Slumping in my chair, I found myself gazing dismally across the landscape of my desk. It was a chaotic jumble of paperwork, an ever-growing mountain that seemed to spill over every available surface. The sight was a stark reminder of the less glamorous aspects of my job. Each document, each case file, was a story in itself, a puzzle waiting to be solved, yet the sheer volume felt overwhelming. There it was, the not-so-glamorous reality of detective work - less about the thrilling chase and more about wading through an endless sea of paperwork. "Become a detective, they said. Action-packed, they said." The irony of those words didn't escape me as I sat surrounded by a heap of mundane, yet crucial, administrative tasks.
In desperate need of a more pleasant sight, I let my eyes drift towards Karl's desk. It stood empty, his chair unoccupied, a silent testament to his recent habitual tardiness. He's late again, I mused. It had become something of a norm for Karl, my partner in anti-crime, to arrive at the station at his own leisurely pace each morning. His predictable unpredictability was both an annoyance and an oddly comforting routine in the chaos of our daily lives.
Suddenly, a jolt of realisation struck me. "Ah, shit!" I exclaimed aloud, a sharp note of frustration colouring my voice. My hand, which had reflexively slipped inside my trouser pocket in search of my phone, found nothing but emptiness. Once again, I was without my phone, a vital tool in my line of work and a lifeline to the outside world. Its absence sent a ripple of irritation through me, accompanied by a begrudging acknowledgment of my own forgetfulness.
Welcoming the distraction, which only served to further encourage my tendency to procrastinate, I stood up from my desk. With a determined stride, I navigated through the maze of corridors that crisscrossed the second floor of our old, red brick building. The structure, aged and weathered, seemed to hold as many secrets as the cases we worked on. My objective was simple yet oddly comforting: locate my misplaced phone, something I had managed to do already once this week.
As I neared the alcove which housed the station's lifts, a flicker of movement in the periphery of my vision caught my attention. Instinctively, I paused and turned my gaze down the hallway. My eyes drifted through the square windows of the doors leading to the small, enclosed courtyard. There, I saw the Sergeant engaged in a conversation with a woman. His hand was gently holding her elbow, an action that spoke of familiarity and comfort. He pulled her closer and leaned in, whispering something in her ear. The intimacy of the gesture was striking, out of place in the sterile environment of the police station.
I squinted, trying in vain to make out the movement of his lips, to glean some hint of the conversation's nature. Then, recognition hit me like a bolt of lightning. The Sergeant is talking to Louise Jeffries.
What does he want with her? I pondered, my mind racing with possibilities. Louise's relaxed posture and the closeness she allowed with the Sergeant indicated a level of comfort and trust between them. This raised more questions than answers. What was their relationship? Did it tie into the investigation?
Desperate to overhear their conversation, I cautiously moved several steps down the corridor. I was mindful of each movement, ensuring it was measured and silent, so as not to draw their attention. The need to remain unseen, to eavesdrop without being discovered, felt like a dance – a careful balancing act between curiosity and discretion.
As I inched closer, straining to catch snippets of their exchange, I felt a twinge of guilt for spying on them. Yet, the detective in me knew that any piece of information could be crucial. This unexpected encounter between the Sergeant and Louise Jeffries could potentially shed light on the murky waters of the case. My heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and anticipation as I edged closer, determined to uncover the nature of their secretive meeting.
"Sarah!" The sudden call of a raspy voice from behind startled me, jolting my entire body with surprise. My heart skipped a beat as I stood frozen, my covert surveillance interrupted. The voice’s gravelly tone was unmistakable, and it made me apprehensive. I feared that my poorly concealed attempt at espionage had been discovered, potentially unraveling my discreet observation of the Sergeant and Louise Jeffries.
Slowly, with a reluctance that weighed down each movement, I turned around. The corridor, with its dull lighting and the echo of distant footsteps, suddenly felt more confining. As the old, raspy voice called out again, "Sarah!" I braced myself for the confrontation.
With a heavy sigh, I faced Ellen. She appeared even crankier than usual this morning, her displeasure evident in the tight set of her jaw and the furrow of her brow. As she hurried along the corridor towards me, she pushed her wide-framed glasses back up onto her flat nose, a habitual gesture that spoke of her impatience.
"Where have you been? Answer your damn phone! I have been trying to call you all morning," Ellen scolded, her voice sharp and tinged with irritation.
I stammered, struggling to find the right words, my mind still partially back in the courtyard with the Sergeant and Louise. This interruption was the last thing I needed. Not now. There was a frustrating sense of helplessness, knowing that any further chance of eavesdropping was slipping away. I could feel the opportunity to uncover more about their interaction evaporating with each second I spent dealing with Ellen.
"I, uh... I think I’ve left my phone in my car," I replied, my voice a mixture of feigned casualness and underlying urgency. Slowly, I shuffled my feet across the old tiled floor, each step deliberate. I turned my back on Ellen, a strategic manoeuvre that would force her to move and allow me to regain my visual on the courtyard. The need to observe the Sergeant and Louise Jeffries was like an itch, growing more insistent by the second.
"Again?" Ellen's voice croaked with a mix of disbelief and mild annoyance. "You may need to start strapping that phone to your arm… or perhaps your forehead."
"Um… sure," I replied distractedly, my attention divided. Ellen's less than helpful suggestions barely registered in my mind. My focus was on the courtyard, on the fading opportunity to glean something valuable from the Sergeant's interaction with Louise.
"Did you… ah… did you need something, Ellen?" I asked, a hint of impatience creeping into my voice. I was desperate to hurry her along, to return to my clandestine observation.
"Me?" Ellen responded incredulously, her tone suggesting that she found my question absurd. "I think it is you that needs something."
"Huh?" I said, my face scrunching in genuine confusion. My mind was elsewhere, and I hadn’t fully processed her words. The situation was becoming increasingly frustrating, my desire to return to the courtyard clashing with the need to address Ellen's concerns.
Ellen huffed, her frustration evident in the multiple, loud exhalations that followed. I found myself involuntarily holding my breath, trying to avoid the pervasive smell of cigarettes that seemed to cling to Ellen like a second skin. The scent was reminiscent of a fifty-year-old ashtray, a harsh reminder of her lifelong habit. The stench, combined with the urgency of my curiosity about the Sergeant and Louise, made the interaction increasingly unbearable.
"Well in case you were wondering, which obviously you weren't," Ellen began, her tone laced with a mix of sarcasm and mild annoyance. She stood there, arms crossed, embodying her typical no-nonsense demeanour that was as much a part of her as her ever-present cigarette scent. "I've heard back from both the Hobart and Launceston airports."
"Oh," I responded, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. My surprise seemed to only intensify Ellen's glare, as if she could sense that my attention had been elsewhere.
"They've no record of either Jamie Greyson or Kain Jeffries boarding any flights in the last two weeks," Ellen declared, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. It was clear she was pleased with her investigative efforts, even if the results were less than thrilling.
"Oh," I said again, this time feeling a wave of disappointment wash over me. The information was a dead end, another puzzle piece that refused to fit into the ever-complex picture of my case. "Thank you anyway, Ellen," I added, my voice tinged with gratitude but my mind still racing with thoughts of the Sergeant and Louise.
"I'm not done yet! I've also checked with the Spirit of Tasmania ferry. They have no records of either of them travelling to Melbourne. But they have promised to send down a hard drive with the last few weeks of security footage, just in case," Ellen continued, undeterred by my attempts to rush her.
"Send down?" I repeated. The idea of transporting sensitive data via a hard drive didn't sit well with me. "Well, that's hardly a secure way to transfer data."
Ellen tilted her head, giving me a wry smile. "We are in Tasmania, remember. I don't think you need to worry," she reassured me, a touch of amusement in her tone. "They've given it to Duncan to bring with him from Devonport. He should arrive sometime today. Can't wait..."
Of course, Ellen would find Duncan attractive, I thought, rolling my eyes internally. It was just like her to mix personal interests with professional matters.
"Thanks for the update, Ellen. That's great work," I told her, offering a brief, but genuine smile. Despite my impatience, Ellen's information was valuable, and her diligence deserved recognition.
"I know," Ellen replied with a hint of pride, turning to walk away. Her confidence was a hallmark of her character, one that often bordered on arrogance but was usually backed up by her solid ability to garnish information from those who would otherwise be reluctant to give it up.
It took me a moment to register that Ellen, with her usual knack for diversion, had skilfully redirected our conversation, effectively drawing my attention away from the Sergeant once again. Spinning around, a sense of urgency propelling my movement, I found myself peering through the small window of the door, only to be greeted by the sight of an empty courtyard. The opportunity to uncover whatever was happening between the Sergeant and Louise Jeffries had slipped through my fingers. "Shit," I muttered under my breath, a mix of frustration and disappointment clouding my thoughts.
Impatiently, I stood waiting for the lift, my foot tapping rhythmically against the tiled floor in a futile attempt to hasten its arrival. The sound echoed hollowly in the empty corridor, a stark reminder of the time being wasted. The wait felt interminable, each passing second stretching out endlessly, further fuelling my irritation.
Finally, the lift arrived with a soft ding, its doors sliding open with a mechanical smoothness that contrasted sharply with the turmoil of my thoughts. I stepped in, riding down to the ground floor, my mind racing with what I had missed, the potential leads that could have been gleaned from observing the Sergeant's interaction.
Once on the ground floor, I didn't waste a moment. I marched out of the building with purposeful strides, determined to retrieve my phone from my car. The crisp air outside hit me, a sharp contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the police station. My car was parked a short distance away, and with each step, I felt a growing resolve to make up for lost time.
I slumped back in my chair, a heavy sigh escaping my lips as I surveyed the relentless array of paperwork sprawled across my desk. The stacks seemed just as towering and impenetrable as when I had last looked, a testament to the never-ending nature of detective work. No matter how much effort I put in, the paperwork was like a hydra - for every file I completed, two more seemed to take its place.
My gaze shifted, almost involuntarily, towards Karl's desk. Still empty. I closed my eyes, seeking a momentary escape from the daunting sight of my desk and its ever-growing mountains of work. As I embraced the darkness behind my eyelids, vivid images of the Sergeant and Louise Jeffries sprang to life in a burst of technicolor. They played out like a private cinema show, their whispered conversation and subtle gestures looping in my mind, fuelling my curiosity and frustration.
Unable to resist the pull of this curiosity, I blinked away the vivid daydream and leaned forward to boot up my ageing computer. The machine groaned and whirred into life, its various lights flickering in a hesitant dance. The sound of its inner workings was worryingly loud, a reminder of the countless hours it had endured as my faithful companion in crime-solving.
Once the computer had settled into a steady hum, I opened the central database with a sense of determination. My fingers moved with purpose, typing in 'Louise Jeffries' into the search bar. I hit 'Enter' with a force that echoed my resolve.
The screen flickered briefly before displaying the disappointing message: No results found. A wave of frustration washed over me. It was a dead end, another brick wall in an investigation that seemed full of them. I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing with questions. Where else could I look? What other avenues were left unexplored?
I typed in a second name, Kain Jeffries, my fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard with a mix of hope and skepticism.
No results found, the computer's response flashed on the screen once more, echoing its previous unhelpfulness. A knot of frustration formed in my stomach. The lack of results left me feeling like I was grasping at straws, trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces.
Determined to find something – anything – I opened a web browser and entered Jeffries Manor into the search bar. My eyebrows raised in surprise as the screen filled with a cascade of direct hits. Multiple pages, in fact. This was more like it. I leaned forward, my curiosity piqued, as I began to sift through the results.
Jeffries Manor had a rich and long history, dating back to the early 1800s. The details of its construction captivated me. The original owner, William Jeffries, was not just a name on a plaque but a hands-on man who had physically contributed to the building of his magnificent home. There was something intriguing about reading of a man from history who had put his own sweat into his legacy.
William Jeffries' story unfolded on my screen like a novel. From young convict to successful entrepreneur, his life read like a tale of rags to riches. His marriage to Madelyn Bally, a woman nearly twice his age, added a layer of intrigue. But it was his mysterious disappearance shortly after the birth of his son, William Jeffries Jr., that really caught my attention. The dramatic turn of events seemed to be lifted straight from a crime thriller.
As I finished reading through the first page of results, the further I delved, the more outlandish the theories became. I found myself skimming over sites dedicated to an assortment of conspiracy theories about William Jeffries' disappearance. The involvement of his wife, Madelyn, was a recurring theme. But the strangest page, authored by Rita Larkin, was on another level entirely. Aliens, swirling electrical portals, and weekly extra-terrestrial visitors tied to the Jeffries family – it was the kind of stuff you'd expect in a sci-fi movie, not a historical search.
Aliens! I scoffed internally, shaking my head in disbelief. There certainly are a lot of crazy theories out there. Working in law enforcement, I'd encountered my fair share of bizarre stories and wild speculations. This was just another to add to the list. As much as I loved a good mystery, I knew the difference between fact and fiction. And this, undoubtedly, was fiction.
