Parking across the road, we watched as Gladys pulled into Luke Smith’s driveway. I noticed Sarah's hesitation to get out of the car, a familiar pause that I had seen many times before. It was the hesitation of an officer brimming with questions, eager for answers yet uncertain of the next step.
"I don't think we're going to be meeting Jamie Greyson," I told her, aiming to address the first question I knew was on her mind.
Sarah turned to me, her expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Huh?" she uttered, the single syllable heavy with unspoken queries.
"But with a bit of luck, we might be about to speak with Luke Smith," I continued, allowing a small grin to play on my lips. "He's cooking for her." The revelation was significant, potentially a turning point in our investigation, and I could see the realisation dawning on Sarah's face.
Her eyes widened, a spark of excitement and understanding illuminating her features. It was a look I had come to know well - the thrill of a new lead, the anticipation of uncovering the truth.
"Come on," I said with a smile, encouraging her out of the car. My tone was light, but underneath lay a current of determination. This was a critical moment in our investigation, and I felt a keen sense of responsibility to see it through.
As Sarah and I approached the house, the scene was already unfolding before us. Gladys stood at the front door, her repeated knocks echoing into the silence of the afternoon. She turned to us as we stepped onto the porch. "Well, that's a bit odd," she commented calmly. "There doesn't seem to be anybody home. I wasn't gone that long."
Sarah, always eager for action, couldn't hide her disappointment, letting out a loud, frustrated huff. It was clear she had been hoping for a more immediate confrontation, a resolution to the investigation’s mysteries.
My eyes drifted to the set of keys in Gladys' hand, the metal glinting in the sunlight. "But you have a key, don't you, Gladys?" I asked pointedly, focusing on the keys that included those to Jamie's car.
Gladys' response was a nervous laugh, a clear sign of her growing discomfort. "Oh, yeah," she said, lifting the keys with a jingle, trying to brush off her oversight as a mere forgetfulness. "How silly of me."
I continued to observe her, letting the silence hang for a moment. "Well, aren't you going to invite us in?" I asked, my voice calm but firm. I wanted to maintain a professional yet subtly pressing demeanour.
"Wouldn't it be a bit rude of us to enter Jamie's house if he wasn't home?" Gladys retorted, her eyes meeting mine with a hint of anxious desperation. It was clear she was trying to dissuade us, to keep us from uncovering whatever might be waiting inside.
I smiled softly, a gesture meant to reassure yet convey my determination. "I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have given you his keys if he didn't want you being here," I countered, gently undermining her argument.
Sarah, unable to contain herself, let out a short, quiet snort, quickly covering her mouth in a bid for composure. Her reaction, though unprofessional, was a testament to the tension we all felt.
Gladys' glare shifted from Sarah back to me, her expression a mixture of resignation and reluctance. "I guess so," she conceded with a slight shrug, the movement betraying her inner turmoil.
As she slid the key into the lock, I felt my heart rate accelerate, anticipation coursing through me. Holding my breath, I watched intently as the key turned slowly, the sound of the lock disengaging loud in the quiet of the afternoon. A rush of adrenaline surged through me as the door unlocked with a definitive click.
Finally, I thought. The moment of truth is upon us. There was a sense of finality, a feeling that the answers we sought were just beyond this threshold. As we prepared to enter, I steeled myself for whatever we might find. Luke Smith, whoever he was and whatever his role in this unfolding drama, would soon have nowhere left to hide.
As we stood in the living room, the atmosphere was thick with tension and unspoken questions. Sarah, ever curious and impulsive, had already started to survey the surroundings, her hands itching to explore.
"Sarah!" I whispered sharply, catching her attention. She looked over her shoulder, her expression a mix of curiosity and mild defacement.
"Don't touch," I mouthed clearly, my frustration barely contained. Why does she always have to fiddle with things? I thought, a touch of exasperation colouring my thoughts. Gladys had asked us to wait while she supposedly went to fetch Jamie, and it hadn't taken Sarah more than a fleeting moment to succumb to her habitual nosiness.
"I don't see any dinner preparations," Sarah whispered back, her eyes scanning the room skeptically.
"No," I agreed, my gaze following hers. The lack of any culinary activity was just another red flag in a day full of them. "And I don't think that's the only thing Gladys is being untruthful about, either."
Sarah raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Gladys returned then. "Jamie doesn't appear to be here," she announced. Her tone carried a hint of practiced shock, but I wasn’t buying it. I had suspected there wouldn't be a Jamie waiting for us, but my suspicions about Luke's presence remained.
"Does Jamie live alone?" I asked, feigning ignorance. The question was strategic, designed to probe further into their living situation without revealing my hand.
"Um... no," Gladys replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "He has a partner."
"Oh," I responded, feigning surprise. "Is she about, then?" The deliberate misgendering was a ploy, an attempt to catch Gladys off guard and perhaps reveal more than she intended.
Gladys' face flushed a deep red, a clear indication that my question had hit a nerve.
"I'm sorry if I've embarrassed you," I said quickly, softening my approach. I needed Gladys cooperative, not defensive.
Gladys forced a smile. "His name is Luke," she corrected me. "But they have been having a few personal troubles lately, and Luke has gone to Melbourne for a few weeks to think things through."
"Oh, I see," I said calmly, although inside my mind was racing. This revelation added another layer of complexity to the case. Who exactly is missing here? Jamie? Kain? Luke? Perhaps all of them, or maybe none. The investigation was turning more convoluted by the minute. Each piece of information seemed to open up more avenues than it closed, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were only scratching the surface of something much bigger.
"May I use the bathroom, please?" I asked politely.
"Sure," Gladys said. "It's just down the end of the hallway on the left."
I set off down the corridor, my footsteps muted against the carpet. The hallway felt narrow, almost claustrophobic, with walls adorned with an assortment of photographs that I noted for later perusal. As I walked, I overheard Sarah initiating her line of questioning. "So, what was it you said that Jamie was cooking again?" she asked Gladys. I couldn’t help but shake my head slightly. Sarah's approach was often more direct than subtle, and I wondered if she realised how transparent her skepticism was.
Passing by the small toilet, I found myself drawn to the back corner bedroom. A hunch, fuelled by years of detective work, nudged me towards it. This room, I knew, contained black garbage bags piled inside. Now, what are the chances of that? I mused silently, a wry smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. If I were to peek inside one of those bags, will I find something as sinister as a decomposing body, or is my imagination running wild?
As I rounded the corner, just out of sight from the living room, I stole a quick glance back at Sarah and Gladys. Sarah might inadvertently push Gladys to the brink of hostility, but at least she would keep her occupied. This was my chance to investigate without interruption.
Leaning close to the bedroom door, I pressed my right ear against it, using my left index finger to block out the sounds of their conversation. All I could hear was silence, a deafening quiet that did nothing to ease the growing tension in my gut.
My palms, now slick with nervous perspiration, reached for the chrome door handle. I grasped it gently, careful not to make a sound. The metal felt cool and slightly damp against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from my hand. I took a moment, steadying my breath, preparing myself for what I might find on the other side. Every sense was heightened, every nerve on edge.
Holding my breath, I gently nudged the door open, my movements cautious and deliberate. Every inch it opened felt like a mile, my heart pounding in sync with the slow reveal of the room's contents. The first black garbage bag came into view, and my mind raced with possibilities.
My curiosity overcame caution, and I pressed against the door with more force. It swung open wider, then suddenly bounced back towards me. The unexpected movement startled me, and in a moment of unguarded reaction, I pushed the door again. It halted abruptly, leaving a gap of about a foot and a half. "Fuck!" I muttered under my breath, my heart skipping a beat in frustration.
Gladys's voice, sharp and filled with anger, echoed down the hallway. "Hey! What the hell are you doing up there?" Her footsteps were quick and determined, approaching rapidly.
Startled, I felt a surge of adrenaline. There was an unsettling edge to this house, a tension that seemed to keep me constantly on edge. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about this whole situation felt off.
As Gladys appeared, her face was a mix of fury and suspicion. "I think you'd better leave," she demanded, her tone brooking no argument.
Embarrassment mingled with my racing adrenaline. Part of me was desperate to know if Luke was hiding behind that door, yet I was also acutely aware of the delicate situation. We had pushed the boundaries of our welcome, and Gladys's demand to leave left little room for negotiation.
Reluctantly retreating from the bedroom, a whirlwind of thoughts and theories swirled in my head. Was Luke concealed in that room, or was our pursuit leading us astray? My determination, however, was unshaken. Every fibre of my being was committed to unraveling this enigma.
As I stepped back into the hallway, the atmosphere shifted abruptly. The lights flickered ominously, casting eerie shadows along the walls, and my radio crackled to life with static, breaking the tense silence. A chill ran down my spine, my senses on high alert.
Then, a whisper floated from the direction of the bedroom, barely audible yet chillingly clear. "Bye, Karl," it taunted, its tone dripping with smug triumph. Anger surged through me, hot and quick. That voice, that mocking farewell—it had to be Luke.
"You bastard!" I yelled and, driven by a mix of fury and adrenaline, I spun around and charged at the bedroom door with all my might. The door crashed open, slamming against the wall with force.
"Karl!" Sarah's voice was a mixture of shock and concern. "What the hell are you doing!?"
"He's here!" I shouted, my voice a cocktail of frustration and conviction. "Luke is here!"
Without hesitation, Sarah sprang into action. She drew her gun, her movements swift and decisive, as she barged past me into the room. Positioning herself strategically, she faced the doorway, her back to the large window, ready for any threat that might present itself. "Go! I've got you covered," she commanded, her tone laced with urgency.
I obeyed, stepping back and grabbing the door handle. In one swift motion, I slammed the door shut, narrowly missing Gladys's face as she appeared, a look of shock etched across her features.
"What the–" Sarah's voice trailed off in disbelief. We both stood there, our gazes locked on the unremarkable wall before us, its only notable feature now a sizeable dent from our forced entry.
I stood there, confused. I knew I had heard the voice. I just knew it. In a flurry of blurred emotions, I reached for the nearest garbage bag and ripped a great hole in its side. Rubbish spilled from its wound. Unsatisfied, I moved to the next bag and tore several large gashes through it as more rubbish began to spill out.
"Karl!" Sarah's voice cut through my frenzied actions, but it barely registered. My focus was singular – find Luke, prove he was here.
"I know he's here!" I bellowed, my hands tearing through another bag, rubbish spilling and spreading across the floor like the remnants of a defeated adversary.
"Karl!" Sarah yelled again, her voice sharper, more urgent this time. I felt her hand on my shoulder, trying to pull me back to reality, but I was too far gone. In a reflexive motion, I pushed her away, my arm striking her chest with more force than I had intended. She stumbled back, tripping over the rubbish-strewn floor. The sound of her head hitting the wall was horrific, a sickening crack that finally pierced my rage-induced fog.
I froze, staring in horror as Sarah slid down the wall. Her hand, cut by a shard of glass from the broken window, was bleeding profusely. Her firearm lay precariously on the floor, an ominous reminder of the danger I had put us both in.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. The gravity of my actions hit me like a physical blow, a wave of regret washing over me. The scene before me blurred with memories of a young Jamie struggling in a river, a haunting echo from my past.
In a daze of pain and regret, I left the house, my mind a chaotic blend of past and present. The questions, the doubts, the unresolved mysteries of both swirled together, clouding my judgment and overwhelming my usual composure.
I walked down the driveway, past our car, and continued aimlessly down the street. I was barely aware of Sarah driving past me later, her failure to stop a silent testament to the rift my actions had caused.
As I walked, the anger within me simmered and grew. The whisper, "Bye, Karl," replayed in my head, a mocking refrain that echoed my failure and fuelled my determination.
"I know I heard it," I said to myself, my voice a mix of anger and resolve. This wasn't the end. I couldn't let it be. The voice, the mystery, the unresolved threads of this case – I was determined to untangle them, no matter what it took.
The walk back to my place felt endless, each step heavy with the weight of my actions and the unresolved mysteries swirling in my head. The city was shrouded in darkness by the time I arrived home, the night sky a blanket of inky blackness, mirroring my tumultuous thoughts.
My phone buzzed repeatedly with calls from Sarah and Sergeant Claiborne, but I couldn't face them, not yet. The guilt over Sarah's injury and the frustration from the case were too raw, too fresh. I needed time to process, to think.
First, I tended to Jargus, my steadfast companion. His presence was a small comfort in the storm of my emotions. Ensuring his bowl was filled with food, I then mechanically changed into my black sweatpants and a sleeveless muscle tee, my movements automatic, devoid of the usual purpose.
I found myself drawn back to my car, almost subconsciously. Parking under the familiar gum trees, their leaves rustling harshly in the strengthening wind, I settled in. The wind's howl seemed to echo the turmoil inside me, a fitting soundtrack to my restless vigil.
I sat there, watching, waiting. My eyes were fixed on the dark, silent house that held so many answers I sought. The quiet was oppressive, the darkness impenetrable. But I remained, a sentinel in the night, driven by a mixture of duty and an unyielding need for closure.
The hours passed, marked only by the occasional flicker of streetlights or the distant bark of a dog. My patience yielded nothing but the stillness of the night and the unanswered questions that hung in the air like a thick fog.
As the night wore on, my mind replayed the day's events, each memory a piece of the puzzle I was desperate to solve. The whispered "Bye, Karl," the torn garbage bags, Sarah's injury – they all swirled in my head, refusing to coalesce into a coherent picture. I knew I couldn't give up, not when the answers were still out there, lurking in the shadows of this dark, silent house.
