Page 61 of A New Days Don

The first week of my suspension went by in the blink of an eye. Each day that passes and I am stuck behind a desk, the anxiety about the investigation gets worse and worse. Though I have provided some helpful feedback and ideas, neither Lucas nor Vicek has implemented or looked into any of them. I think I may just lose my mind if I get brushed off one more time.

“Can we talk…” I look around the crowded hallway, a defence attorney, silently chewing out his client in the midst of a sea of people preparing to enter the room when they are called, “Somewhere private.”

My voice is a low murmur, and when I meet Kaden’s gaze, he nods conspiratorially before gesturing toward his office down the hall. I follow closely behind, the clicking of my heels barely being heard over the chatter. Kaden opens his door to his office, and I step inside. For the first time, the acidic panic that thrums low in my veins does not try to blind me from my goal.

Kaden gives me a look as he slowly closes his door, allowing me a moment to stop him, but when I don’t, the heavy wooden door clicks shut and the noise from the hall silences. As his bushy blonde brows furrow with concern, the tension builds in the room—rising and thickening around us.

“I think Vicek and Lucas are throwing the case.” I blurt out, and Kaden’s eyes widen in surprise. He looks behind him before slowly, cautiously approaching me. He cares enough about me that he won’t do anything to spike my fears, but he is also oath bound to the courts and judicial system.

“What case?” He murmurs, keeping his voice low as if he worries someone will overhear what we are talking about.

“The sex worker rapes and murders,” I whisper quietly.

“Be careful what you suggest, Mila.” Kaden hisses.

“I have never seen an investigation be handled more poorly, and after a businessman in the north end of the city was murdered, all their time and effort have been directed there. The businessman is a distraction. There are women dying weekly, if not nightly, and we aren’t any closer to finding them.” I growl, and Kaden nods.

“I believe you,” Kaden breathes, and my stomach falls with the confirmation, “I have my suspicions, but I don’t have any evidence backing my claims, just that there is more going on than what I have been told.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

Kaden sighs, slowly backs away to his large mahogany desk, “Right now? Nothing. If you are going to make a claim like this, you need concrete evidence. Who's to say it is even Vicek or Lucas? It could be someone else distracting and controlling where our resources and energy are going.”

“We can’t sit around and let this case simmer while someone is out there hurting women.” I snap, and Kaden nods in agreement.

“The best thing you can do is gather evidence. Work on the case the best you can, but while you do so, put together a package of evidence on everyone and anyone who gets near the case. Once you think you have found enough to make it concrete, come see me. We will more than likely need more than you will have. You don’t want to lose this and end up fired for defamation.” Kaden murmurs, “Don’t tell anyone else your suspicions. The fewer people who know, the better.”

It’s my turn to nod as I begin to retreat for the door, “See you around, Mr. Rutherford.”

As I open the door, the noise from the hallway filtering in, Kaden says behind me, “Pleasure as always, Miss Lewis.”

I click through the tabs on my monitor display, looking back through the list of doctors at the hospital and the ones who frequent emergency cases. I have been suspended, but perhaps a few of them wouldn’t mind talking to me without a warrant. Not that their oath will let them confess or speak much on the topic without a warrant and a lawyer present.

I scrub my hands down my face, the blue light giving me a dull throb behind my eyes.

“Hey, Sherry delivered this for you.” John, one of the new recruits, slips a manila envelope on my desk, addressed to me at the station rather than my home, with no return address.

My eyes narrow on the suspicious letter, but before I can ask John any questions about it, he has already disappeared to do his regular rounds of mail drop-offs. Returning to the envelope, I slowly open the parcel. It doesn’t feel like anything dangerous, considering it feels almost empty, but I hesitate anyway.

When I slip my hand inside, there is a small note. Not a letter, but a handwritten note on a torn piece of paper. It’s informal and reminds me more of a note you would pass to your best friend in elementary school than something important, but I read the contents all the same.

The paper slips from my hand, fluttering down to my desk. The low din of keys clunking dissolves into a hum as I stare at the crumpled note. My heart thunders like a wild beast in my chest. I gasp for air as everything narrows and spins.

My own screams from that night ring through my mind as a voice that sounds garbled and underwater shouts at me to be still.

I can’t.

I gasp again, trying to breathe. Trying to pull myself out of the looming panic.

It’s only when my phone’s alarm goes off that I am pulled from the nightmare. The hum still sings around me.

Therapy with Annalese

I stare at the words on the screen for longer than I care to admit as I try to make sense of what is going on. My mind whirs, and tears brim in my eyes before I look back at the note. In my haste, the note has flipped over. On the back side is a number and the words, ‘Text when you’re ready.’

As if my unknown sender knows I will reach out. The compulsion to not only solve this case with the sex workers, but my own case as well, is too high not to follow up with whatever this note is about.

I am well aware this could be someone who got wind of what’s going on and wants some attention, but the note addressed me by name and is referring to my case, a case that never made it out of the hospital. Nobody knows about that night except for Gerardo and Vicek.