Few days later........

The police are back at the firm again, this time bearing news of a discovered body, presumed to be Jack's. I am among the first in line to be interviewed, and I can't help but feel irritated by how much of a hassle Jack's disappearance is turning out to be, yet uneasy about what information the police may have uncovered.

My turn comes, and I enter, determined to face whatever is thrown at me. Detective Boab seems much more serious now compared to our first encounter. He is still polite but rushes through the exchange of pleasantries, diving straight into the interrogation. Even the effect of my smile on him seems to have dulled. Detective Kent has a stern expression as he writes in his notepad intensely.

Although the questioning is long and intense, they seem to have little to no information. Kent excuses himself mid-interview and steps outside to take a call. When he returns, the interrogation has reached its conclusion. I step out and linger behind the door, right hand on the handle hoping to catch their conversation.

I hear Detective Kent's voice first. "The DNA results just came back. The body has been confirmed to belong to Jack Ambrose."

"Who would murder him in such cold blood?" Detective Boab responds. "Although he was a confirmed womanizer, no one seems to have clear-cut ill intentions toward him."

"Do you think this could be connected to the body found in the lake?" asks Detective Kent.

"I did at first," Boab replies, "but now I have strong doubts. The victims' lifestyles are worlds apart."

There's a pause, then: "Wait, there seems to be someone at the door." This is followed by the sound of movement.

I hurriedly move away from the door and make a beeline for my office. Upon entering, I slide down the door and heave a sigh of relief. Thankfully, I made it back unnoticed. I begin to feel my right hand throbbing and open it, noticing a deep red line in my palm. Seems like I gripped the door handle a little too hard. I look for something to busy myself with, wishing for the workday to pass quickly.

 Once home, a wave of stress is lifted off my shoulders. I change into something comfortable and order Chinese take out in preparation of a lazy, relaxing evening. Around seven pm my phone rings creating a rift in my routine of stuffing my face and watching a marathon of neighbours from hell. I sigh and reluctantly answer the phone, a spoonful of noodles in my mouth.

"Herro"? I say my voice coming out muffled.

"yes hello. Am I speaking to Miss Kaia Nicolson."

"Yes," I say swallowing. "This is she."

"I'm Officer Langdon calling from Bluewater police department. You are needed at the station tomorrow at eight am."

"Must it be tomorrow?" I inquire. "I've got to go to work."

"Yes, ma'am," he responds. "The matter is of urgency. Have a good evening," he adds, then drops the call.

Just like that, my night was ruined. I turn off the TV and toss the leftovers in the trash before heading up to bed.

I arrive at the station at eight a.m. sharp. A female officer leads me to an interrogation room. She asks if I would like a glass of water, but I politely decline, holding up my water bottle with a small smile. She tells me to let her know if I need anything, then excuses herself, shutting the door.

The room is small and bare, with neutral gray walls. A metal table sits in the center, paired with three chairs—two side by side and the third across the table. I take a seat, placing my handbag in my lap, and continue to survey the room. There space was devoid of decoration, aside from a clock hanging on the wall and a small camera hanging in the corner.

Two hours passed. It's now ten a.m., yet no one has come to speak to me. The police officer who escorted me to the room stopped answering after the third call. At this point, I'm boiling inside but do my best to maintain composure. I phone the firm offering a reason to explain my tardiness. More time passes, and I find myself drifting off to sleep.

The door creaks open, waking me from my slumber. I open my eyes to see Detectives Boab and Kent. They greet me with a half-hearted apology for having kept me waiting for so long. I ignore them, staring at the floor, making no effort to hide my irritation.

Detective Boab grabs a chair and sits in the corner while Detective Kent takes a seat across from me . It looks like he will be heading the interrogation today. Kent begins the questioning, his face serious.

"Miss Nicolson, we have reason to believe you downplayed your relationship with the missing person."

"And what makes you think so?"

"An anonymous call came in today from your firm. A woman claims that you and Ambrose got quite close in the days before his disappearance. She also says she overheard you ask him to visit you on the day he went missing."

An anonymous tip. From who? I wonder, thinking hard. Oh my God. That slimy bitch Daria. Why can't she get over her affair with Ambrose and her one-sided rivalry with me?

"I have no idea what you're talking about. The tip you received is obviously fake," I say in a bored tone.

"Now listen here, Miss Nicolson. I knew there was something fishy about you from the first day I saw you. I suggest you speak up before things get worse for you."

"Now, Mr. Detective, why would someone who knows everything accuse someone without probable cause or evidence?" I respond in a sneering, my voice full of disdain.

"I will not let you disrespect me," he growls, slamming his fist onto the table. His gaze is intense, as if trying to bore into my soul.

I fold my arms and lift my head in defiance, locking eyes with him. "Do your job well."

We stare each other down, neither of us willing to be the first to break. Detective Boab steps in to de escalate, suggesting Kent go outside for some fresh air. He refuses at first but eventually storms out, giving me a cold, lingering look as he leaves.

The questioning continues smoothly with Detective Boab, and Kent doesn't return. When the interrogation concludes, Boab holds the door open for me, and I step out, making my way toward the station's entrance. Just as I near the door, I hear my name. 

I turn around to see Detective Kent. "I'm onto you," he says simply.

I don't respond, instead I just turn away and walk out.

I leave the station with a flood of thoughts racing through my mind. They seem to be onto me. I've got to lay low. If I'm caught, all the progress I've made will be in vain. I can't afford to get caught. Not now.