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In still waters. Natalie Shpet
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"Should we inform Jeffrey about what we've learned?" Christian asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
"Yes, but let's do that this afternoon. It's crucial we question Bradley first. We should head to his place right now." Nick was already halfway to the door when he noticed Christian's hesitation. His colleague was clearly struggling with how to delicately suggest that they both needed rest after their long day.
"Nick, it's five in the morning," Christian said gently. "Maybe we should at least go home for a few hours of sleep. We'll be sharper after some rest."
Nick paused, considering Christian's words. As much as he wanted to pursue this lead immediately, he knew his partner had a point. Exhaustion could lead to mistakes, and they couldn't afford any missteps at this critical juncture of the investigation.
"You're right, Christian," Nick conceded with a sigh. "The morning is wiser than the evening, as they say. Let's get some rest and hit this fresh in a few hours."
Chapter 6
The next day dawned bright and clear, a gentle breeze carrying the sweet songs of birds through the air. It seemed almost perverse that nature could be so beautiful in the wake of such tragedy.
Nick placed a call to Christian, instructing him to meet him directly at Bradley Force's residence rather than stopping by the station first. They converged on the southern part of town, an area known for its age and history. During the day, this neighborhood was typically quiet and peaceful, most residents away at work. The streets were lined with trees imported from Europe, lending the area a quaint, almost old-world charm. The houses were predominantly single-story structures, many clearly over three decades old.
Leaving their car parked at the curb, Nick and Christian approached a weathered, beige wooden house that had clearly seen better days. It stood slightly askew, its windows grimy and opaque. The scent of decaying wood hung in the air, a testament to years of neglect.
The detectives rang the doorbell, its muffled chime barely audible through the thick wooden door. After a moment, it creaked open to reveal a short, thin woman with gray hair cut close to her scalp. She wore a long, shapeless gray robe that seemed to swallow her diminutive frame. Nick estimated her age to be somewhere between sixty-five and seventy. Her face was set in an expression of extreme displeasure, as if their very presence on her doorstep was an affront.
This, Nick realized, must be Bradley Force's foster mother. Her lack of surprise at their visit spoke volumes – clearly, the police were not unfamiliar visitors to this household.
"What do you want?" the woman demanded, her voice high and grating.
"Good morning, ma'am," Nick began, striving for a polite tone despite the woman's hostility. "We need to speak with your son, Bradley. We have a few questions for him. May we come inside?"
"No!" she snapped, her voice rising even higher. "I haven't seen him in ages. I have no idea where he is or who he's with!"
Her words dripped with indifference, a stark contrast to the heated tone of her voice. At that moment, a black cat slunk out of the house, winding its way around the woman's ankles.
"Damned cat!" she exclaimed, scooping the animal into her arms. Without another word, she simply slammed the door in their faces.
"Well, she's clearly got some issues," Nick thought to himself, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.
"What now?" Christian asked, looking as perplexed as Nick felt.
"Steven's house isn't far from here," Nick mused. "Let's check there. Maybe our guy is hanging out with his buddy."
Steven's residence proved to be remarkably similar to Bradley's – another single-story structure showing clear signs of age and neglect. The only notable difference was its color, or what remained of it. Years of rain had stripped away so much of the paint that it was difficult to determine its original hue, leaving behind a mottled patchwork somewhere between blue and gray. A rusty, unlocked gate stood sentinel before the house.
They rang the doorbell several times, but were met with only silence. Nick took a walk around the perimeter, peering into windows and listening for any signs of life within. The house appeared to be completely vacant, giving the impression that it had been abandoned for quite some time.
"You know, Christian," Nick said, his voice laden with concern, "I really don't like the fact that these two have vanished right after Rose's death. Could they really be involved in this?"
Christian shrugged, his expression a mix of doubt and resignation. "I don't know what to think, Nick. These guys are Grade-A jerks, sure, but murder? Especially Rose, who they've known since school? She's the sheriff's daughter, for crying out loud. I can't imagine they'd have the guts for something like that."
"Maybe you're right," Nick conceded, though he couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. "But we still need to find them. Let's head over to Jeffrey's place, then back to the station. We need to dig deeper into Bradley and Steven's backgrounds. Clearly, our information on their current whereabouts is outdated."
As they made their way back to the car, Nick couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency. They needed to locate Bradley and Steven before Jeffrey took matters into his own hands. The grieving father's barely contained rage was a powder keg waiting to explode, and Nick feared what might happen if Jeffrey got to the suspects before the police did.
Chapter 7
Nick and Christian finally arrived at the Saltano residence, the weight of their fruitless search hanging heavy between them. As they approached the front door, it swung open to reveal Mary Saltano. The sight of her nearly stopped Nick in his tracks. In the short time since Rose's death, Mary seemed to have aged a decade. Her hair hung limp and lifeless, so dirty it resembled straw more than human hair. Her black loungewear, clearly unwashed for days, hung loosely on her frame. But it was her eyes that truly gave Nick pause – red-rimmed and swollen from endless tears, they seemed to bore into him with a single, desperate question:
"Have you found the killer?"
The raw anguish in her voice cut through Nick like a knife. He felt the full weight of their lack of progress, knowing he had little of substance to offer this grieving mother.
"Hello, Mary," Nick began, his voice gentle. "We're doing everything in our power, but I'm afraid we don't have any definitive answers yet. What we do know is that Bradley Force was likely the last person to see Rose alive. We have a witness who saw them together at the Green Vault bar. There seems to have been some kind of argument between them. We're trying to locate Bradley now, but it appears he and his friend Steven are no longer living at their known addresses."
Nick watched Mary carefully as he spoke, noting how she seemed to sway slightly on her feet, as if the weight of her grief might topple her at any moment. His heart ached for her, knowing all too well the inadequacy of his words in the face of such profound loss.
As Nick finished speaking, Jeffrey appeared behind Mary, dressed in his sheriff's uniform. From his expression, it was clear he had overheard everything. Without a word, he ushered the detectives into the living room. Christian's eyes widened slightly as he took in the garish red wallpaper, a stark contrast to the somber mood permeating the house. Nick, however, had eyes only for Mary, overwhelmed by the depth of her suffering. "God, you wouldn't wish this on your worst enemy," he thought to himself.
Jeffrey, barely containing his rage, began pacing the living room, muttering unintelligibly under his breath. Mary sank onto the couch, her head bowed, a picture of silent despair. Nick took a seat beside her, while Christian stood awkwardly at the entrance to the living room.
"Mary," Nick began gently, "can you tell me about Rose's relationship with Bradley?"
At the question, Mary's composure crumbled entirely. She buried her face in her hands, her body wracked with sobs as guilt seemed to consume her. Jeffrey, in stark contrast, erupted in a shout that echoed through the house:
"Our daughter