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Monica
Exiting the shower, a wave of distress washed over me, leaving me feeling unsettled despite my attempts to regain composure. As I hastily dressed, my mind remained clouded with troubling thoughts. The memory of Emma lingered like a shadow, her gentle spirit and unwavering kindness juxtaposed against the weight of her final words — a conversation etched into my mind like a scar that refused to heal.
It was difficult to reconcile the image of Emma, a woman of boundless compassion and purity of heart, with the harsh realities she had confided in me during our last encounter. Her words echoed in my mind, a relentless torment that overshadowed any semblance of fond memories we had shared. Though I tried to recall moments of joy and laughter, they were overshadowed by the spectre of her despair. Yet amidst the turmoil of my thoughts, one question loomed larger than all the rest — the inexplicable circumstances surrounding Emma’s sudden demise. Suicide seemed inconceivable for someone like her, a woman who had endured countless hardships and overcome adversity with unwavering strength. From the loss of her mother at a young age to the solitude she grappled with in the depths of night, Emma’s life had been marked by resilience in the face of adversity.
Her absence left a void in my heart, a nagging sense of unease that refused to dissipate. As I grappled with the complexities of her untimely passing, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to her story than met the eye. The truth eluded me, hidden behind a veil of uncertainty and doubt, yet I was determined to unravel the mystery that surrounded her tragic end. Exiting the room to attend to the remaining procedures, I couldn’t help but notice Harry’s uneasy demeanour as I passed by. His sudden end to the phone call, coupled with the sheen of sweat upon his brow and the telltale signs of anxiety in his eyes, piqued my curiosity. Sensing that he was concealing something, I approached him and inquired about the caller. With a hesitant smile, Harry offered a vague response, claiming it was merely a friend on the line. Yet, his mannerisms betrayed his words — the trembling of his hands and the quickening of his breath spoke volumes. It was evident he was not being forthright with me. Pressing further, I questioned his abrupt termination of the call, pointing out that there were no restrictions on personal conversations during our off-duty hours. Harry’s attempt to justify his actions by citing a rule I had established only served to deepen my suspicions. I realised that my recent experiences, particularly Mike’s betrayal and Emma’s tragic demise, had left me wary and distrustful of those around me. Unable to shake the nagging sense of paranoia that now consumed me, I couldn’t help but entertain the notion that Harry’s call may have been part of a larger scheme to surveil me. My mind raced with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last. It seemed that once trust had been shattered, skepticism became my default mode of operation. As I grappled with these turbulent thoughts, I couldn’t deny the toll it was taking on my psyche. The once familiar landscape of my life now seemed fraught with uncertainty, leaving me adrift in a sea of mistrust and apprehension.
Reluctant to delve deeper into the matter, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that Harry was withholding crucial information from me. So, mustering my resolve, I broached the topic with him, seeking his perspective on Emma’s demise. “After giving Emma’s death some serious thought during my shower, I’ve considered the possibility that it could be a suicide or even a staged suicide. What are your thoughts?” I posed the question, hoping to gauge his reaction. If his response aligned with my theory, it would alleviate some of my concerns. However, if he diverged from my assessment, it would only fuel my doubts further. Awaiting his reply, I observed his demeanour closely. As expected, Harry offered a noncommittal response, expressing uncertainty and highlighting the myriad possibilities surrounding Emma’s death. While his answer loosely echoed my own thoughts, I remained skeptical. It was difficult to discern whether his response was genuine or merely an attempt to appease me. Contemplating his words, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Harry’s evasiveness concealed a deeper truth. Was he deliberately obscuring vital details, or was I simply allowing my suspicions to get the better of me? The uncertainty gnawed at me, leaving me grappling with doubts and insecurities. His phone began to ring, but he opted to ignore it, diverting his attention back to our pending paperwork. Though my suspicions lingered, I refrained from confronting him directly based on mere intuition. As we prepared to resume our tasks, a knock interrupted our conversation. Turning towards the door, I found Sasha, one of our interns, waiting patiently.
Curious, I approached her and inquired about the interruption. With a faint smile, Sasha relayed that someone had been waiting for me, mentioning that he had visited earlier in the morning as well. When pressed for details, she revealed that the visitor identified himself as Mike, claiming to be a detective. My heart quickened its pace at the mention of Mike’s name, sending a surge of anxiety coursing through me. Uncertain of his intentions, I grappled with conflicting emotions. Was Mike seeking information pertaining to the case, or did he harbour ulterior motives? The betrayal I had experienced before had left me wary, haunted by the trauma of broken trust. I found myself unable to evade the meeting with Mike, given his official capacity. Thus, I resolved to engage with him cautiously, steering clear of any personal inquiries he might pose. After instructing Sasha to inform him to wait in the room and fill out the necessary form, I turned to Harry, tasking him with the completion of Emma’s paperwork and dressing her accordingly. Before leaving, I felt compelled to address the air of secrecy surrounding Harry’s recent behaviour. “If there’s anything work-related you feel compelled to share, Harry, please don’t hesitate,” I urged, sensing his unease. However, his response was defensive, denying any wrongdoing and suggesting my suspicions were unfounded. Despite his reassurances, a lingering doubt remained, as his demeanour betrayed a hint of dishonesty.
Reflecting on our past interactions, I recalled Harry’s earlier flirtations and discerned a shift in his demeanour towards me. Yet, the underlying message remained elusive, leaving me hesitant to press further. Acknowledging the importance of maintaining a healthy skepticism, I opted to leave the matter be for the time being. Stepping into the washroom, I took a moment to compose myself, adjusting my appearance and spritzing a hint of perfume. Though I couldn’t deny the residual feelings I harboured for Mike, I vowed not to allow past transgressions to cloud my judgment once more. Returning to the room, I noticed Harry’s subtle reaction to my choice of fragrance, eliciting a faint smile from him before he returned to his duties.
I exited the room, making my way toward the waiting area typically occupied by detectives, lawyers, and other authorised personnel. Contrary to cinematic depictions, visitors like them didn’t have free rein in the lab; strict protocols ensured the integrity of our work remained intact. Pausing at the entrance, I took a moment to compose myself, opting for a calm and collected demeanour before proceeding. Upon entering, I found Mike lost in contemplation, seemingly unaware of my arrival. His preoccupation piqued my curiosity, though I had resolved not to dwell on his presence. As I drew nearer, he glanced up, offering a gentle smile as he rose to greet me. His unexpected warmth caught me off guard, momentarily dispelling my resolve to remain detached.
We exchanged pleasantries, and then Mike’s words pierced through my defences, stark reminders of the purpose behind his visit. Emma’s death flooded my thoughts once more, overwhelming me with grief. Tears welled in my eyes, and before I knew it, I was enveloped in Mike’s comforting embrace. It was different from our previous interactions, filled with a genuine tenderness that spoke volumes. However, I noticed that Mike was more subtle and lost in his own thoughts; he hadn’t inquired about me, as I had expected, but rather began with a question about the report.”I know it’s very tough on you, but did you find anything suspicious about her death?” he asked. I contemplated sharing everything with him, but I held back, opting to provide only straightforward information. “Yeah, I found that Emma was taking drugs again,” I replied, twisting my lips and closing my eyes at the word “again,” knowing it would lead to further questions. “But I’m sure it wasn’t suicide. She would never do such a thing,” I said. “I know her very well; she’s not a weak woman who would want to end her life,” I added. At least about Emma, I was certain.
Mike nodded, and as expected, he inquired, “You mentioned again. Was Emma a drug addict before?” Uncertain of how to respond, I realised he was a detective; he would uncover the truth eventually. “Yes,” I said simply, and added, “the report will be completed in an hour, and I’ll provide it to you.” I sensed a hint of confusion on Mike’s face. He was typically calm, making it difficult to discern his inner feelings from his expressions, but now his unrest was more apparent. Clearly, he hadn’t slept well and seemed greatly disturbed. Without hesitation, I asked, “Are you okay, Mike?” I didn’t want to overstep, but deep down, I still cared for him. He looked at me and replied, “Yeah,” but his tone betrayed his stress. Then he asked me, “How long was she addicted to drugs?” His question made it seem as though he didn’t even want to engage in conversation with me. I didn’t understand; initially, I hadn’t wanted to talk to him, but now, I was the one concerned that he wasn’t talking to me. Understanding a woman’s mind can be quite challenging. “She struggled with drug addiction a few years back. I discovered it and warned her, but she disregarded my concerns and continued. Then, one day, she was taken advantage of by her friends while she was under the influence, who exploited her vulnerability by taking nude pictures and threatening to blackmail her. Leveraging my connections, I intervened and resolved the situation, prompting her to realise the gravity of her situation and express a desire to quit. I financed her rehabilitation, and she was making progress. However, I’m uncertain when and why she relapsed.” There’s more to the story — she was even sexually exploited by these so-called friends, who recorded videos with her consent. She consented while under the influence but later regretted it. However, I’m hesitant to disclose this to Mike, as it could tarnish Emma’s reputation unfairly. He listened without any discernible reaction, a response different from what I anticipated. Later, he asked, “Do you remember the guy who was at the pub with you the night she introduced him to you?” It took me a moment to realise he was referring to Tony. I replied, “Are you referring to the night you were keeping tabs on me?” I noticed a flicker of distress on his face, a hint of regret, as he apologised and explained the necessity of his actions. Pretending not to have heard his apology, I continued, “Anyway, yes, his name is Tony. Why do you ask?”
He followed up, “Do you remember Steve?” His sudden inquiry about Steve puzzled me, and I responded, “Yes, I remember him. Why?” He paused, recalling something, and then said, “Dave arrested Tony, who was connected to Steve in some way. I’m not sure of the details, but it seems relevant to Emma’s case. Did she ever mention Tony to you?” The mention of Tony’s arrest deepened my suspicions about Emma’s death. I replied, “I’m not entirely sure what he was involved in, but he worked at a coffee shop. Emma and Tony had plans to move to Italy to start a small business, considering his Italian heritage.” Mike seemed taken aback and didn’t respond immediately. Then, he asked, “Monica, are you hiding something from us?” His question caught me off guard, sparking various thoughts. Was he attempting manipulation again? Did he genuinely believe I was concealing information? Or was he truly an astute detective? These doubts about Mike intensified my anger, but I restrained myself from shouting. Instead, I raised my voice and asked, “I’m sorry, do you think I would lie about my close friend’s death?” Mike attempted to speak, but I interrupted, saying, “I seriously doubt you, Mike. You started following me for no apparent reason, then we dated for a while, only for you to claim it was unavoidable circumstances. And now, you’re doubting me about my friend’s death. Are you truly a competent detective?” Tears welled up in my eyes, reflecting my emotional turmoil. I had lost the only person who truly cared about me, or at least had. Now, people were beginning to question my integrity, and there was Harry, harbouring secrets from me. It felt as though everything was conspiring against me, and my thoughts reached a crescendo of frustration and despair. I didn’t utter a word after that, knowing it would lead somewhere else, but Mike exhaled and laid his hands on my shoulder, attempting to calm me down. “Monica, I’m not doubting you, but let me explain the situation. Steve has a twin brother named Michael who looked exactly like Steve. However, the flat where Emma was murdered yielded a blood sample matching the one found in Steve’s flat during his death. This suggests that the person who died that night wasn’t Steve. If that’s true, then the individual who had schizophrenia wasn’t Steve either. So how did you confirm he had it?” This whole situation was confusing — Steve, Michael, Tony, and their connection to Emma. Though I performed the autopsy confirming schizophrenia, I couldn’t be certain whether it was Steve or Michael. I replied, “I’m not sure who he was, as I’m not responsible for verifying identities. If you send me a body, I’ll perform the autopsy and provide the report. When he was sent, you mentioned his name was Steve, along with all the details. It’s not my role to cross-check identities.” Mike nodded in understanding, “Yeah, that’s true. So, if it wasn’t Steve who died, then who was it?” I shrugged, indicating it wasn’t my job to identify.
Mike’s phone rang, disrupting our conversation. Retrieving it from his pocket, he glanced at the caller ID but chose to ignore it, tucking his phone back into his pocket. His gaze returned to me, and he inquired, “Can I grab a coffee and return? By then, the report should be ready, right?” I nodded in agreement, affirming his plan. With a hesitant smile, he exited the room, leaving me to contemplate the unfolding events. During his absence, I reflected on the incomplete truth I had shared with Mike. Tony and Emma’s plan to move to Italy and start a business concealed a deeper truth. Emma confided in me that she didn’t harbour any romantic feelings for Tony; rather, their relationship was more of a business arrangement. Tony, she revealed, was gay and sought Emma’s companionship to escape from the country. Similarly, Emma desired an escape from her current life and saw Tony’s proposal as a means to that end. Their partnership was pragmatic rather than affectionate. However, the mystery surrounding Tony’s arrest in connection with Steve’s death lingered in my mind. I couldn’t comprehend the link between the two events. It was a perplexing puzzle.
Cont..(Chapter-7)
