In still waters

Mary's sobs subsided into a low keening as she slowly slid to the floor, her strength seeming to leave her all at once.

Jeffrey knelt beside his wife, gathering her into his arms. He made fervent promises to punish the one responsible, swearing he'd see justice done no matter the cost. Mary clung to him, suddenly seeming small and fragile. As he held her, Jeffrey's gaze drifted to the coffee table where Rose's photos stood in silent testament to a life cut short.

There was Rose as a toddler, beaming at the camera in a pink dress, clutching a white stuffed rabbit in the summer sunshine. Another showed her as a teenager, flanked by her parents in white shirts, their kisses planted on either of her cheeks as she stood before their house in a green T-shirt. The final photo captured Rose at her high school graduation, radiant in a blue dress, a bouquet of red roses in her arms.

The reality of their loss struck Jeffrey anew, a pain so sharp it seemed to physically wound him…

As the day wore on, Mary refused all food, her grief a palpable presence in the house. When night fell, sleep eluded her. She wandered from room to room like a restless spirit, barely acknowledging Jeffrey's attempts to comfort her. It was only as dawn began to break that exhaustion finally claimed her, and she collapsed onto Rose's bed, sinking into a fitful slumber.

Chapter 3

The following day, Nick Larsen's voice crackled over the phone line, requesting Jeffrey's presence at the station. There was news. Jeffrey's heart leapt, hope warring with dread as he imagined what information the detectives might have uncovered. He dressed hurriedly, his mind racing with possibilities. Perhaps they had a suspect, or some crucial piece of evidence had come to light. Within half an hour, he was striding through the doors of the police station, his anticipation palpable.

Nick Larsen's office, which he shared with Christian, occupied a corner of the second floor in the nondescript gray building that housed the Austin Police Department. As Jeffrey entered, Nick was struck by the sheriff's haggard appearance. It was clear Jeffrey had barely slept; his clothes were rumpled, his face drawn and pale beneath its usual ruddy hue.

The office itself was a study in understated functionality. Roughly twenty square meters in size, its walls were painted a light, soothing color that contrasted with the dark, well-maintained floors. Three desks dominated the space: Nick's, Christian's opposite, and a third, currently unoccupied desk beside Nick's. A large, clean window dominated one wall, though today the cloudy sky beyond offered little natural light. The overhead fixtures compensated, casting a bright glow over the room. To one side, a filing cabinet stood sentinel, its drawers likely filled with the paper trails of countless cases. All the furniture was done in light colors, lending the space an air of openness despite its modest size.

"Hello, Jeffrey," Nick greeted, gesturing to a chair beside his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Jeffrey lowered himself into the chair, his movements awkward and tense. He studied Nick's expression, trying to gauge what news awaited him. The detective's face gave little away, but there was a heaviness to his demeanor that made Jeffrey's heart sink.

"I'll go grab some coffee," Christian announced, sensing the need for privacy. He slipped on his jacket and quietly exited the office. As the door clicked shut behind him, Nick took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation ahead.

"We've received the pathologist's report and the analysis from the crime scene," Nick began, his voice carefully controlled. "I'm afraid the news isn't good, Jeffrey." He paused, lowering his eyes for a moment before meeting the sheriff's gaze once more.

"What do you mean, it isn't good?" Jeffrey's voice rose, a mix of fear and anger coloring his words. "What do you know? I want to know everything – we're talking about my daughter!"

"Rose died from asphyxiation," Nick continued, his tone gentle but firm. "The expert believes the murder weapon was a rope, though we found nothing at the crime scene." He paused, allowing Jeffrey a moment to process this information before continuing. "We found Rose's phone near her body. The last call was from Mary at 9:10 PM, which aligns with the estimated time of death. Traces at the scene indicate Rose was running, likely being chased. It appears she may have dropped her phone while trying to escape her pursuer."

Nick's expression grew grimmer as he delivered the next piece of information. "The most troubling aspect is that we found no traces of the killer. The rain that continued until morning washed away any evidence that might have been left behind. There are no surveillance cameras in the area – we've checked thoroughly. It seems the killer knew the area well and chose the location deliberately."

Jeffrey's gaze had grown distant, his mind struggling to process the horrific details of his daughter's final moments.

"Jeffrey, are you with me?" Nick pressed gently. "This is crucial information. I need you to try and remember – was there anything unusual about Rose's behavior recently? Did anything happen that stood out? Was she being threatened or stalked by anyone?"

"I don't remember anything like that," Jeffrey replied, his voice monotone, his eyes still unfocused.

"What about you, Jeffrey? Have you had any recent conflicts? Is there anyone who might wish harm on you or your loved ones?"

This question seemed to rouse Jeffrey from his stupor. He blinked, scratched at the bald spot on the back of his head, and bit his lip in thought.

"No, that's out of the question," he drawled, though a note of doubt crept into his voice. "I'm a decent person. I don't have enemies."

"Are you certain?" Nick pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he twirled a ballpoint pen between his fingers. "Maybe there's something you've forgotten? Even a small detail could be important."

"I'm sure," Jeffrey insisted, meeting Nick's gaze with a serious expression that betrayed no hint of deception.

"Alright," Nick conceded with a small sigh. "If you remember anything or learn any new information, call me immediately. For now, we'll be questioning those who were in the vicinity of the murder site."

As Jeffrey left, his shoulders slumped under the weight of grief and unanswered questions, Nick found himself battling a growing sense of unease. He waited for Christian's return, and together, they set out to search for witnesses, hoping against hope that someone, somewhere, had seen something that could shed light on this brutal crime.

Chapter 4

An hour later, Nick and Christian found themselves canvassing the neighborhood surrounding the crime scene. They moved methodically, knocking on doors, questioning homeowners and passersby. But with each conversation, their frustration grew. No one seemed to have seen or heard anything unusual on that fateful evening. The night's secrets remained stubbornly hidden.

As they neared the end of their route, the detectives' eyes fell upon the Green Vault bar. It stood just a stone's throw from where Rose's body had been discovered. Perhaps here, they thought, they might finally find a witness. From the outside, the establishment was unremarkable – a dark facade devoid of windows, with only a bright green neon sign above the door to announce its presence.

Stepping inside, Nick and Christian were immediately struck by the bar's gloomy atmosphere. The air was thick and stuffy, carrying the lingering scents of stale beer and fried food. The green walls, clearly an attempt at creating ambiance, seemed to cheapen the interior instead. Dim lights cast long shadows, their weak glow barely illuminating the dark brown, round wooden tables and chairs scattered throughout the space.

The bar staff, mostly young women, moved about in black pants and green t-shirts emblazoned with the establishment's name. At the center of the room stood a large, dark bar counter. Behind it, a peculiar-looking bartender in the same green uniform was lining up a row of glasses, preparing drinks with mechanical precision. Monotonous music droned in the background, barely audible over the low murmur of the sparse crowd.

Nick's eyes scanned the room, searching for surveillance cameras. To his dismay, he found none. He noticed the patrons eyeing them curiously, whispered conversations dying down as they passed. It wasn't long before a blonde woman with a short haircut approached them. She wore all black, a small silver stud glinting in her nose.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" she asked, her voice tinged with nervousness. "I'm Evelyn, the manager here."

Nick flashed his badge discreetly. "Detective Nick Larsen, and this is my colleague, Christian Basher. We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

Evelyn nodded, gesturing towards a table tucked away in a corner beneath the stairs. "Of course. Let's sit over there, away from prying eyes and ears. We don't get many police visitors here, and I'd rather not alarm the customers."

Nick and Christian settled into chairs on one side of the table, while Evelyn took a seat across from them, her hands clasped nervously on the tabletop.

"We appreciate your cooperation, Evelyn," Nick began, his tone professional but not unkind. "Two days ago, a young woman named Rose Saltano was found dead near your bar. We're wondering if you might have seen her here that night."

Nick produced his phone, pulling up a photo of Rose. Evelyn leaned in, studying the image carefully.

"I wasn't working two nights ago," she said slowly, her brow furrowed in concentration. "But I've seen this girl before. She came in with friends a while back, drinking mulled wine."

"Can you remember when that was?" Christian pressed gently.

"Maybe about a month ago? I can't say for certain, but it wasn't recent," Evelyn replied, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

Nick noted the slight hesitation in her answer, wondering if it was mere nervousness or something more. "Evelyn, is there someone who was working two nights ago that we could speak with?"

Evelyn's eyes darted towards the bar, as if searching for someone. After a moment, she turned back to the detectives. "The bartender, Arthur, was definitely working that night. I'll call him over."

A few minutes later, Evelyn returned with Arthur in tow. The bartender's appearance was striking, bordering on eccentric. His black hair was disheveled, as if he'd just rolled out of bed. Blue-tinted glasses perched on his nose, and his fingers were adorned with strange tattoos that resembled Egyptian hieroglyphics. It was clear from his demeanor that he was nervous, his eyes flicking between Nick and Christian as he approached.

"Hello, I'm Arthur, the bartender here," he said, his voice friendly despite the tension evident in his posture. "Evelyn said you had some questions for me?"

"That's right, Arthur," Nick replied, gesturing for the bartender to take a seat. "I'm Detective Nick Larsen, and this is my colleague, Christian Basher. We're investigating the murder of a young woman who was found dead two nights ago, not far from this bar. We're hoping you might have seen her that evening."

Nick once again displayed the photo of Rose on his phone. As Arthur leaned in to look, Nick noticed a change come over him. The bartender's fingers on his left hand intertwined, and he began to chew on the inside of his cheek – clear signs of growing anxiety.

"You know, it's really hard to say," Arthur began, his words coming out in a rush. "It was a Friday night, and we're always packed then. So many faces, you know?" He clasped his hands behind his back, as if trying to hide their trembling. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you. If you'll excuse me, I should get back to work."

As Arthur turned to leave, he nearly collided with a tall brunette waitress carrying a laden tray of food and drinks. Nick and Christian exchanged a meaningful glance as they watched him go.

"He's a bit… odd, isn't he?" Christian remarked quietly.