a chance for a happy ending after all. He could just be paranoid. ¡°Alright,¡± Johan said, slipping the photo into his pocket.
Meanwhile, across the street in a cozy restaurant. A young lady sat at a small table, her fingers tracing the edge of her wine glass as she waited for her date. The soft clinking of silverware and low murmurs filled the air, mingling with the rich aroma of tagines and freshly baked bread. Her eyes flitted around the room, scanning the other diners. She noticed a couple, noting their comfortable familiarity with one another, and whispered to herself, clenching her fist tightly, ¡°I can do that.¡± She glanced at her phone.7:00 PM. Why am I always early?With a quiet sigh, she shifted in her chair and tried to distract herself by watching the waitresses. Their movements were a coordinated dance, plates and trays balancing perfectly as they weaved between tables. ¡°Evelyn? Evelyn Carter?¡± Startled, she turned toward the voice. A tall man stood by the table, his smile warm and confident. ¡°Ye-yes,¡± she stammered, rising halfway from her seat. ¡°Nathan?¡± ¡°That¡¯s me.¡± His voice was smooth, teasing, as he pulled out the chair across from her and sat. ¡°You look¡­ outstanding.¡± Evelyn replied with a faint smile. ¡°Thank you. You too.¡± Nathan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze held hers, and just as Evelyn glanced down to adjust her glass, he moved closer, whispering in her ear, ¡°I like...¡±¡ªhis fingers gently caressing a strand of her hair¡ª¡°how soft it is.¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Evelyn froze. Her instincts flared, and before she could think twice, she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. Without another word, she stormed out of the restaurant, muttering curses under her breath about dating apps and the ever-growing list of disappointments they seemed to bring. Nathan, on the other hand, smirked as he tilted his head, watching her leave.A woman that knows her place. How interesting.
Zone B ¡ª Monday, 16th October 2015 | 9:00 AM Johan sat in his car, parked a few blocks away from the cozy suburban neighborhood where Abigail Foster lived. The engine was off, and the only sounds were birds singing and the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind. His eyes were fixed on the house. As he lit a cigarette, Abigail emerged from her front door. She wore a fitted red dress and carried a handbag. Moments later, she slipped into her red car with tinted windows. Johan started his engine and followed her discreetly, maintaining a safe distance. As they approached a caf¨¦, Abigail parked and stepped out. She sat alone at an outdoor table, waving at the attendant. The server rushed to her order, smiling widely, excited for a chance to please her. ¡°Here is your drink, Lady Abigail. If you ever need anything, I¡¯ll¡ª¡± ¡°Count on you. I know!¡± she interrupted with a playful tone. The server shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting around, then he left in a hurry, nearly bumping into a chair. Abigail continued sipping her drink, oblivious to the watchful eyes of Johan. He sat with his hands on the wheel, steadying his breathing as he pulled out his camera. She seems outgoing. No wonder he doubts her, but she doesn¡¯t strike me as a cheater. Well, I¡¯m not here to judge¡ªjust to observe,he thought to himself. As time passed, his patience wore thin. That¡¯s when he noticed him¡ªa tall, athletic man, dressed in a sleek dark suit. He walked toward Abigail with a confident smile on his face. She stood to greet him, her expression brightening. They exchanged words that Johan couldn¡¯t hear, but their body language told the story¡ªthe way they leaned toward each other, the brief yet intimate touch of hands. Johan¡¯s heart rate quickened. This could be it. Without any warning, the man leaned in and kissed Abigail on the lips. Johan snapped a few quick pictures, his index turning red from all the clicking. The kiss lingered for a moment before the man, with a possessive grip, pulled her toward his car. She didn¡¯t protest, didn¡¯t look back once as he steered her toward the vehicle. She followed willingly, even eagerly. They got in, and the car sped off. Johan sat in his car for a long moment, smoking, staring at the spot where they had vanished from view. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and he let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he was holding. Mission accomplished. Proof in hand. A smile tugged at his lips as he quickly checked the pictures, making sure he had clear shots. But as he did, his thoughts shifted to David¡ªhis tired eyes and the way he spoke. Johan leaned against the driver¡¯s seat and muttered under his breath, ¡°At least you won¡¯t pay much. Just one day¡¯s worth.¡± Then he reached for his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and sent David a message, short and to the point: ¡°Meet me at my office.¡±
Zone A ¡ª Monday, 16th October 2015 | 3:00 PM ¡ª Johan¡¯s Office ¡°So, it¡¯s true.¡± David¡¯s voice trembled as his wide eyes remained locked on the photo of his wife passionately kissing another man. The pictures slipped from his grip, scattering on the floor as he collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Johan crouched beside him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ¡°Be strong. And¡ª¡± ¡°How much?¡± David interrupted, his voice cracking as he wiped his tears with his jersey. ¡°Fifty dollars.¡± David reached for his wallet and handed over the money. ¡°Have you done this before? Cases like this?¡± he asked. ¡°No. This is my first. Why?¡± David¡¯s gaze fell to the floor, and he paused for a long moment before responding. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do next. I thought maybe¡­ maybe you¡¯d know what others have done. Something to help me figure it out.¡± Johan offered a small, encouraging smile. ¡°I think the key is understanding.¡± ¡°Understanding?¡± David¡¯s brows furrowed as he glanced up at Johan, confusion and anger flickering in his tear-streaked face. Johan''s knees ached from crouching too long, and he finally collapsed to the ground, leaning against the nearby wall. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Yes. Confront her, but don¡¯t let your emotions get in the way. If you¡¯re not ready, wait a few days. Try to understand her reasons. Proper closure can¡ª" A hollow laugh cut Johan off, and David¡¯s voice grew louder, his expression darkening. "Understand what? That she betrayed me? That I¡¯m not enough of a man for her? What the hell are you talking about?" Johan frowned. ¡°It¡¯s not about you. People are complicated. This doesn¡¯t make you less of a man. Your wife is stunning¡±¡ªhe gestured to her picture¡ª¡°has a good job, and could easily support herself. But she chose to stay with you for fifteen years. She didn¡¯t use you, and I¡¯m pretty sure you didn¡¯t either. She hasn¡¯t asked for a divorce. That must mean som...¡± ¡°Yet.¡± David¡¯s lips twisted into a bitter smile, he added, ¡°You¡¯re twenty-four, right?¡± Johan clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes before snapping, "I¡¯m not saying you should forgive her or take her back. I¡¯m saying that understanding the situation¡ªseeing it for what it is¡ªwill help you. You¡¯ll stop blaming yourself for things beyond your control. Your child needs you to be strong, not a broken, pitiful man. You didn¡¯t do anything wrong." David stood abruptly, his face blank. ¡°You¡¯re still young. You don¡¯t get it. Thanks for the pictures.¡± He walked out without another word. Johan hurried to the door, calling after him, ¡°If you ever need a drinking buddy, you know where to find me!¡± But there was no response.
Zone D ¡ª Tuesday, 17th October 2015 | 5:30 AM ¡ª Evelyn Carter¡¯s Apartment The sharp ring of the phone echoed through the quiet bedroom, jolting Evelyn awake. Groaning, she reached out blindly toward the nightstand, fumbling for the device. Pressing it to her ear, she mumbled, ¡°(yawning) Hello¡­?¡± Evelyn instantly sat up. ¡°Another murder? Zone B this time? Alright, I¡¯m on my way. Send me the address.¡± Her brows furrowed as she ended the call. Tossing the phone aside, she swung her legs out of bed and got moving. She brushed her teeth while hurriedly pulling on her clothes¡ªa button-up shirt and trench coat¡ªand sliding her feet into the sturdy boots, securing them by tapping the heels against the floor. Within minutes, she was out the door and into her car, the engine roaring to life. The early morning streets were quiet, but as she neared the scene, the wail of sirens grew louder. She parked near the crowd gathered at the mouth of an alley. People were craning their necks; some stood in hushed curiosity, others held up phones, filming, and a few were even trying to get close enough for a glimpse of the victim. Evelyn pushed her way through, muttering under her breath, ¡°It¡¯s six in the morning. Don¡¯t you people sleep?¡± When she reached the perimeter, the officer in charge of the scene spotted her and stepped forward. ¡°Detective Carter. Good mor¡ª¡± ¡°Brief me,¡± Evelyn cut him off curtly as she ducked under the tape and entered the alley. ¡°The victim is a woman,¡± the officer began, his voice trembling. ¡°Her face is¡­ unrecognizable. But we found an ID on her. 37, Abigail Foster.¡±
The Silent Witness
Zone B. Alley across Amber Beans (Caf¨¦) ¨C 17th October 2015, 6:10 AM ¡°Detective Carter. Good mor¡ª¡± ¡°Brief me,¡± Evelyn cut him off curtly as she ducked under the tape and entered the alley. ¡°The victim is a woman,¡± the officer began, his voice trembling. ¡°Her face is¡­ unrecognizable. But we found an ID on her. 37, Abigail Foster. I was the first to respond, but there isn¡¯t much to say beyond what¡¯s already there. The person who discovered the body is waiting on the other side of the alley.¡± Unrecognizable? She thought, a sense of unease washing over her face as it turned pale. She approached the medical unit¡ªthey were crouching, examining the body. But she halted midway, clenching her fists as she Took a deep breath. Stepping forward, the metallic tang of blood struck her, faltering her resolve. Instinctively, she closed one eye, shielding herself from the gruesome scene ahead. But it wasn¡¯t enough, Her whole body shuddered, and her breath caught when her gaze landed on the victim. The victim¡¯s face was a grotesque, swollen mess, battered beyond recognition. Strands of hair clung to the torn skin like glue. Her chest was a hollow cavity, her heart missing, and ropes of intestines bound her hands. The gash on her throat was deep and brutal, and a dark pool of blood spread beneath her, glinting faintly in the dim morning light, reflected into Evelyn''s now wide-open eyes. Her stomach churned violently. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stumbling a step back. The bile rising in her throat became unbearable, and she darted to the side, bracing herself against the wall as she retched. ¡°Evelyn!¡± A familiar voice cut through the haze as a gentle hand touched her shoulder. She glanced up, vision blurry, to see Sarah Collins, the forensic pathologist, crouched beside her, Holding her hair back as Evelyn struggled to breathe. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Sarah whispered in her ear. ¡°First time seeing something like this?¡± Evelyn nodded weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Sarah smirked, poking Evelyn lightly on the cheek. ¡°You¡¯re too innocent for this line of work, Carter. Sure you didn¡¯t pick the wrong job?¡± Evelyn managed a weak laugh as she replied curtly. ¡°What do we know so far?¡± Then forced herself to straighten, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. Her mind raced to focus, even as her body trembled with the weight of what she¡¯d just witnessed. Sarah sighed, standing up. ¡°My estimation is she was killed around midnight. The throat was cut¡ªclean. The rest...¡± Her tone darkened. ¡°That was rage. Her face was struck multiple times, probably with a bat. Don¡¯t know how many blows before...¡±Her voice trailed off as Evelyn approached a toppled trash can. Sarah slipped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and followed her friend. Evelyn steadied her breathing as her eyes scanned the area. Her gaze locked on blood splatters on the wall, about four meters ahead of the body. She pointed toward it. ¡°So, you¡¯re saying she was hit at least once, then tried to run?¡± Sarah nodded. ¡°Anything else? Fingernails?¡± ¡°Chipped,¡± Sarah replied curtly, then turned to rejoin her team. Evelyn lingered for a moment before calling out, ¡°Is Eric here yet?¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°My partner.¡± ¡°Oh, yeah. He went to look for witnesses.¡± Nodding sharply, Evelyn began moving through the scene, taking in every detail. As she left the alley, a whistle broke through the air. She followed the sound to find Eric leaning casually against a lamppost, cigarette in hand. Evelyn marched up to him and snatched the cigarette from his lips, taking a drag. ¡°I¡¯m not a dog.¡± Eric smirked, raising an eyebrow. ¡°For someone who claims not to know love, you sure do kiss.¡± He stretched out a hand. ¡°Mind giving it back?¡± "No." She exhaled sharply, smoke curling between them as her eyes dared him to continue. ¡°What¡¯ve you got so far?¡± He sighed, pulling another cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. ¡°The guy who found the body? Frankie Dell. Homeless¡ªclaims it¡¯s temporary. Says he came into the alley to take a piss and found her. For now, he¡¯s a suspect. If this turns out to be rape, we might already have our guy.¡± ¡°Surveillance?¡± Evelyn pressed. ¡°The only camera nearby belongs to Amber Beans.¡± He gestured lazily toward the caf¨¦. ¡°Did you ask them for foot¡­¡± ¡°Of course,¡± he replied, cutting her off with a smirk. ¡°But here¡¯s the kicker¡ªI asked everyone in the area if they heard screams. Nothing. Patrol already went door-to-door, same story. No one heard a damn thing. Strange, huh?¡± He took a long drag. ¡°Judging by the way the killer removed her organs, I¡¯d bet this is their first time. Amateur work. Messy. Let¡¯s hope forensics can solve the case by themselves.¡± Evelyn¡¯s tongue clicked as she threw the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her feet.
Meanwhile, in Zone G¡ªan outskirt district to the northwest¡ªits poor status was painfully evident. The air reeked, was a result of local neglect as residents dumped garbage in the streets for collection. Stray dogs rummaged through the trash, spreading it further until the roads were layered with filth. Yet, ironically, it was one of the safest zones in the city. Crime was low, though starvation often claimed lives instead. Every corner held a begging hand¡ªpleading for money, food, or anything. The walls were plastered with graffiti, cursing the country, cursing the new laws, writing verses of the holy book that promises hell upon the rich who ignore their pleas for the sake of unnecessary items, and philosophical musings. One line scrawled in large, uneven letters caught the light: ¡°The only blessing of being worthless is not attracting evil.¡± In a cramped apartment on one of its blocks, music blared as Johan danced between the table and kitchen counter, preparing a simple breakfast of tea, bread, and scrambled eggs. His spirits were high after landing a client yesterday, and he sang along with the music.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. (thud) A loud knock came from the floor below, accompanied by muffled shouts. ¡°Shut up! It¡¯s seven in the morning!¡± Johan imagined. His eyes widened briefly before he turned the volume down with a sheepish grin. Once he finished eating, he grabbed his keys and headed toward his car. Sliding into the driver¡¯s seat, Johan glanced around the gloomy streets and muttered to himself, ¡°This zone is so damn depressing.¡± With a sigh, he started the engine and drove off. The scenery gradually shifted as he entered Zone B. The cracked, uneven roads gave way to smooth, well-paved streets. Johan rolled down the window, letting fresh air flood the car. He inhaled deeply and smiled. ¡°Now that¡¯s oxygen.¡± Then he passed by David and Abigail¡¯s house, slowing down as a thought crossed his mind: Did they manage to solve their issue? His gaze lingered on their door when something caught his eye¡ªa black car with tinted windows parked nearby, its lights still on. Curious, he leaned closer, squinting for a better look. That¡¯s when he noticed the small siren affixed to the side. ¡°Detectives?¡± Shaking his head, he leaned back into his seat and resumed his speed, leaving the scene behind as he headed toward his office in Zone A. Meanwhile inside that car, ¡°What are we waiting for?¡± Evelyn asked, shifting impatiently in her seat. Eric smirked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ¡°Oh, I thought you weren¡¯t ready.¡± She turned to him, narrowing her eyes and pressing her lips into a thin line, silently screaming, Really? Without waiting for her reply, he pushed the door open. Both detectives stepped out and headed toward the house. Evelyn rang the doorbell, as her partner began knocking aggressively on the door. ¡°Chill,¡± she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. A few moments later, David opened the door, his eyes heavy, barely open. Clean bandages wrapped around his hands, and the sharp scent of alcohol lingered in the air. "Who are you?" he asked. The detectives exchanged a glance before flashing their badges. They stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, their eyes immediately scanning the pristine living room. ¡°You¡¯re Abigail Foster¡¯s husband, right?¡± Evelyn asked, her gaze locking onto his. David hesitated, his lips parting as if to answer, but before he could, She continued. ¡°We have a few questions.¡± Both detectives took a seat on the worn sofa, motioning for him to sit as well. David complied, his body trembling slightly. He sat on the edge of the chair, his hands fidgeting in his lap. ¡°Did something happen?¡± He stammered. Eric leaned forward. ¡°We are investigating your wife¡¯s death?¡± When the words hit him. His breath caught, then came in ragged bursts, as though his chest had forgotten how to function. His hands trembled slightly, not enough to be overtly noticeable, but enough to betray the tightness in his grip. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. The silence stretched longer than it should have. All the while the detectives narrowed their eyes absorbing every movement. His eyes flickered toward the detective, then quickly down to his lap, his fingers tapping the edge of the chair nervously "How... how did it happen?" The words stumbled out, as he cursed himself inwardly for the hesitation. They didn¡¯t answer. The air around him thickened, and he rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes, blurred, darted everywhere but at the detectives. Eric began taking notes, the sharp scratch of his pen cutting through, as Evelyn kept her gaze fixed on the husband, the weight of her stare heavy before she finally broke the silence. "I''m sorry for your loss." Her gentle voice and soft tone unraveled something deep within him. Before he could stop it, tears welled in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks in quiet surrender. ¡°When did you last see her?¡± she added. ¡°Yesterday. At 2 Pm when we had dinner,¡± he replied his voice low barely audible. ¡°Where were you and what did you do, after that?¡± Eric asked. David choked back a sob, and wiped his tears, glancing up. "I went to see a private detective at 3 PM. Then work from 4 to 8. After that¡­ I went to a bar. On my way back, I passed by 21st Street. Her car was there, so I stayed for a while, but I was drunk... I didn¡¯t think it through. Around midnight, I headed home.¡± His voice trailed off as he lowered his head into his hands. ¡°So she¡¯s dead.¡± His eyes were wide open, fixated on the floor as if absorbing every pattern. ¡°Does your wife usually stay late?¡± Evelyn asked, her tone sharp. ¡°No.¡± ¡°If this was unusual, why didn¡¯t you call the police? And why were you drunk? What was she doing on 21st Street?¡± Evelyn leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing. David shifted uncomfortably, as Eric glared at her, his lips curling in frustration. One question at a time, dumbass, he thought. "She was cheating," David blurted out, his voice hollow. Tightening his grip, knowing it was too late, he continued, "The private detective confirmed it. I found her lover through social media¡ªhe¡¯s on 21st Street. When I was drunk, I... just found myself there." Evelyn pointed to the bandages. ¡°And those injuries?¡± ¡°I did it to myself. A wall.¡± his gaze distant, Evelyn tilted her head to meet his eyes and as soon as she opened her mouth, Eric placed a hand on her shoulder. Cutting her off, asking ¡°Can you give us his address?¡± David nodded weakly. Then the detectives stood, thanking him for his cooperation before heading to the door, with the address in hand. As Evelyn was about to walk out, Johan walked in. They exchanged a glance from the corners of their eyes, and a step later, Evelyn turned sharply. ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked, her tone demanding. Johan showed his badge. ¡°Private detective,¡± he said, dismissing her with a wave. But Evelyn leaned in closer, squinting. ¡°What the hell is this? It resembles ours. You¡¯re not official, you piec¡ª¡± ¡°It says private investigator here¡­¡± ¡ª he tapped the title ¡ª ¡°¡­see?¡± ¡°I could care less. You¡¯re supposed to show your business card. this is ...¡± She clicked her tongue, then sighed before veering toward their car. ¡°What brings you here?¡± A hollow voice cut through the tense atmosphere. ¡°I heard what happened, so I came to check on you.¡± Johan strode to the kitchen, preparing coffee while his eyes remained locked on David, as he thought. Yesterday, I assumed you were passive, someone incapable of violence, I still do, but is it a coincidence, that the moment you discovered the truth she dies? Well... Once the coffee was ready, he approached, crouching beside him. ¡°Can you tell me what happened?¡± ¡°No, I just did.¡± David¡¯s voice was firm. ¡°Not as a detective, but as a friend. ¡± Johan sipped his coffee. "friend? I don''t even know you" ¡°Fair enough, but I know you. Your daughter will be home from school at 12, right? Let your emotions out, no matter how even by fighting.¡± As soon as Johan finished his sentence, David threw a punch, landing squarely on his lips. The mug Johan had been holding scattered to the ground. But he didn¡¯t fight back as David climbed on top, fists raining down, his eyes red with fury. ¡°Why is this happening to me? Why?¡± David screamed. While Johan thought to himself, So, you are capable of losing control. I hope you¡¯re innocent, I really do. But you failed the test. The door creaked open, snapping David out of his berserk state. A 14-year-old girl stepped inside, her eyes widening at the sight of her father collapsed on the floor beside a stranger with a bloodied face. She froze for a moment, then shouted, grabbing a broom for defense. ¡°What¡¯s going on? Who are you?¡± Johan smiled faintly, his lips swollen. ¡°At this point, his punching bag¡±
Meanwhile, Eric and Evelyn parked their car near an apartment building on 21st Street. ¡°It¡¯s the 7th on the 3rd floor,¡± Eric said, as he got out of the car. Evelyn followed, her boots crunching against the gravel. The cool air wrapped around her, offering a soothing embrace. The apartment building loomed ahead, its dull gray facade blending with the overcast sky. Eric was already walking toward the entrance when his phone rang. ¡°Hold on,¡± he said, pulling it from his pocket. A gentle smile crossed his face as he answered. ¡°Hey, love,¡± he said softly, his tone so warm it caught Evelyn off guard. She followed behind, pretending not to listen, but her eyes darted toward him. The way he was bouncing back and forth, his tone full of excitement. That was different¡ªsomething she never knew a detective was capable of. When the call ended, Eric slipped the phone back and turned to her, catching her staring. Her gaze snapped away, but it was too late. ¡°Are you jealous?¡± he teased, a grin tugging at his lips. ¡°No,¡± she shot back. He raised an eyebrow, waiting. ¡°Yes.¡± He patted her back. ¡°Listen, junior. There is nothing wrong with you, you are just different.¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°A homeless is different too, nothing wrong with him.¡± Before snapping ¡°Except he doesn¡¯t have a home!¡± her partner let out a chuckle.¡°Romance is about understanding one another, about finding comfort in their company. Every human wants that and is capable of it." Eric said, his voice softening. ¡°Someday, you¡¯ll find someone who sees all of you. Not parts¡ªeverything.¡± With a gentle smile, he pushed her ahead lightly. Signaling to the mission they have in hand. At their destination, the door was ajar. Both detectives froze, their eyes meeting briefly before Eric called out, ¡°Ryan?¡± No response. Guns drawn, they entered cautiously. The apartment was a mess¡ªdrawers yanked open, papers scattered across the floor. And in the center of the living room lay Ryan, the alleged lover, dead.
Fragments Beneath the Surface Zone B, David Walker''s house. ¡°Martha? Why are you here so early?¡± David asked, his voice cracking. ¡°Teacher had something urgent.¡± She let the broom fall against the wall with a faint clatter. Her gaze darted to the broken mug on the floor and Johan beside it before returning to David. Her tone sharpened as she added, ¡°Why are you fighting this stranger? And¡­is Mom home?¡± David¡¯s gaze dropped. The weight of her question forced his head down, his shoulders heavy as he approached his daughter. Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, his lips parted to speak, but no words came out, just the sharp, acrid scent of alcohol on his breath. Martha instinctively flinched, recoiling as her nose curled in disgust, but it was brief. Her sharp mind pieced things together, and panic lit her features. "It can¡¯t be. It can¡¯t be," she whispered, her voice breaking as her legs threatened to give out. She stumbled upstairs toward her mother¡¯s bedroom, her chest tightening. Her wide eyes glistened with terror, refusing to blink. David followed closely behind her, his steps heavy with guilt and dread. Meanwhile, Johan struggled to his feet, gingerly touching the cut on his upper lip. The sharp sting of pain, oddly enough, brought a moment of clarity, a strange kind of solace. He let out a shaky breath and turned his attention to the mess beneath him. Picking up the broom, Johan began to sweep the broken mug fragments and wipe the splashes of coffee and blood from the floor. His thoughts spiraled. Is this my fault? For believing people are capable of understanding one another? Why did I take that goddamn job? If I hadn¡¯t, I could stay apathetic, like when I hear the news. Now¡­ now I feel like a killer. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision, and spilled down his cheeks in silence. He didn¡¯t bother wiping them away. Johan leaned the broom against the wall and stood still for a moment, staring at the now-spotless floor as though searching for something invisible¡ªhis sense of relief. Sighing, he headed for the door, and just as his hand touched the handle, Martha¡¯s cries echoed through the house, sharp and heart-wrenching. Johan, taken by surprise, froze for a moment, then faintly smiled. It all starts from here. He stepped outside, inhaling deeply. The cool air hit his lungs like a purifier, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension inside the house.
Meanwhile, Zone B, 21st Street, Ryan¡¯s apartment: Guns drawn, they entered cautiously. The apartment was a disaster¡ªdrawers ripped open, papers scattered across the floor. Dust clung to the stale air, and a forgotten mug sat on the table; its contents had turned sour, adding a faint bitterness to the atmosphere. In the center of the living room lay Ryan, the alleged lover, twisted unnaturally in his own pool of blood, his face pale, eyes half-open, and his expression frozen, crafting a haunting stare. Evelyn stepped closer, narrowing her eyes, her brows furrowed as she crouched to check his breathing. But as she leaned in, she noticed something disturbing: his throat had been slit, the wound almost identical in width to Abigail''s. Bruises marred his body, clear marks of blunt force, likely from bare fists. Her head recoiled slightly. Double murder? Her eyes flicked around, searching for Eric, but he wasn¡¯t there. Instead, he was storming through the apartment, room by room, checking closets, peeking under beds, and scanning every shadow for a hidden figure. Then, faint voices echoed from the bathroom. His heart quickened as he raised his gun, kicking the door open with a loud crash. To his surprise, it wasn¡¯t a suspect; it was an orange cat. Startled, the feline bolted past him, aiming for the front door. Unbelievable. He shook his head before continuing to secure the apartment. Checking the windows next for a possible escape route, but they had iron bars. He let out a sigh of relief, as no other potential exit was found. He returned to the living room and found Evelyn standing outside on the covered walkway, her hand reaching out to the gray sky. He stepped toward her. "Did you call for backup?" he asked. Evelyn lowered her hand, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "Yes," she replied, her voice weak. Eric reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He offered her one, and she accepted, placing it between her lips as he struck a lighter, igniting the tip for her. Taking a long drag, she exhaled the smoke slowly, as if releasing her sorrow, her voice trembling as she noted, "Most people are rotten by default, factory setting." A hollow chuckle escaped before she narrowed her eyes. "I¡¯m tired of this." Eric¡¯s expression softened. His gaze fell on the people walking below, watching. He spoke quietly. "This is the beginning of your career. The hardest part." Her vision blurred, the weight of his words sinking in, but she spoke back only internally. It will always be hard. I don''t want to accept this as a routine occurrence. I don''t want to. While their minds were in turmoil, they stood there in silence, guarding the front door, before the sounds of sirens grew louder, slicing through and pulling them out of their distorted thoughts.
Meanwhile, at Amber Beans: Two friends sat at an outdoor table on the far side, sipping tea. The fresh scent of mint wafted through the air, soothing their moods as they casually bounced between topics. Their faces flickered with every emotion, from hysterical laughter to empathic sobbing. One had a burn mark beneath his left eye; the other, Nathan, a striking figure with an easy charm, occasionally broke their conversation to discreetly glance at the women passing by, his gaze trailing them until they disappeared from view. ¡°About that girl you met the other day¡ªthe one who ghosted you,¡± the scarred man began, consuming his tea absently. ¡°What¡¯s your plan?¡± "Not sure," Nathan replied, his voice drifting. "She¡¯s the woman of my dreams. She fears God, that one," he said, his voice softening. His gaze drifted as if conjuring an image. In his mind, Evelyn stood before him, radiant in a wedding dress.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. The scarred man clicked his tongue, and the sound echoed, breaking Nathan out of his reverie. ¡°She¡¯s a detective, you know? Saw her this morning in the alley.¡± Nathan¡¯s head snapped toward him, his eyes widening and brows shooting up. ¡°What? No way. She told me she was a teacher.¡± His voice cracked; a mixture of shock, confusion, and anger. His friend let out a long breath, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, she¡¯s a detective. Probably lying to keep you off her trail. Honestly¡­¡± He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "She¡¯s defying God, an apostate. Women have their place at home, maybe nurses or teachers. Not detecti..." Nathan cut him off, slamming his fist on the table, causing tea to spill. His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath. "That bitch. I¡¯ll make her pay." The scarred man leaned back, watching Nathan¡¯s anger unfold with a sly smile. "Oh, you sure will," he said, then his expression darkened. "But before that, Little Sammy said he has a better plan."
Hours later, near Ryan¡¯s apartment: Evelyn and Eric leaned against the cold metal of their car, watching as Ryan¡¯s body was loaded into the coroner¡¯s van. The air had turned thick with the scent of wet asphalt as raindrops began to splatter against their jackets. The street was quiet, save for the hum of idling engines and the faint sound of rain hitting the car''s roof as well as the ground. They waited in silence for the patrol officers to bring any shred of good news¡ªa witness, a lead, anything. Eric, sensing her state of mind, glanced up at the clouds and quipped, ¡°The sky¡¯s spitting on our worthlessness.¡± But Evelyn didn¡¯t reply. She didn¡¯t even seem to hear him. Her gaze was distant, her mind replaying their interaction with David, over and over, analyzing every detail, every facial expression. Then she muttered, ¡°Was it guilt? Shock?¡± Eric lowered his gaze to her, his eyes softening. ¡°Don¡¯t bother, not until we confirm his story.¡± ¡°And why¡¯d he give us the address?¡± she asked, her voice quiet, barely audible over the soft patter of rain. Eric huffed a dry laugh. ¡°Finally snapped out of your bubble, huh?¡± His gaze locked with hers, noticing the slight tremor in her pupils and the way her hair clung to her face, dripping with the now heavy downpour. He waited for her to say something before clicking his tongue in frustration. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that look.¡± With a resigned sigh, he swung the door open and climbed in. Evelyn followed. The tires splashed against the wet pavement as they pulled away, heading toward downtown, Zone H.
Two hours later: The rain had stopped, leaving only the lingering dampness in the air as they found themselves at the entrance of downtown. This was the city¡¯s pristine heart, the safest, where the rich lived behind towering skyscrapers and vast corporate headquarters, a place where patrol officers outnumbered the residents. Evelyn leaned her head against the window, watching the clean streets and children playing carelessly, unbothered by the need for parental supervision. She slipped on her earphones, cranking the volume up to the max. The harsh, aggressive notes of metal music blasted through, vibrating through her chest and filling the car with a pounding rhythm that made Eric glance at her every now and then. As they neared the police headquarters, the noise grew louder. The roar of a crowd filled the air, angry voices rising in protest at the entrance. They shouted accusations of incompetence, their chants ringing out against the police force¡¯s failure to contain the Red Hand¡¯s growing power in the city''s other zones. Eric slowed the car, nudging Evelyn awake as he parked just before them. As soon as they stepped out, journalists swarmed, microphones shoved in their faces. ¡°What¡¯s the future of Brimstone (Zone K)? After retreating and allowing the Red Hand¡­¡± one reporter began, but Eric pushed through, gripping Evelyn''s hand briefly as they made their way inside. Before the journalists could follow, police officers forced their way through, aggressively clearing the area. Tear gas grenades erupted, sending acrid smoke into the air. The screams of protestors and innocent bystanders surged as the tear gas burned the eyes of those caught in its path. Evelyn¡¯s lips curled in disgust. Where was this violence in Brimstone? What a joke. Anger boiled from within as she shook her head, but it wasn¡¯t enough to calm her down. She stormed inside the building, slamming the door shut with a resounding bang. The remaining officers, startled, glanced at her in unison. ¡°Eric, Evelyn, come.¡± A demanding voice cut through the tension. It was their superior, Captain Thomas Harris, waving them over. The moment they stepped into his office, a heavy, cloying scent of perfume hit them. Floral, unmistakably feminine, it lingered in the air, mixing with the sterile smell of paper and old furniture. Beneath it all, there was something warmer, something earthy. Evelyn¡¯s eyes flicked to the corner of a slightly open drawer, catching a glimpse of white lace poking out. Her body stiffened, exchanging a glance with Eric, who seemed to notice it too. Their lips thinned into a straight line, and a silent understanding passed between them. They both turned their gaze, glaring sharply at the captain as they took their seats. Unfazed, Thomas lowered the blinds, leaned back in his chair, and smirked. ¡°Well, let¡¯s hear it.¡± Evelyn leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. ¡°We still don¡¯t have much so far, except...¡± ¡°Tututu. I don¡¯t want to hear that,¡± Thomas interrupted, waving his finger dismissively. Evelyn gritted her teeth, her hands balling into fists as she raised them in frustration, but before she could speak, Eric jumped in. ¡°We¡¯ve got a prime suspect, and we¡¯re waiting on the video analysis team to give us something. We¡¯ve narrowed down the time of...¡± ¡°What are your instincts?¡± Thomas cut him off, his voice sharp. Evelyn sighed, standing abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor as she strode out. ¡°Restroom. I¡¯ll be back.¡± Eric didn¡¯t give Thomas much chance to focus on his partner. ¡°I think it¡¯s the husband. He¡¯s got the motive, everything. Ryan Colls, the lover, was beaten with bare hands. That suggests a fight. The suspect has bandages on his hands.¡± ¡°And his wife?¡± Thomas raised an eyebrow, uninterested, tapping his fingers on his desk. ¡°I think he killed her,¡± Eric continued, his voice firm. ¡°Then he tried to cover it up by removing her organs, trying to make it look like some sort of cult ritual.¡± Thomas hummed, dismissing Eric with a lazy wave as he focused on his phone, texting his secretary. As Eric left, he spotted Evelyn in the corridor. He called after her, raising his hands and tilting his head in frustration. ¡°Don¡¯t do that.¡± ¡°Do what?¡± she replied, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, betraying her innocence.
Later, in Zone A: Johan left his office at midnight. The streets were deserted, the only sounds breaking the silence were the low growl of his engine and the steady chirping of nocturnal insects like cicadas and crickets that thrived in the green spaces of Zone A. ¡°No clients today,¡± he reminded himself, driving toward his home (Zone G). As he neared Amber Beans, a figure in a hoodie caught his attention, walking alone in the dim light. His brow furrowed as he squinted for a clearer view. It was a girl. His foot slammed the brake, bringing the car to an abrupt stop. The figure froze, her posture tense, ready to flee the moment Johan stepped out. He adjusted his car¡¯s mirror, angling it toward a lamppost nearby, and her face was reflected¡ªit was Martha Walker. His breath hitched, and his eyes widened as he flung the door open. But before he could speak to her, she bolted in the opposite direction, her screams shattering the stillness of the night. Johan gave chase, his footsteps pounding against the pavement as porch lights flashed on one by one. Neighbors peeked through windows, phones in hand, recording the commotion, yet no one dared to help. ¡°Stop screaming! It¡¯s me!¡± Johan shouted, his voice strained as he finally caught up to her. Grabbing her shoulders, he forced her to stop. ¡°It¡¯s me, the detective from this morning.¡± Martha gasped, clutching her chest as she collapsed to the ground, leaning heavily against the cool brick wall of a nearby house. ¡°I thought I was gonna die,¡± she exhaled, her voice shaking. Johan frowned, catching his breath as he straightened. ¡°If you¡¯re so scared, what are you doing here at this hour?¡± he asked sharply. ¡°I¡­ I was going to the police post. I don¡¯t have a¡­ phone to call. So I¡­¡± she stammered, her words breaking into pieces. Johan crouched beside her, his tone softening. ¡°Is everything alright?¡± Martha¡¯s eyes glistened, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Her voice cracked as she whispered, ¡°I think my dad is¡­ the killer.¡± Johan froze, his hands trembling on her shoulders. ¡°Why do you think that?¡± A faint, sharp sound pierced the tension, like a gasp cut short. Both their heads switched toward the source¡ªa phone, its lens glinting under the glow of a window, capturing their every word and movement. Pieces on the Board Johan ignored the neighbor filming them, held Martha''s hand, and helped her up, guiding her to his car. The sharp clicks of cameras echoed, matching the rhythm of their steps. Once they reached it, He climbed inside and started the engine. While Martha stood frozen, her tired eyes staring blankly at the road ahead, she clenched her fists tightly by her side, before finally entering the back. Johan adjusted his rearview mirror to meet her gaze, asking. "So, can you tell me?" Martha replied in a low voice, barely audible above the humming of the engine. "I locked myself in my room after learning what happ..." She clamped a hand over her mouth as if the event might change if she didn¡¯t speak it aloud. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "At night, I went downstairs to eat something. I saw my dad sleeping on the couch. I approached to cover him with a blanket. That''s when I heard¡­" Her eyes widened. "Heard what?" Johan asked, his voice gentle. "He was apologizing in his sleep, muttering, ''I''m sorry. I''m sorry, Abi. I didn''t want this to happen.''" Martha blurted out as tears streamed down her cheeks. Breaking down, unable to form any further words, but what she had said was enough for Johan to understand the situation. He left the driver¡¯s seat and joined her in the back. He patted her head gently, and then she collapsed onto his chest, her sobs muffled against his jacket. What a terrible day. What now? She¡¯s only 14. I can¡¯t take her with me. Should I take her back? Even if her father is the killer, he won¡¯t be a mindless one. But what if she can¡¯t hide her suspicions? Will it really be okay? Johan glanced down, his gaze fixed on her curly hair, symbolizing her turbulence, while his thoughts wandered. If I take her to the police, they will just send her home anyway. He sighed heavily, the sound brushing against Martha¡¯s ear, stirring her awake. She blinked up at him, her red-rimmed eyes still glossy. Johan met her gaze, his voice low and careful. "It could be¡­ frustration, maybe. Something he blames himself for. Not everything means what it sounds like, Martha." "Frustration?" Martha replied, leaning away and leaving a trail of tears on his jacket. "Maybe¡­ he feels like he failed her." Johan held her gaze, waiting for a sign that his words had reached her. Her lips pressed into a thin line, trembling as though holding back another sob. Faith in her father wouldn¡¯t come easily; he could see it in her haunted expression. "How about this: I move in to live with you two. I''ll spend as many nights as you¡¯d like until the investigation is over." Martha¡¯s eyes darted around with a mix of hope and doubt. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, then paused for a moment, her eyes fixed on the palms of her hand, before replying, her voice trembling. "You¡¯d really do that? Stay with us?" He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Johan returned to the driver¡¯s seat, and to his surprise, Martha followed, sitting beside him. Starting the engine, Johan glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was motionless, her hands clutched tightly in her lap, her tear-streaked face locked on the road, and her gaze penetrating a dark alley ahead. Why is she trusting me? Because I¡¯m a PI? ¡­ Teenagers. And now I need to convince David. What a drag.
Johan lowered a window for fresh air as they drove in silence through the dark, empty streets. When they reached her home, Johan turned off the engine. "We¡¯re here," he said, stepping out and shutting the door with a soft thud. Martha¡¯s fingers trembled, hovering over her seatbelt, but he didn¡¯t give her much time to hesitate. He quickly walked around to her side and opened the door. Stretching out his right hand, he waited, but she didn¡¯t take it. Instead, she lowered her gaze and pushed herself out, the cold night air brushing against her skin and sending her hair flying. They walked toward the house together side by side, and stopped in front of the door, neither moving. Johan waited for Martha to open it, while Martha stood frozen, waiting for Johan to knock¡ªonly then remembering she had forgotten her keys. Their glances met, a flicker of uncertainty passing between them before Johan broke the quiet tension. "Aren¡¯t you going to open it?" "I forgot the keys," she muttered, her index fingers brushing together, and her face blushing, in a timid, almost apologetic gesture. Johan let out a faint chuckle. "Do you want me to knock? Or do you still need some time?" Before she could answer, the door creaked open. Standing there was David, his hair sticking up in all directions, eyes half-open and squinting against the harsh hallway light. He blinked at them slowly before opening the door wider and heading upstairs without a word. Johan strode into the kitchen, opening the fridge. "Oh, there¡¯s some pizza here." He glanced back at Martha, who was still standing near the doorway. "You want some?" She nodded and shuffled to the dining table, the wooden chair creaking loudly as she sat down. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet house. Johan reheated the pizza, plating it neatly before serving it to her with a playful tone. "Here you go, my lady."Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. A hollow giggle escaped her. "How about you?" "I¡¯m good. I already ate." "There¡¯s no harm in having more." "A detective shouldn¡¯t get fat." Martha burst out laughing, the sound so sudden and unrestrained that it traveled upstairs, reaching David¡¯s room who was Lying on his bed, a faint smile crossing his face. "Thank you, Johan." Meanwhile, at the table, Martha had been eating but suddenly froze midway through a slice of pizza. Her grip slackened, and the piece slipped from her fingers, landing back on the plate with a soft thud. "Am I being unfair to my father?" she murmured, her gaze fixed on the fallen slice. "I can¡¯t help it. It bothe¡ª" "Just eat and focus on what¡¯s in front of you," Johan interrupted, nudging her shoulder. His faint smile softened his voice. "You¡¯ve got enough on your plate already. Let¡¯s take it one step at a time, okay?" She hesitated for a moment, then picked up the slice again and resumed eating in silence.
Three hours earlier, Zone D, Evelyn''s apartment. The apartment was quiet, mirroring the loneliness Evelyn carried within her. She lay on her bed, forcing herself to sleep, shutting her eyes, and shifting restlessly, but the day¡¯s events refused to leave her alone. Abigail¡¯s dead body haunted her mind¡ªthe gash on her throat, her missing heart. With a frustrated sigh, she stood and left the bed, making her way to the library. A small reading room surrounded by glass, soundproofed, and rarely ventilated. The air filled with the stale scent of paper and untouched books. Evelyn pulled a worn French book from the shelf: Le Dernier Jour d''un Condamn¨¦ (The Last Day of a Condemned Man). Sitting at her desk, she opened a marked page, her gaze falling on a sentence: ¡°On m¡¯a condamn¨¦ ¨¤ mort, mais personne ne sait vraiment pourquoi. La justice est un jeu, et j¡¯en suis le perdant.¡± (¡°I was condemned to death, but no one really knows why. Justice is a game, and I am the loser.¡±) What are you trying to tell me, Hugo? A faint smile touched her tired face. ¡°How am I supposed to clear my mind reading this?¡± she muttered. Closing the book, she stood to pick up another one when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out, and the screen glowed with a message: "Can¡¯t sleep? Come join your neighbor for dinner." A wide smile replaced her frown as she quickly typed back: "You¡¯re not going to rant about your romantic partners, are you?" "No." Evelyn laughed, slipping the phone back into her pocket. Without changing from her pajamas or fixing her unkempt hair, she rushed to the apartment across the hall and knocked. The door opened to reveal Sarah, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Why are you knocking on my door in that condition? What if I was hitting on you?" ¡°Even better,¡± Evelyn replied with an exaggerated grin as she pushed past her into the apartment. "Then you¡¯d change your mind." Sarah snorted, closing the door behind her. Her apartment was a stark contrast to Evelyn¡¯s, it was vibrant, artistic, and filled with color. Teddy bears sat in each corner of the living room, her self-proclaimed spirit animals. Evelyn¡¯s plain and gloomy apartment suddenly felt worlds away. Evelyn walked straight to the small plastic dining table and sat down. "Bring me food, servant." Sarah laughed, heading to the kitchen. She returned moments later with a large plate piled high with pasta. The portion was so enormous that a few strands spilled to the floor as she set it down with a loud thud. Evelyn¡¯s eyes widened. "Considering your job, I¡¯m surprised." "What can I say? I haven¡¯t eaten since last night. That victim¡­ she was in bad shape." "Okay, we get it. Just shh." "I¡¯m just saying," Sarah teased, twirling a forkful of pasta. "I thought you¡¯d be in a much worse shape, considering you¡¯re new to this." "I¡¯m a detective, Sarah. How could I do my job if I didn¡¯t know how to move on? Though¡­" Evelyn paused, setting her fork down. "I can¡¯t sleep." Sarah raised an eyebrow. "So, any leads?" Evelyn nodded. "Yes, everything points to the husband, though something feels off. I sensed sadness in him, more than guilt or anger. Like he didn¡¯t want this to happen. But¡­" She trailed off, grabbing a towel to wipe her mouth. "The crime scene doesn¡¯t match. The killer went too far. There were no signs of hesitation." Sarah chewed thoughtfully, her mouth still full of pasta. "Could it be he hired someone? Or a group? Maybe he went to 21st Street to call it off, but it was too late." Evelyn chuckled, shaking her head. "Stop embarrassing me. I¡¯m supposed to be the detective here." "A doctor has a brain too, you know," Sarah shot back with a smirk. Once they finished eating, they cleaned the living room together before flopping onto the sofa. A random movie played in the background as Sarah absentmindedly cuddled Evelyn¡¯s hair, helping her fall asleep.
Next day, Zone H. Downtown, Police headquarters. On the first floor at the end of the main hallway, there was an office, with desks covered in stacks of papers and files, and bright morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, creating thin stripes of light on the floor. Inside, the faint smell of stale coffee hung in the air, mingling with unrecognizable murmurs and chatters drifting through the walls. Eric and Evelyn sat at a desk facing a large monitor, watching clips of CCTV footage. Across from them, an analyst navigated through the recordings, pausing at key moments. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he explained. "You see here," he said, pointing at the screen, "he was near the crime scene. He sat for about twenty minutes by the side of the road. His movements are erratic; signs of anger." The analyst replayed the footage to show the suspect pacing back and forth. "Then he moved towards the alley. However, we can¡¯t confirm if he entered it or continued straight. The absence of cameras is really¡­" He let out a resigned sigh, lowering his hands in frustration before switching to the next clip. "This footage is from the bar," he continued, pulling up grainy footage. "You can see he left at 10 PM." He switched to the final clip. "Here, on 21st Street, he¡¯s near his wife¡¯s vehicle. He attempted to get in and kept looking inside." The analyst fast-forwarded slightly. "He kicked a trash can and disappeared from view." Evelyn stood from her chair, the metal scraping loudly against the floor. She exhaled heavily, rubbed her temples, then glanced at Eric. He was leaning closer to the screen, his brow furrowed in thought. "No suspicious figures?" Evelyn asked, breaking the silence. The analyst shook his head. "No." "Thank you. You can go," Evelyn said, dismissing him with a wave. As the analyst left, a sharp knock at the door broke the quiet. Eric looked up and shouted, "Come in!" A patrol officer entered, his uniform slightly wrinkled. "Detectives, a witness claimed he saw the victim entering an alley with someone." Evelyn¡¯s eyes widened. "Is he here?" The officer nodded. "Let him in," Eric said quickly. A man in his thirties entered, short, and wearing glasses. His unkempt hair and darting eyes gave him a slightly messy appearance, matching the faint, stale odor that drifted off his unwashed clothes. "Please, sit," Evelyn said, gesturing to the chair in front of Eric''s desk. The man sat, shifting uncomfortably as Eric began. "What¡¯s your name?" "Sam Benson." "Okay, Sam, can you tell us what you saw?" Sam nodded. "Yeah. I saw a guy dragging her into the alley around midnight." Evelyn straightened from the distance, her voice sharp. "And why did you ignore that?" Sam raised his hands defensively, his lips puckering. "I thought she was a prostitute or something," he said awkwardly. "You know¡­ public sex or whatever." Evelyn dropped back into her chair with a heavy sigh, pressing a palm to her face. Eric, however, remained calm. He slid a photo of David across the desk toward Sam. ¡°Take a look. Is this him?¡± Sam¡¯s eyebrows shot up, his eyes widened, and his dirty fingers trembled as he picked up the photo. "Yeah, that¡¯s him! Wow, you¡¯re already on him. You detectives are cool!" Evelyn exchanged a glance with Eric, their eyes meeting in mutual understanding, and a faint smile tugged at Eric¡¯s lips. One step closer.