CHAPTER 9
The chandelier buzzed lazily beneath the ceiling, scattering dim light across Lake’s cramped office. The three of them sat close together, staring at the monitor.
They were watching the footage for the hundredth time—and every new viewing felt more agonizing than the last.
Parker’s eyes stung. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily. It felt as though the image had been burned straight into his brain: Sarah pushing open the shop door, then the chime of the bell, her light smile, the way she leaned over the display case, chose the bracelet, the box... and disappeared through the door. That was it. The end.
Lake rewound the footage to the beginning again. His face remained tense, lips pressed tight, his gaze catching on every smallest detail—but the stubborn emptiness between frames still gave them nothing new.
Rick caught himself realizing he already knew every passerby in the footage by heart: the man with the umbrella, the girl with pigtails dragging an energetic poodle behind her, the old man with a newspaper tucked under his arm. Even the van across the street, with its peeling door and mirror taped over, had become almost familiar. A gray pickup was parked beside it—perfectly ordinary, standing out in no way at all.
But that ordinariness was what infuriated him most. Everything was too familiar, too horribly normal.
“I give up,” Parker breathed tiredly, leaning back in his chair. His voice sounded dull, as though all his strength had left with the air.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Mr. Parker is right,” Hong muttered under his breath.
“No. There has to be something.” Lake didn’t take his eyes off the recording, his fingers tapping nervously against the mouse. “We’re just not seeing it.”
He dragged the video back to the very beginning again. For a second, the room filled with the familiar click and quiet whir of rewinding.
“November eleventh. Thirteen-oh-five. Sarah comes in, buys the bracelet. People outside. Nothing strange. Nobody’s following her. She just leaves, and that’s it.” Parker almost recited it, as though trying to convince not only them, but himself.
Hong leaned on the desk yet again and exhaled noisily. His eyelids were heavy, his eyes red from the strain.
“Detective... I don’t see anything either,” he drawled in a tired voice.
Lake didn’t answer.
His mouth tightened into a thin line. For several seconds, he silently watched the flickering frames, as though trying to catch on something barely perceptible.
There was something here. They just had to understand
what.
Finally, he exhaled sharply, looked up at the wall clock, and swore quietly.
“Shit.”
He rose from the desk.
“Hong, study this footage inside and out. Check every detail. Every license plate.” Lake spoke quickly, sharply, as though his thoughts were already elsewhere. “I’m going to the morgue. Mr. Green should be arriving any minute to identify the body. I need to be there.”
“I’m coming with you.” Parker immediately shot up after him, grabbing his jacket.
Lake frowned, giving him a quick once-over.
“You don’t need to be there, Parker.”
“I do,” Rick repeated stubbornly.
“No. You’ll stay here and help Billy.” Irritation slipped into Aaron’s voice, but his eyes betrayed exhaustion and concern.
Rick shook his head.
“I said I’m coming with you.”
“There will be a body identification.”
“And?”
Lake looked at him in silence for several seconds.
“And you don’t need to see that.”
“I need to go.”
“Why?”
Rick only tightened his grip on the jacket in his hand.
“You know why.”
Tension rang in the air. Billy quietly lifted his head from the screen, afraid to interfere.
Aaron looked at him for another second—coldly, sharply—but something in that gaze still wavered. He exhaled loudly through his nose.
“Fine.”
Rick had already opened his mouth.
“But when Mr. Green arrives, you’ll wait for me outside. You are not going into the identification room.”
A brief pause hung between them.
“Fine,” Parker agreed reluctantly.
***
They arrived at the morgue and silently changed into white coats. The cold fluorescent light hurt their eyes, the walls gave off a sterile emptiness, and the air smelled of antiseptic and metal. Even the atmosphere itself pressed against the chest.
The three of them stood in the reception area. In a separate room, Coroner Johnson had already prepared the gurney with the body covered by a white sheet. Everything was ready, but no one was in any hurry to begin. All they could do now was wait for Mr. Green.
Time dragged painfully slowly. The ticking of the wall clock grew unbearably loud.
“I can’t stand seeing their faces... those few seconds when the hope in their eyes finally goes out.”
She looked away and wrapped her arms tighter around herself.
“I’d rather work with the dead.”
“I’ll show him myself,” Lake said dryly without lifting his eyes.
Emma nodded gratefully.
“Thank you, Aaron. You always save me.”
He gave a short nod, as though it meant nothing.
Parker said nothing. He stood by the wall. His gaze kept returning to the face of the clock. It seemed like the hand had frozen in place. With every second, every tick, a heavy feeling rose in his chest.
The door flew open, and an agitated Mr. Green rushed in. His face was gray, dark bruises beneath his eyes from sleepless nights and the endless drive. To Parker, it seemed as though in just these few days the man had hunched over so much he had aged ten years.
“Sarah! My little girl!” His voice broke, and such terror trembled in it that Rick’s stomach clenched.
“Mr. Green.” Lake stepped forward to meet him, keeping his voice even. “Come with me.”
The air in the room turned heavy, leaden.
Through the glass, Parker watched the man follow Aaron toward the covered body, staggering and barely bending his knees. Every movement was awkward, desperately mechanical, like someone who no longer believed, yet still kept walking.
Lake slowly lifted the white sheet. For a second, nothing happened.
And then Mr. Green’s face simply stopped looking alive.
“No-o-o!!!” An inhuman scream tore through the air. It slammed into the walls, pierced the eardrums, and echoed somewhere deep in the chest. “That’s my girl! My little girl!..”
Green swayed, grasping at the air. Lake supported him by the back, keeping him from collapsing onto the cold floor. The man clutched at his coat, tearing at the fabric with his fingers, and screamed, screamed as though trying to shout down death itself.
“I’m so sorry,” Lake said quietly.
“Bring her back!.. Bring me back my little girl!..” His voice cracked, broke hollowly, tore itself apart so painfully it was unbearable to hear.
Parker stood frozen on the other side of the window. A lump rose in his throat, his tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. He could feel his heart beating too fast. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. His eyes locked onto the scene, and it made him want to scream too.
Something heavy and sticky spread slowly through his chest.
The house in Pinsborough surfaced in front of his eyes again.
The light burning in the window.
Sarah’s photograph in its frame.
“I still wait for her every day.”God.
Aaron held Mr. Green, keeping him upright as the man clung to him with both hands in despair. He must have been saying something—softly, low, the way one comforts a child. The same words that had to be repeated far too often. But his eyes made it clear: those words didn’t make it easier for anyone.
Through the glass, Aaron suddenly looked at him too. Only for a second. But it was enough for Rick to feel that he understood.
Not just that scream and Mr. Green falling apart in his arms, but the sticky, suffocating guilt rising again somewhere beneath Rick’s ribs.
His throat tightened painfully.
Rick clenched his teeth and looked away first, simply because he couldn’t keep watching.
He didn’t even notice when Emma came closer.
“Rick,” she called softly. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”
He only nodded silently. The last thing he wanted right now was to stay there another minute.
They stepped into the corridor, and the heavy door closed quietly behind them.
The thick smoke slowly filled his lungs, but brought neither relief nor air—only burned his throat and left a bitter aftertaste.
Rick took a drag in silence, staring somewhere ahead.
It had all been pointless.
He really shouldn’t have come here. He couldn’t help Sarah, or Mr. Green, or anyone else. All that was left for him was to stand here and breathe in smoke.
Emma smoked beside him. Silent too.
She didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to make him talk, didn’t say any of the correct comforting words people usually said in situations like this. She simply stood shoulder to shoulder with him, flicking ash onto the wet asphalt, and somehow that helped more than anything.
Rick caught himself feeling grateful to her for that silence.
The wind lazily stirred the hem of his white coat. Somewhere nearby, a car door slammed. The world kept moving on, as though nothing had happened.
And inside, that piercing scream still echoed, while hands reaching for a daughter appeared again and again before his eyes.
Rick inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
Beside him, Emma exhaled softly.
He remembered her as cheerful, energetic. Now she was different. Tired. Her shoulders had dropped slightly, and a faint crease lay between her brows—the one that appeared only when someone else’s pain caught too sharply.
And still, she held herself together.
Maybe working with death every day had taught her how to live beside it.
Or at least, Rick wanted to believe that.He wanted to believe that at least someone had managed to pass through that pain and still keep living.
Emma flicked off the ash and finally turned her head toward him.
“How are you?”
Rick opened his eyes and smiled without humor.
“Been better.”
She nodded in understanding, and for some reason, that made it a little easier.
They finished their cigarettes in silence.
When hers had burned down almost to the filter, Emma stubbed it out against the concrete curb and spent a moment watching the thin thread of smoke dissolve into the cold November air.
“Alright,” she said, a little more briskly. “We should go.”
Rick nodded, but the trembling in his hands hadn’t gone anywhere. He tossed the cigarette butt into the bin and followed her.
They walked back in silence.
The hum of ventilation, white walls, the sharp smell of antiseptic—everything was the same, but after the street, the morgue corridors felt even colder and emptier.
The attendant was already waiting for them by the doors.
“You can go in.”
Parker stepped inside and froze.
“Thank you, Detective. I’ll take it from here.”
Emma lightly touched Aaron’s elbow. He gave a short nod and stepped aside.
Rick lingered on the threshold.
Mr. Green sat in a chair, staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes.
At some point, the man slowly lowered his gaze to Sarah’s photograph lying in his lap and carefully ran his thumb along its edge.
Rick felt something tighten painfully beneath his ribs and looked away.
***
The next day greeted him with gray light—as though the town itself couldn’t decide whether to begin the conversation.
Parker entered the station and walked down the empty, unusually quiet corridor. Somewhere in the distance, a draft made the blinds creak.
Lake had just come out of his office and was heading toward Hong’s workstation. Hands in his pockets, tired shadows beneath his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept at all that night.
Hong sat at his desk, surrounded by a pile of printouts and two monitors on which the same footage played in a loop. The bluish light from the screens made his face look even paler. His fingers flew across the keyboard, his phone lit up several times with notifications, but Billy didn’t even twitch—completely absorbed in his work. Half-finished coffee mugs, pencils, and crumpled sheets covered in calculations crowded the desk.
“Damn wreck...” he muttered quietly.
“What do you have?” Lake asked dryly.
“Working on it,” Hong grumbled without looking away from the monitor. “This pickup shows up on several cameras. I’m trying to pull the plate.”
He jabbed a finger at the screen.
“Here. See? If you zoom in...”
A grainy image of a gray pickup appeared on the screen.
“The plate is almost completely covered in dirt,” Billy continued. “But I think the first letter is either C or G.”
“Did you go home at all?” Lake asked.
“For a couple hours.”
“Not enough.”
“You don’t exactly look rested either.”
For a second, silence hung between them. Parker glanced at Lake despite himself, but he didn’t react at all, only gave a short nod.
“Keep going.”
Billy muttered something under his breath and bent over the screen again.
Lake watched the footage for a few more seconds, then shifted his gaze to Rick, as though only now noticing he was there.
“Parker, wait here.”
And he immediately headed for the sheriff’s office, flipping through some folder as he walked.
Rick watched him go, then turned back to Hong’s monitors.
Billy sat hunched over the footage. On one screen, the blurred image of the gray pickup was frozen; on the other, tables of license plates flickered past.
Hundreds.
Maybe thousands.
Rick was genuinely astonished.
“God, what is this, every license plate in the country?”
“No, just the state,” Hong muttered without looking up from his work. “This damn truck seems to have decided to ruin my personal life on purpose.”
Parker snorted, noticing Hong’s phone light up with another notification, and stepped away.
About ten minutes later, Lake returned with a new folder tucked under his arm. He glanced over Billy, asked something brief about the footage, and only then nodded to Rick.
“Come on.”
Rick stood and followed him.
Once inside the office, he quietly closed the door behind him and lowered himself into the chair opposite the desk. For a second, he simply sat there, catching his breath.
Today was an important day. The day they might possibly move one step closer to solving the mystery of Katie’s disappearance.
“Well,” he drawled, folding his arms across his chest, “Friday has arrived. At eight tonight, we find out who Coop is. What’s the plan?”
Lake sat down behind his desk. Several folders lay on the surface. He took the top one, opened it, and quickly scanned the first page.
“We watch and keep our heads down,” he said calmly. Too calmly.
Without looking up, he took a pen and signed the bottom of the page.
“We need to gather as much information as possible.”
“You think someone’s behind him?” Parker leaned forward slightly. His elbows came to rest on the desk, and his voice sounded unusually low.
Aaron stilled for a moment.
“I’m sure of it,” he answered, then went back to work.
Silence settled over the office.
Parker picked up the glass award sitting at the edge of the desk without thinking. He ran a finger along the cool edge.
Detective Aaron Lake — In Recognition of Outstanding Service. 2022.He couldn’t help snorting. Very Lake. Even his awards looked serious and boring.
Lifting his gaze, Rick looked at him again.
After yesterday, it still felt strange to see him so composed, as though nothing had happened. Although now Rick already knew: outward calm didn’t always mean things were truly calm inside.
He ruffled his hair and shook his head.
“Short and clear. As always.”
Lake raised his eyes to him. A brief, sharp look, as though checking whether Parker had understood more than what had been said.
He had.
Rick smiled faintly, though his voice was more serious now.
“You do realize that if Coop leads us to someone else... this could become a very different game.”
“I do,” Lake replied shortly, taking another folder. “But if we want to find out who killed Sarah and Caroline, there’s no other way.”
“So we just observe,” Rick repeated, as if fixing it in his mind. “And if something goes wrong...”
“Then we act fast. No improvising.”
Aaron set the folder aside.
“And you stay close to me.”
Rick had already opened his mouth, ready to object automatically, but found nothing to say.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed, trying to hide the faint nervousness.
“Fine,” he conceded. “You lead.”
Lake nodded, as though that was exactly the answer he had expected.
He returned to work, scanning the text with his eyes, but suddenly stopped, as if thinking for a second. Without lifting his head, he said quietly:
“Did you sleep at all?”
Parker blinked, not immediately realizing the question was meant for him.
“What?”
“Did you sleep? I’m asking.”
This time, Aaron did look up from the documents.
His tone seemed the same—dry, as even as usual—but Rick suddenly thought there was something else behind the question. He immediately brushed the thought aside.
No. He was imagining it.
“What about you?” Rick huffed.
Lake said nothing.
Not that Parker had expected any other answer. With a suffering expression, he tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling.
Sometimes it seemed to him that Lake was physically incapable of leaving anything unsupervised. Investigations, reports, witnesses, partners—everything had to be in its place and move strictly according to plan.
The thought unexpectedly amused him.
“You know?” he drawled lazily. “Sometimes I think someone could write a manual about you:
How to Be the Perfect Detective and Annoy Everyone Around You.”
Aaron’s hand froze for a moment, the pen hovering above the paper. But in the next second, he continued writing as calmly as before, as though the pause had never happened.
“If I really annoyed you, you would have found a way to change partners by now.”
Rick blinked, not expecting that answer. He didn’t even want to think about changing partners.
“Ouch,” he drawled with a crooked smile. “Not bad, Lake. Have you learned how to joke?”
“Who said I was joking?”
Rick snorted softly.
“There. Now I recognize you again.”
The corner of Lake’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Or maybe Parker was imagining things again.
Time dragged slowly. The office filled with the rustle of pages, brief phone calls, and the quiet ticking of the wall clock. Outside, dusk gradually thickened.
The closer it got to eight, the more the tension grew.
