In still waters

Evelyn, who had been hovering nearby, was quick to defend her employee. "Yes, Arthur can be peculiar, but he's a good person at heart."

"Thank you for your time, Evelyn," Nick said, rising from his chair. He handed her a business card. "If you remember anything else or hear anything that might be relevant, please give me a call."

Evelyn nodded politely, escorting them to the exit. As they left, Nick couldn't help but notice Arthur behind the bar, anxiously watching their departure as he polished glasses with shaking hands.

Once outside, Nick shoved his hands in his pockets, his mind working overtime to process what they'd just witnessed.

"You know, Christian," he said, his voice low and thoughtful, "I don't buy that bartender's story for a second. My gut tells me he's lying to us. Did you see how nervous he got when he saw Rose's photo? Something's not right here."

An idea began to form in Nick's mind. Maybe they needed to speak with Arthur again, but not in the bar. After a brief discussion with Christian, they decided to return in a few hours, at the end of Arthur's shift, hoping to catch him alone and perhaps more willing to talk.

With their plan set, the detectives made their way back to Nick's police car, parked across the street from the Green Vault. As they climbed in, both men felt a mix of anticipation and unease. They were on the trail of something – but what that something was, and where it might lead them, remained to be seen.

Chapter 5

Darkness had fallen over Austin, the streetlights casting long shadows across the quiet streets. Nick and Christian sat in tense silence, their eyes fixed on the entrance of the Green Vault. Finally, they spotted Arthur leaving the bar. The bartender had changed out of his work uniform, though he still wore the same black pants. He'd donned a sweatshirt, its yellow hood emblazoned with the image of a sleek sports car. As Arthur set off down the street, the detectives quietly exited their vehicle and followed at a discreet distance.

"Arthur, wait up," Nick called out as they drew closer. "We need to talk."

Arthur froze mid-step, then slowly turned to face them. His nervousness was palpable, his voice shaky as he spoke. "What do you want? I've already told you, I don't know anything."

"You see, Arthur," Christian said, his gaze steady and penetrating, "the problem is, we don't believe you."

Arthur's fingers on his left hand intertwined anxiously, and he began to rub his nose with his right, his eyes fixed on his shoes. Nick decided to change tactics, his tone becoming more friendly and approachable.

"Look, Arthur, I can see you're not a bad person," Nick said gently. "Please, just tell us what you saw that evening. Whatever it is, it's important."

Arthur's face contorted, the internal struggle visible in his features. It was clear his conscience was troubling him, and he seemed to be on the verge of deciding that coming clean was the right thing to do. When he finally spoke, his words came out haltingly, his lips tight with stress, slightly distorting his speech.

"Okay… yes, I saw that girl that evening," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "She was sitting at the bar with a guy. He was drinking alcohol, and she… I think she was drinking juice, but I can't remember exactly. They argued for a long time, and then they had a fight. After that, the girl left crying. The guy left almost immediately after her." Arthur paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "When I heard on the news that she'd been found dead, I got scared. And today, when I saw you in the bar, I knew right away why you'd come."

Nick and Christian exchanged a significant look. They believed Arthur's story, but now they needed to convince him to give an official statement.

"Arthur, can you describe this guy?" Nick asked, his voice calm but urgent. "We need to go to the station and create a composite sketch. This man could be the killer we're looking for."

"Yes, I'll help," Arthur agreed, his voice trembling but determined.

They made their way to Nick's police car and, within half an hour, were seated in the station's interview room, working with a sketch artist to bring Arthur's memory to life. Two hours passed as they painstakingly pieced together the suspect's features. When they finished, Nick stared intently at the composite sketch: a man in his mid to late thirties, with a distinctive zigzag-shaped scar on his cheek, light shoulder-length hair, thick eyebrows, and narrow eyes set in an oval face with sunken cheekbones.

After thanking Arthur for his cooperation and seeing him safely home, Nick called Christian over to examine the sketch.

"Does he look familiar to you?" Nick asked, a hint of recognition sparking in his own mind.

A grin spread across Christian's face as he leaned in, his hand resting on the back of Nick's chair. "Without a doubt, that's Bradley Force!"

Information from the suspect's file:

Bradley Force, known in some circles by the nickname "Fox." Thirty-six years old, born and raised in Austin. His record shows a pattern of delinquent behavior stretching back to his adolescence, with multiple incidents of hooliganism and petty theft, often in the company of his friend Steven Cooper. Bradley's childhood was marked by instability; he entered the foster care system at age twelve and, despite being adopted, never quite settled into the role of the dutiful son. His biological parents had their rights terminated, and Bradley reportedly never saw them again after entering foster care. As an adult, Bradley has led a dissolute lifestyle, with no record of steady employment.

Steven Cooper – Bradley Force's closest associate and lifelong friend. They were classmates throughout their school years. Unlike Bradley, Steven had a relatively stable childhood and was known as an obedient child until he fell in with Bradley in their teens. Steven's personality is notably submissive; he tends to follow Bradley's lead in most situations. Born in St. Paul, he moved to Austin with his parents at the age of seven. Physically, he's described as heavyset, with prominent upper front teeth, curly dark hair, and light-colored eyes. He stands at medium height, roughly the same as Bradley.

A crucial detail suddenly clicked into place for Nick and Christian: Bradley and Steven had been classmates of the murdered Rose Saltano.

"Christian, you're right on the money – it's definitely Bradley Force," Nick said, his voice tight with the urgency of their breakthrough. He began shutting down his computer and reaching for his jacket. "We need to question him immediately. We now know for certain that he was the last person seen with Rose, and Arthur's account confirms there was a conflict between them that evening."

"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?"