Chapter one
Jack Pedro, early forties whose face bore the weight of years spent chasing shadows, sat hunched over his desk. The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights overhead accentuated the deep furrows etched into his brow. His piercing blue eyes stared at the file in front of him, their focus dulled by a weariness that went beyond the demands of the current case. Another one. A gruesome murder that had sent a shiver through the city. The victim. A young woman barely out of twenties, had been found dead in an abandoned warehouse. But Jack’s mind wasn’t on the case. It was on his daughter, Sarah, who had been snatched from his life five years ago. The memories came unbidden. A relentless tide washed over him. The sound of her laughter. The scent of her hair, still lingered in his memory. His eyes began to blur, tears he fought so hard to hold back threatened to spill over. He wiped them away, shoving the pain back down into the abyss from which it refused to stay banished.
But the ache never went away. It was a constant companion haunting his every thought. The pain was what had led him to the bottle in the first place. He’d convinced himself that alcohol, the liquid balm of the downtrodden, would dull the sharp edges of grief, making it more manageable. But it compounded the problem, blurred his vision, numbed his senses, and left him a prisoner of his own misery.
Unbeknownst to him, someone was outside his door. A shadowy figure lurked in the darkness. His face hidden in a hoodie.
At the shrill ring of Jack's phone, the figured disappeared. The phone jolted Jack from his reverie. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the receiver. Finally answered, his voice firm.
"Detective Pedro," his words measured and professional.
“Jack, any leads on the case?” His partner, Emily, spoke from the other end of the line.
“I think so, just need to check it out,” He replied, his voice lacked its usual confident swagger.
“Nothing’s coming up at forensics yet, it might take some days,” she said, her tone laced with concern. “Think we better get back to square one.”
Jack nodded, even though Emily couldn’t see him.
“Okay, let’s do that. Meet me at the murder scene,” he concluded.
He hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket, a worn leather garment that had seen better days, and headed out the door.
As he navigated the streets towards his car, his mind continued to churn with the complexities of the case. It was a tough one, a puzzle with no clear pieces, no obvious motive, and no easy answers. The lack of leads gnawed at him.
The drive to the lead's location was short, but Jack's thoughts raced through the time. He replayed the crime scene in his mind, every gruesome detail burned into his memory: the blood splatter on the wall, the overturned furniture, the scattered belongings that whispered of a life tragically interrupted. He imagined the victim, her face a blur of fear, her last moments filled with terror.
The familiar cityscape, reflected his own turmoil. Buildings blurred as he drove. Their outlines wavered in the haze of his anxiety. Finally, the car lurched to a halt, the abrupt stop jarred him back to the present. He glanced around, took in the bleak surroundings. He was in the city's underbelly, a forgotten corner where shadows stretched long.
He got out of the car, the familiar weight of his duty settled upon him. Emily was already there, a petite woman with short brown hair, determination etched on her face.
Jack, you’re here,” She said, her voice soft, her gaze concerned.
Jack nodded at her, and she fell into step beside him. Her hand hovered near her gun, her fingers sought the reassurance of its cold metal.
As they walked towards the dilapidated building,Jack’s phone buzzed.
“Detective Pedro,” he said, his voice firm and steady.
“Jack, it’s the Chief,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “I hear you’re working on the Lucia's case.”
Jack nodded, even though the Chief couldn’t see him. “Yes, sir. I’m following up on a lead right now.”
“Be careful, Jack. This case is getting a lot of attention. I don’t want you to mess it up.”
A surge of anger flared within Jack. He was a good detective, that had solved countless cases in his career, but the Chief’s skepticism was justified. His addiction had almost destroyed him. A shameful scar on his record, a constant reminder of his fragility. He still struggle to stay sober, a battle he fought every day.
“I’ll be careful, sir,” Jack replied.
“See that you are, Jack. I’m counting on you.”
Jack hung up the phone, the weight of the Chief’s words settled heavy on his shoulders.
He had to prove to the Chief, and to himself, that he was still a good detective, that he was still capable of doing his job, that he was worthy of their trust.
He looked over at Emily, her eyes filled with concerned.
"You okay, Jack?" she with a soft voice.
Jack nodded, trying to reassure her.
"Let's return to forensic, I've got something to check out" Jack said. Then both of them left.
