Its a complete fictional story, all the characters were created out of imagination. I hope you find the story interesting and gripping.
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Mike
I have arrived at the hospital, parked my car, and now I’m sitting inside my car. Everywhere, there’s a pervasive calmness, akin to a deaf person sitting in front of an ocean: I can see the waves, but I can’t hear them. Monika must have seen Emma lying lifeless, the person upon whom she has to perform the autopsy. “God, it’s a horrible situation!” I muttered to myself. Imagine having to dissect the body of a close friend just to determine the cause of their death. Death is a universal truth, something we all know is inevitable, yet we still try to evade it. Being a pathologist means dealing with the deceased, while their spirits, figuratively speaking, watch over as their bodies are examined. Monika once confided to me, “I’m not afraid of death, but rather the manner in which it will come for me.” It’s a profound statement to ponder.
I’m not sure why I’m dwelling on these thoughts of death, but perhaps it’s the anxiety and pressure weighing on me. As a detective, it’s crucial to maintain composure, as anxiety can cloud one’s judgment and reasoning. However, after a sleepless night and without a good cup of coffee, concentration eludes me. I realise I’ve made a mistake, a minor one, but a mistake nonetheless. I should have made an effort to meet Monika on the day she suggested; perhaps I could have fabricated an excuse to see her and, in turn, encountered Emma and her suspicious boyfriend, the one Dave is taking to court. If I had done so, the situation might have unfolded differently.
“I’m still unsure why these irrelevant and illogical thoughts are consuming my mind. The only way to quell them is either with a strong cup of coffee or by getting my head straight. I reverse my car and head towards a nearby coffee shop. I know it’s deviating from my schedule, but I can’t face Monika with my mind in disarray. I won’t be able to meet her gaze, either emotionally shattered or unable to focus on her words. It’s better to clear my head before our meeting.
I have arrived at a coffee shop, and just as I’m about to step out of my car, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Retrieving it, I notice a call from Radhika Mukerjee, or Radhi as I fondly remember her. We had a brief romance during my training, she was passionate about forensics. I can’t help but wonder why she’s calling me out of the blue now. With a slight smirk, I answer the call, “Hello Radhi, how are you?” My tone lacks enthusiasm and carries a hint of suspicion. She responds, “Hey, I’m good. How about you?” These niceties feel like a chore, and I’m eager to get to the point of her call. “I’m doing well, Radhi, thank you. So, what’s the surprise after six months all of a sudden?” My words might sound a tad brusque, but I’m not in the mood for small talk.
“Sorry for the sudden call. I need a small favor from you, if you don’t mind. Is now a good time?” Her question puts me on the spot. I’m not really in a position to refuse, regardless of what the favor might be. But why would someone from my past reach out like this? It must be something important if she’s turning to me. “Go ahead,” I say. Deep down, I know I’m not handling this conversation as gracefully as I should, especially with a woman. There should be politeness and warmth, but my current state of mind isn’t conducive to that. I start walking towards the Costa, hoping to expedite this conversation.
She explains, “Sara was initially handling the forensics for the Emma case. I usually work on cases like Steve’s death, but she had an emergency and I was brought in as a replacement.” So, she’s seeking professional assistance rather than something personal, which is a relief for me. My recent days have been tough. First, there was the misunderstanding with Monica, and then I needed some time for myself. Emma’s death came as a shock, and now I have to deal with Monica, which is a mess. As I process Radhi’s words and my own thoughts, I join the queue to order my coffee.
“I hope you’re managing the workload well. I know it’s not easy stepping into someone else’s shoes,” I remark as I approach the counter to place my order. Typically, I’d go for a mocha, but with this pounding headache, I opt for an espresso instead. “Apologies for the distraction. I’m currently at a coffee shop,” I explain, trying to maintain the thread of our conversation. “How are you finding the new job?” I realise my words might be coming out a bit disjointed, my mind preoccupied.
As I wait for my espresso to be prepared, I suddenly lose the signal. Considering calling her back, I pause, deciding to wait until I’ve completed my transaction and left the shop to avoid further interruptions. Once outside, with coffee in hand, I attempt to call her, but before I can dial, a text comes through from her: “Sorry, I dropped my phone.”
Realising it wasn’t a signal issue, I dial her number while sipping my coffee. After a couple of rings, she picks up. “Hey, sorry about that. I accidentally dropped my phone,” she explains. Taking another sip of coffee, I reply, “No worries at all, these things happen.” I mentally berate myself for the choice of words — dropping a phone isn’t really a mistake. What was I thinking? My response sounded patronising, like I’m the boss and she’s an employee reporting to me. Mental presence is crucial when choosing words. She chuckles, and I quickly redirect the conversation. “So, what did you need to ask me about?”
I hear background noise, indicating she’s in some cafeteria at her office. She gets to the point, “It’s about the blood samples from Emma’s case.” This isn’t what I expected. I had anticipated a more general inquiry or perhaps a request for background information on the case. With a mix of excitement and tension in my voice, I ask, “Yes, what about them? Did you find out whose blood it is?” She responds, “Yes, but there’s a discrepancy. The DNA from the blood sample at Emma’s crime scene matches the sample found at Steve’s death site.” The jolt I feel from this news is stronger than any espresso shot. This news carries a weight heavier than lead. I immediately interjected, “Wait, I wasn’t aware there was any blood evidence at Steve’s crime scene…” As I completed my statement, I realized my initial involvement in that investigation was limited. I joined midway through the case, assisting Dave due to some other case I was handling at the time. “Yeah, I recall now. I wasn’t completely involved from the start, so I might have missed that detail. But I did go through the file, and I don’t recall anything about a blood sample there,” I clarified, a sudden suspicion about Dave creeping into my mind.
Radhi responded, “I’m not certain about the file. The blood sample was initially sent to me, and when I inquired with Dave, he mentioned the case was closed and there was no need to pursue it further.” The revelation stunned me. Dave had manipulated the case, concealing something. My suspicions about his eagerness to rush the case to court for bail were justified. He was hiding something.
“Well, that’s surprising. But if the DNA report is accurate, then Steve didn’t die?” I asked, aware that Radhi was just as bewildered as I was. She replied, “That’s the confusion. If this is true, then who was the deceased?”
A memory of Dave introducing Michael flashed in my mind. Could the deceased be Michael? But if Michael is dead, how could Monica issue an autopsy report identifying the deceased as Steve? These thoughts raced through my mind as I posed the same question to Radhi. She inquired, “Who’s this Monica?”
I realized Monica was a new character to Radhi. “She’s the pathologist who conducted Steve’s autopsy,” I explained. Radhi pressed, “So, what’s her involvement?” I climbed into my car, sipping the last of my espresso, before responding, “Steve had schizophrenia. Monica could have diagnosed it during the autopsy, and she confirmed it. But if the deceased isn’t Steve, how could she make that diagnosis?” There was a brief silence before Radhi suggested, “Maybe she produced an incorrect report, or someone tampered with it.”
This morning had turned into utter chaos. I had hoped for a break, but it seemed unlikely until this case was resolved. Sitting in my car with Radhi still on the line, I replied in a low voice filled with questions, “Yeah, but not entirely.”
“What do you mean?” Radhi asked.
Referring to my frazzled state, I explained, “I was referring to my brain. Seriously, Radhi, this case is both intriguing and chaotic. There are too many unanswered questions.” Uncertain about what I had just said, I added, “I appreciate you calling me instead of Dave, though.”
I inwardly scolded myself for potentially implicating Dave. Radhi’s response reassured me, “I initially called Dave, but he didn’t answer. When I looked through the file, I saw your name and thought you might be able to help. Perhaps Dave overlooked the case or forgot about the blood sample. You could discuss this with him.” Her lack of concern about my earlier remark regarding Dave was a relief.
I thanked her for the information and suggested we catch up sometime. It seemed like the right thing to say. Radhi agreed, and we ended the call. Sitting in my car, feeling lost, I started the engine and headed back to the hospital to meet with Monica.
To be Cont….
