Page 46 of Rest In Peace

"Nicki was scared, Ryan. She packed a bag. She called a friend up north and said she was coming to visit. That was her last call, remember? She was scared enough to reach out to anyone who'd listen. That fear—it wasn't just paranoia. It was real."

"Real?" There was a venomous bite to his question. "How do you know? You weren't there. You didn't see her?—"

"Did you?" I interrupted, firm and unyielding. "Or are you just choosing to see what you want to see?"

"Dammit!" The sound of something—a fist, perhaps—striking wood reverberated through the receiver. "Sarah was holding the gun in her hand when Adam came into the bedroom. Her fingerprints were all over the weapon! Nicky felt overwhelmed and wanted to get away. Her lover had just been killed."

"Overwhelmed," I agreed softly. "By secrets. By lies. By someone who wanted her silent."

"Silent…" he trailed off, his anger momentarily diffused by doubt.

"Adam had motive, means, and opportunity," I continued relentlessly. "Look at it, Ryan. Really look."

"Look?" His voice hardened once more. "I have looked. What I see is someone trying to make sense of a senseless tragedy."

"Senseless?" I countered. "Or meticulously planned?"

"Stop!" The word was a command, an explosion of frustration.

"Stop?" My gaze fell upon the photo of Nicki, her smile haunted now by the knowledge of her fate. "No, Detective. We can't stop. Not until this is resolved. Not until justice is served."

"Justice…" Ryan's voice faded into a murmur, wrestling with the weight of my words.

"Justice," I affirmed, knowing the risks but bound to the pursuit of truth. "And I intend to find it, with or without your blessing."

My hand slid across the cluttered surface of my desk, fingers brushing the edges of papers scrawled with timelines and connections. “A man being murdered in his home and soon after the woman next door is shot too? And they were involved with one another? It’s not rocket science. Besides, I don’t believe in coincidences.”

"Coincidences?" Ryan's voice crackled over the line, a sure sign of his patience fraying. "Or are you just seeing what you want to see? Because you’re bored or need an escape.”

"Am I?" The question lingered between us, challenging and demanding introspection. "Am I the one blinded by what I want, or is it you who can't afford to see the truth? Because then you’d actually have to do your job."

Silence followed—a stretched, brittle thing ready to snap.

"Nicki's death, Steven's—it's all connected, and you know it deep down. Adam isn't just mourning; he's hiding something. Can't you see that?" I wasn't pleading; I was stating a fact—one I wished he could acknowledge.

"Enough!" The shout from Detective Ryan was like a gunshot in the quiet. "You have no right?—"

"Rights?" I cut in sharply. "What about Nicki's rights? Steven's? Don't they deserve someone to dig deeper, to fight for the truth?"

"Truth…." There it was again—that hesitation, the softening at the edges of his resolve.

Detective Ryan's sigh crackled like static, a sound of surrender mixed with anger. "You're out of line," he ground out, the words heavy with a threat he had yet to voice.

"Perhaps," I conceded, "but I'm also on the right track. And you're letting your protocol blind you to possibilities. Need I remind you that Steven’s body had been moved? How did Sarah move him when she was still holding the gun? And the magazine was under the bed?"

"Protocol keeps order, keeps wild theories from clouding judgment," he retorted, but the conviction behind his words had begun to wane.

"Does it? Or does it keep us from asking the questions we're afraid to answer?" I asked.

"Damn you," he muttered after a prolonged quiet, his voice a low growl of defeat and exasperation. "Damn you for making me doubt."

"Good," I whispered, almost to myself. "Doubt is the first step toward finding the truth."

"Find your own damn truth," he spat out before the line went dead, a click echoing the finality of doors slamming shut in the corridors of justice.

The line's dead hum was a stark reminder that I was on my own. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and felt the cool air snake around me, ruffling the papers strewn across the desk. They were scribbled with notes, leads, and connections—all pointing to a truth that seemed to slip through my fingers like water.

"Risks," I murmured, tracing a finger over Nicki's last photo. Her smile, once radiant, was now a haunting question. It was a risk worth taking, I assured myself. The shadows in the room deepened as the day bled into twilight, my only audience to the silent vow I made.

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