In still waters
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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 had nothing to do with that loser! They were just classmates, nothing more! I forbade her to associate with those two good-for-nothings. I told her they weren't her equals!"
"Jeffrey," Christian interjected, his voice calm but firm, "if that's the case, why was Rose with Bradley at the bar? Our witness reports an argument between them, followed by some kind of physical altercation."
Before Jeffrey could respond, Mary's voice cut through the tension, quiet but clear:
"Rose told me that Bradley had been persistently trying to court her. He'd been chasing after her since their school days, but Rose never reciprocated his feelings. I… I don't understand why she was with him that evening."
Jeffrey collapsed into an armchair opposite the couch, looking as if he'd been physically struck by this revelation.
"What? Why the hell didn't you tell me any of this before, Mary?" he snarled, his face contorting with a mixture of anger and betrayal. "I would have dealt with that punk long ago!"
"Rose begged me not to tell you," Mary replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she rubbed her knees nervously. "But who could have imagined he would… that he would kill our little girl?"
"Hold on," Nick interjected, his tone calm but authoritative. "Mary, let's not jump to conclusions. We can't say with certainty that Bradley is the killer. Right now, we have no concrete evidence against him, only the testimony of a witness who saw them together that evening."
Mary's sobs intensified, and suddenly she appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Her head was spinning, and she looked as if she might faint at any moment. Jeffrey, his anger momentarily forgotten, rushed to help his wife up to their bedroom on the second floor. He gently laid her on the bed, covering her with a blanket. Mary's body shook uncontrollably, prompting Jeffrey to give her a sedative to help her sleep.
"I don't want to live anymore, Jeff," Mary whispered, her voice fading as the sedative began to take effect. "I don't want to…"
Her words trailed off as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, the combination of exhaustion and medication finally overtaking her. Nick and Christian waited downstairs, and after a few minutes, Jeffrey descended the stairs, his face a mask of barely contained emotion.
"How's Mary holding up?" Nick asked, genuine concern in his voice.
"I gave her a sedative," Jeffrey replied, his tone flat. "She's asleep now."
"Alright, then Christian and I will head back to the station. We'll try to get more information on Bradley and Steven's whereabouts."
Jeffrey's demeanor suddenly shifted, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity. "Do whatever you want, but I have not a single doubt that he killed my daughter! I'll find him myself if I have to."
Nick felt a chill run down his spine at Jeffrey's words. The sheriff's mood was volatile, unpredictable. It felt as if he was planning something rash, something that could jeopardize the entire investigation.
"Jeffrey, please," Nick implored, his voice stern but tinged with understanding. "Don't do anything stupid. We'll sort this out ourselves, and whoever's responsible will answer to the full extent of the law." Nick and Christian were already at the door when Jeffrey advanced on them, his index finger raised in a threatening gesture.
"I am the law!" Jeffrey shouted, his face contorted with rage. "I'm the sheriff of this godforsaken town!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled, some of it landing on Christian's polished black shoes.
Christian grimaced in disgust, pulling a tissue from his jacket pocket to wipe his shoe clean. Nick tactfully pretended not to notice the exchange.
"Jeffrey, we understand your emotions," Nick said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "But please, try to calm down. Your wife needs you now more than ever. We'll keep you informed of any developments, alright?"
"Fine, agreed," Jeffrey replied, his glare still filled with malice. But behind his eyes, a different plan was already taking shape…
As soon as Christian and Nick left for the station, Jeffrey stormed out of the house and climbed into his pickup truck. He headed towards the outskirts of town, his mind racing with dark thoughts. Just before reaching the city limits, he veered left onto a narrow paved road that cut through a dense stretch of forest. After about a mile, he made a sharp right turn. There, in the middle of the woods, stood a large, imposing mansion.
Jeffrey harbored secrets that had long made him unpopular in town. Many suspected he took bribes and turned a blind eye to petty crimes, but his biggest secret was his connection to a particular gang known as the Hawks. This large, well-organized group operated across multiple states, with high-level connections that kept them largely untouchable. Their primary business was arms trafficking, and their leader was known only by the nickname "Bison." His real name remained a closely guarded secret.