"Detective?" Atarah asked, both a mixture of confusion and anger.
One side of her was telling that he could be the wanted persona they were looking for all along and that they were just pure gullible to believe he was an ally. He'd fit right into the description: Tall man, broad shoulders, skin color.
However, the other side of her wanted the opposite. That he was a friend not a foe. She should also consider the time frame. If she was up dancing with Cole then he couldn't have been the one she saw past the crowds, right? Or maybe he hired a stunt double or he had an accomplice? Then that will explain who broke in her room.
No, that can't be. She doffed the thought out of her. It was wrong to be crafting and spilling guesses. It wouldn't benefit the organization neither their team.
Detective Carter, who must've overheard the familiar tune from the mansion, quietly leaned on the wall. The music somehow subsided but the tension was still there. Atarah's anger and confusion gave way to fear.
"It's coming over there," her head, pinpointing the woodenware.
They made a beeline to her desk, a bedside lamp and lastly, into the wardrobe.
"On three," he proclaimed.
"One," she set the timer.
"Two..."
"Three."
The handles diverged different paths. Resting on a soft fur coat was the causality of their trepidation.
A mobile phone.
The lieutenant went to pick it up. It showed a clock logo in the center, the time set was 10:30 p.m.
He timed it precisely - the exact moment she'd arrive.
"Check if there's anything missing with your belongings," Cole suggested.
She gave a quick nod before trailing to her things. Cash, jewelries, appliances - all intact in their places. It wasn't burglary because nothing precious was taken.
"Nothing I can tell," she replied.
He gave it a quick thought then said, "If nothing is missing, he must've took information."
If that someone was disturbed during his scavenger hunt, he couldn't have had time to fix up the mess after planning a quick escape.
"Unless..." she supposed, knitting her brows together.
Her eyes fixated on the ajar cabinet door. She hearken back to when she stored her journals and the Reaper case files inside. If what was precious to the crook wasn't sellable items, it could've been this.
She sorted through the bundled folders. The files were there, neatly placed secured with the white paperclip she left it. That's not right. It should've been messed up, the files shouldn't have been in order. Unless he was the flash then that would make sense - if they were in an alternate dimension and also it'd be another story to tackle on.
"So?" He said impatiently.
"Everything's neat and clean," she sighed.
"I'll go check the CCTV cameras in the hallway," he stood up from his crouching position and headed for the door. He hesitated on his tracks and shot a glance at Atarah. "On second thought, you're coming with me."
~ ⚜️ ~
The security guard in the front desk paused the monitor. He was a bearded man in his 40s. As a matter of fact he wasn't just bearded, he looked like a bear. His uniform buttons waiting to pop any second, his beard looked like the brown version of Santa Claus, and his belly, bloated from drinking too much caffeine and eating doughnuts.
"I've never seen anyone entering room no. 17," he told them. "You see, my eyes are of eagles. One slight move even from afar and I'll be there in a jiffy."
Of course the main door would be an obvious route. He needed to break in without using it. The patio? No, she locked the door before leaving. The windows? Yes, that could be it. One of them was left open because she felt a nip wave of breeze when she entered and one of the lace curtains fluttered every minute.
The duo went back upstairs. Now with the lights on, the atmosphere wasn't as gloomy and creepy as it was before.
"He might still be wandering around the apartment," he implied. "You're not safe here."
Anywhere wasn't safe for a cop. You could die any minute chasing bad guys or getting hit by a sniper seeking revenge from being locked up in jail because of you.
"That reminds me," she narrowed her gaze, pursing her lips in the manner. "Why did you come here in the first place?"
He chuckled at the question. She wanted a serious answer. How could he laugh at that? He got something out of his tuxedo pouch. He surely have everything well hidden there.
"Because our team leader is getting old," he handed her a white leather purse. "You forgot this back at Albany."
She grinned but luckily it didn't showed the sense of relief she felt hearing his alibi, "You might say I got pretty worked up after that. I'll pack up my things right now. I'm gonna stay in Brooklyn Heights for the meantime."
"I'll tail your car from behind then."
~ ⚜️ ~
After a cruise along the drive, a tapering ribbon of fine cement, they finally caught sight of the Camembert Residence. The main gate was digitally secured, two cameras guarding both posts. The steel bars bent above in such a way that it was spelled Maison Camembert: Bienvenue chez nous, French for Camembert Mansion: Welcome to Our Home.
It was more than a home to Cole. It looked more like an estate for Hollywood celebrities. He wouldn't be surprised though. Her father is the Department Chief of Police, her sister a successful doctor, and her mother - she heard from Khen that she's a famous designer both home and fashion so they must be living a splendid life.
He watched as Atarah utter words (probably French) to the doorbell slash microphone attached on the pale. It felt as though they were inside a McDonald's drive thru. He laughed.
"What's so funny?" she queried.
"Nothing. So are all of these designed by your mother?" he tried changing the topic to the terracotta pots along the smooth cobble white road, thinking that the fast food joke was a lame one.
"Yes, why? You know her?"
"Probably heard of her somewhere. Just asking."
"Megan Camembert, French artist, known for her innovative furnitures and stylish couture," she smiled at columns of prim roses and lofty pointed cypresses. "She really is a sweetheart."
"Pull over. We're here."
The view was spectacular: a rectangular shaped house made with stone, steel, and glass, pane windows which would display the living room if it wasn't covered with black curtains - a comfy yet modernistic approach for a house.
They stepped near the threshold. Malory, in her silk nightgown, greeted her with an awakened look. Her eye mask, light pink bunny pupils wreathed with magenta curves, laid on her orange waves.
"Bonsoir sœur," she rubbed the dirt off her blue eyes. "I see you've brought your boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend!" the sore Atarah thrusted the bag on her ribs. "Just get this back to my old room. I'm sleeping for a couple of days."
"Can't you handle a joke? Jeez," her sister reprimanded while traversing to another door.
"Sheesh," she mumbled before turning her heel to Cole. "Well....thanks for dropping me off detective. You can go now, heh."
He frowned. There was something he'd like to ask out of curiosity. Not the one back then (obviously she won't answer that) but this, "Hey, I notice that your sister's hair and yours are quite different. Did you dyed yours black?"
"No," her voice became lower than usual. "I never tried dyeing hair before. It's natural."
"Then.."
"Yeah. I'm adopted," she tried her best to assemble a dulcet smile. "We don't really talk about it that much. I'm surprised you brought out that topic. You should probably go now, for real. It's pretty late."
Another round of silence inclined from the ground. He didn't know if she felt okay or mad talking about it, "Yeah, I should probably."
~ ⚜️ ~
"Can't that wait tomorrow?" Malory asked, placing a tray of hot cocoa and biscuits forward. "I also can't sleep because of what you're doing. Don't overwork yourself, Atarah. Being too absorbed in that case is bad for your health. I'm saying this not just as your sister but also as a doctor."
"Fine," she didn't want to hear another nagging from her sister. "I'll bring my things out of the bag and then I will sleep. Okay?"
It seemed a fair enough deal, "Okay," she replied before locking the door. "You promised."
"Yeah, yeah I promise," she waved her fingers onward. "Now go."
She let her commodities fall on the mattress: peppermint candies, toothbrush, go-to-shirts, a coat, smartphone, case files and her journal. The journal. The lock pin was detached and the lower right corner of the front page seemed to be creased.
Oh boy, she thought.
When she had that rolled board of the case set up, she also wrote it in a journal for easy carry whenever she needed it. The notebook, however, contained more information that was supposed to be for secrecy.
What fatal data could it be that made her so worked up? Simple, the answer that she was the only survivor of the Watson Manor killing spree.
Her hands swiftly ran through the pages. That was when she knew it, her childhood picture in Old New York - gone. If he made a close eye on her then maybe she wasn't imagining things. Neither in Albany nor the bombing incident in Central Park.
"If so..." she jutted her lip forward. Hands fleetly made way to her phone.
Suicide bomber in Central Park: it was a video taken by Cindy, one of the first persons in the scene. Watching the replay of the action multiple times: Atarah, her back on the camera and the man, later identified as Mr. Coby Lasner, securing the woman on her neck.
Turning the backward button into jet speed. She clicked pause. Now, she was sure of it. Standing underneath an oak tree, the eminent person in the back, wearing black clothing like it was winter - the Reaper himself. Now she was a step close to revealing his identity, but there's a catch. Now, she needed to catch him exposed.
(A/n): Belated Father's Day to everyone all around the globe! I procrastinated from writing the chapters the entire weekend 🙁.
I might've been too busy playing the game Pet Pals (not advertising anything) and I still do now 😂.
Still I won't forget to leave an update and work on my story for you guys!
Stay tuned for more. ❤️