Brandon Prince
I meet Brigham at my cubicle, taking out blankets from underneath my desk. He takes one look at the quilted blankets and says, "No, no, no. You are not going to sleep in my office. I'm going to kill you right in this spot."
"Oh, shut up," I reply, rolling my eyes.
He shakes his head and slowly makes his way back into his office. He carries the glass apple in his hand, whistling as he goes.
***
We glance over the apple in Brigham's office. The door is open, and we all welcome the distant voices and sounds. Tami shakes her head at it, sitting down in Brigham's chair behind the desk and typing on his keyboard.
Brigham and I shrug at each other.
"Well, I tried calling Minerva again," I tell them both. "No answer. Apparently, she is walking on the runways right now. Kalypso, too. No dice."
"How about Helen?"
"I told her about the apple and she hanged up," I answer, staring at the apple grimly. "In fact, I called everyone on the list. Minerva is the only one willing to talk about the stupid apple."
"It is a weapon," says Brigham, holding a magnifying glass over the apple. "Is it me or the glass looks like it has been fixed close to the stem?"
I take the magnifying glass from Brigham's hand and look. It does looks like there are cracks in the apple. "Kalypso said that the stem broke off and she had Helen fix it. Maybe there is a paper trail to a glass blower or something?"
"Nah," says Brigham, thinking back. "I didn't see anything weird on Kalypso's card. I'll look at it again. Move, Tami."
"I'm looking into another case. Give me two more minutes."
"What case?" asks Brigham, skirting around the desk and glancing over Tami's shoulder. "Oh, that case. That case is at least ten years old."
"What case?"
"The disappearance of Kate Noel," answers Tami and Brigham together.
"I was never on that case."
"You weren't even in the FBI ten years ago," points out Brigham, rolling his eyes. "Besides, it is an old case. Some detectives are looking into it, and they asked for our help. We are looking over the clues and the crime scene, but nothing. It is clean."
"I hate cases like these," I mutter. I know many cold cases are dead, but sometimes, sometimes, there is a chance the people are still out there. Most likely, they are dead, but it is hauntingly beautiful that even after all this time, there is hope.
"I hate cold cases," agrees Brigham. "Always terrible." Then he peers over Tami's shoulder again. "What is that? Seriously, can I look into the corporate account? I need my computer."
"Use mine."
"Oh, hell no. I'm not touching those disgusting cheese flakes on your keyboard," replies Brigham, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "Come on. Let me type a bit."
"Oh, one minute," groans Tami. "Your keyboard is nicer."
"Thank you." Brigham smiles, slightly flattered. "I spent fifty dollars on it at—"
"Stop!" Tami's elbow meets Brigham's stomach, and he falls over his desk.
"Dang it! Will you stop hitting me—?"
"Hey!" I dive for the apple, that is slowly making its way off the desk. The apple falls to Brigham's floor, crashing into the hard tiles. The apple breaks into a thousand pieces, shattering into bits of red and green.
"Oh, my..." Tami quickly stands up.
We all stare at each other. We are so screwed.
"Who is picking that up?" croaks Brigham, his hands nervously running through his hair. "Because I'm not going to—"
"I'll do it," I immediately volunteer.
"I'll tell Gabi about this," says Tami, quickly running out of Brigham's office.
"And I'll look into the financial records," adds Brigham, sitting down at his desk. He pretends to be innocently staring at the computer, his fingers dashing across the keyboard.
I grab an evidence bag off of Brigham's desk, and then I kneel down to the floor. I peer into the mess, and I find a huge blob of something in the middle of the pile. I carefully take away the larger, sharper pieces and put it into the evidence bag.
Then I see a metallic thing sticking out.
"Brigham?" I say.
"Not my fault."
I roll my eyes. He was the one who knocked it down. "No, I'm not talking about that. It looks like there is something here."
"What?" Brigham stands up and looks at the object.
Avoiding the glass, he picks up the object and gasp. The object dully glimmers in the fluorescent light, and its rectangular shape is what I'll recognize everywhere. "This is a USB drive."
"The apple is the weapon," I repeat, remembering old words coming out of Kalypso's mouth. "That USB drive has to be it."