I stretch my body across the couch,
dim lights hanging from the lamps above my head like a half-absent eye watching my drift.
Papers are arranged around me, enclosing me from every direction; to my right, Rosalina's file, beside it Robin's, and to my left, reports on Camila and Liam's movements.
My feet rest on the table before me, my back sunk into the couch, though my mind is nowhere near rest.
My pupils freeze on the words before me.
File – Case No. 6045/2025
Victim's Name: Robin Jones
Age: 58
Occupation: Teacher
Marital Status: Divorced
Date Body Discovered: May 16, 2025
Location: Apartment, first floor, Building 17, Berkeley Street – San Francisco
My eyes move slowly over the lines as if reading them for the first time—not as though I hadn't analyzed every possibility dozens of times before.
It still wasn't enough.
Report Details
At exactly 6:00 PM on May 16, 2025,
the victim was reported missing for over a day, having failed to attend work—unusual, according to colleagues and neighbors.
Upon entry, officers found the body lying face down on the bedroom floor.
I draw in a cold breath, then turn the page.
Forensic Report
The body was in an advanced state of decomposition; death estimated three to four days prior.
Cause of death: Seven stab wounds to the back, penetrating the thoracic vertebrae, resulting in respiratory failure, severe internal bleeding, and spinal cord damage.
Estimated time of death: Between 5:00 and 6:00 PM, three to four days before discovery.
A strange substance was found deposited in the liver—analysis revealed compounds commonly used in medications for aging and chronic illnesses the victim suffered from.
I study the crime scene photos, my mind involuntarily comparing them to those from Rosalina's case.
Doors and windows: intact.
My eyes halt, repeating the words over and over.
No signs of resistance.
No struggle. No blood spatter.
No signs of forced entry.
Blood traces:
Located only beneath the body.
Even after luminol testing, no visible blood was found beyond faint, scattered droplets across the scene.
My brows knit together—these details mirror Rosalina's with unsettling precision.
I pull the file away quickly. Something is wrong.
My hand reaches for Rosalina's file.
I flip through the pages rapidly, disrupting their neat order.
It's the same case—different names.
The same wounds.
The same stillness.
The same absence of resistance.
Like a signature… the killer's signature.
Even the same blade—long, likely a knife or dagger.
Even the age. The profession.
Colleagues.
They were together in life… and it seems, in death as well.
My fingers tighten slowly around the papers. No evidence… how is there not even blood spatter?
---
A fleeting shadow passes before me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Max steps out of the kitchen holding a cup of coffee, bruises still marking his face, dark circles beneath his eyes enough to tell how long his mind has been denied sleep.
I toss the papers aside, a faint smile forming.
"Your face still looks worse than the medical reports."
Max smiles lightly, pale, as he sits across from me.
I try to ease the tension. He's still distant since that night.
I stayed silent these past two weeks not to pressure him, but my curiosity won this time.
"What happened back at the station when I arrived?"
Max hums, sipping his coffee. His lips fall silent, eyes drifting somewhere distant before he speaks:
"At that moment… my body was on the ground. Pain wasn't the first thing I felt when my vision returned—at least, not physical pain.
Police sirens surrounded that narrow street, echoes of boots approaching. Isn't it humiliating… for your subordinates to see you lying there, beaten into the pavement?
Pain suddenly pulsed through the left side of my face. I tasted blood on my split lip before pushing it with my tongue… that metallic, rusted taste.
I grimaced—disgust and pain even in the smallest movement. I spat to the ground, closing my eyes for a moment.
Red and blue lights flooded the scene.
A voice above me:
'Max!'
Two figures approached as my back leaned against a wall, legs stretched out as I tried to breathe.
I placed my hand in one of theirs as he helped me up. The moment I stood, I swayed, clutching my stomach. I clenched my teeth, trying to suppress the pain.
I won't show weakness twice.
'Are you okay?'
An officer supported me, one arm around his neck, the other around my waist.
A rough, short laugh escaped me.
'Okay?'
I lifted my head slowly, my gaze falling on the gang members. Minutes ago, they surrounded me—now they were on their knees, hands cuffed behind their necks.
One of them shouted:
'That lunatic started it!'
I pushed away from the officer despite the pain, relying on my own legs as I wiped blood with the back of my hand.
I leaned against the police car, catching my breath. My ribs felt shattered as I watched the man who had been grinning with yellowed teeth.
Now he lay on the ground, nose bleeding heavily from my punch, still spitting insults at me with mocking eyes.
I coughed again, spitting more blood.
Cold fingers tapped my back.
'You should go to the hospital before heading to the station.'
I waved him off lightly in thanks, steadying myself against the car before sliding into the passenger seat.
I sink into the seat, closing my eyes, trying to forget. Even the pain in my body couldn't erase that image.
I glance at the mirror's reflection—an officer holding a bag of drugs, speaking into his radio:
'Drugs recovered in possession of suspects.'
So that's it.
The gang will be arrested.
But I don't think it's over.
The case is sealed—even if Internal Affairs takes over.
Still, it doesn't lift the weight on my chest.
My gaze drifts back to that apartment… to a window I know too well.
I'm sorry, Elin.
I couldn't think about the gang or the drugs—only one question I don't know whether I fear or need.
I couldn't escape it since I stepped inside.
Why were you there, Elin?"
---
After a long time, I arrived at the station where the investigation into my use of force began. Internal Affairs pressed me about protocol violations.
Attacking before backup arrived. Assaulting a suspect.
Questions… too many to remember, except my attempts to deny entering that apartment.
Time passed as I sat in the captain's office, holding an ice pack to my eye. Half my face had gone numb.
Alexander's slow steps toward his chair.
Silence weighed heavy as he flipped through the report. I straightened despite the pain, hiding it beneath stillness.
He closed the file, looking at me as I stared ahead.
"Don't you want to explain why you were there, Max?"
Silence.
"I received a report."
He raised an eyebrow mockingly.
"A report?"
"Didn't it also tell you to wait for backup?"
"If I had waited, I would've been killed."
A weak excuse. Even I knew it.
His faint smile vanished.
"As far as I know, you started the fight… and broke a man's nose."
"They were going to escape with the drugs."
He nodded.
"The gang will be charged with possession and assault on an officer."
Then added:
"And you violated protocol."
Footsteps echoed suddenly—Ethan entered.
Alexander glanced at him briefly, then back to me.
"You're suspended pending Internal Affairs review."
"For how long? A week?"
"A week… two… a month. Until it's done."
I stood beside Ethan, eager to leave the suffocating room.
"The department doesn't need two disasters in one month."
I pulled Ethan out before it became termination instead of suspension.
---
My phone buzz cuts through Max's voice.
He glances at it.
"I'm not going anywhere today until I find something. Kevin invited me to the opening of his new restaurant."
"You're not going?"
I shake my head.
"Not until I find something… something solid."
"Go. At least one of us still has a life."
I laugh faintly, standing up.
"By the way, Camila's back from Australia."
"I know. Joseph looked into it. She travels there every year, same time. Her mother grew up there."
Pause.
"But there's barely anything about her mother… or Camila's life before high school."
Max pats my shoulder.
"I'll handle that. Leave this case for now."
---
The hall was filled with politicians and businessmen.
Footsteps echoed—
"Ethan."
"Kevin."
We exchanged greetings, sat together.
Then I saw her.
Beside Anna.
My hand froze before lifting the wine glass.
I set it down slowly.
She was staring at me.
"Camila."
---
Which department investigated Max?
Internal Affairs—a division within the police responsible for investigating officer misconduct, ensuring adherence to law, and holding those accountable who abuse authority or violate procedures.