Page 5

The emails come from nowhere—no IP address I can trace, no digital footprint. They seem to know me, know Halle, know everything. A part of me wonders if this is a setup, that someone is trying to catch me out. But what if it isn’t? What if they can save Halle’s life? Wouldn’t I be stupid not to take the chance?

But I know if anyone was to find out I’m doing this, that I met Rowan, and that I’m planning on tampering with evidence, I could get fired, probably arrested too and lose everything I’ve worked so hard for.

Powering on my computer, I click through to the encrypted file hidden in the mountains of folders from other cases. Dozens of them that I’ve helped solve in the last few years. I move past them all, clicking on the one I have titled‘Haze.’

There have been four deaths linked to the drug over the last few weeks, and all the victims have been under twenty-four. Two of them were discovered in advanced rigor mortis and the other two had seizures in or outside clubs around Senna.

Although there is no solid thread linking them, from reading the case files, it seems all of them were coming from or were at some kind of party or club. Looking at the autopsies, they all consumed the drug at some point, but none of their deaths were concluded as overdoses or poisoning. As a result, no alarm bells have gone off. Right now, it’s just a bunch of young kids dying outside clubs. It’s nothing out of the ordinary and The Judiciary won’t bother with something so minor.

That’s why I need Rowan’s help. The Snake owns a number of clubs throughout Senna, and he would know who is selling to keep the clientele happy and sloppy enough to keep spending money.

Rowan was my best chance, and I blew it. I bury my face in my hands, fighting the urge to scream.

“Kimura, you’re still here?” A voice comes up to my desk.

My heart leaps to my throat as I quickly scramble to shut my laptop. Chief Rachel Anders looks down at me, a warm smile dancing on her lips.

“Whoa, there. It’s just me. Are you okay?”

I laugh uneasily, my heart still pounding in my chest. “Sorry, you scared me.”

The open space bullpen is still completely empty, the motion detector lights all dim except in the area I sit, near the back with a good view of the entire floor.

“It’s Friday night,” she says. “Shouldn’t a young guy like you be out on some hot date?”

I swallow, putting on my best smile. “Ahh, the hot date is tomorrow night, actually.”

That earns me a laugh, her crow’s feet appearing at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, I miss those days. Now it’s just department budgets and my bitchy cat, Ida.”

Chief Anders is tall and lithe, with a sharp grey bob that doesn’t age her but instead makes her look regal and wise. She can’t be more than fifty years old, but she’s worked her way up through the ranks and now she’s a chief in one of Senna’s most prestigious and well-funded police departments.

“I don’t know how Ida would feel hearing you say that,” I say.

She waves a hand. “Oh, she knows she’s a bitch. She’ll be okay.”

I try to laugh, but my heart is still racing, thinking about what is open on my laptop. If Anders or anyone else here finds out what I’m up to, that’s my ass gone.

“Don’t stay too long,” she says after a second. “You’ve been working too hard these days. Great for the unit, but bad for you. I like my men sharp and healthy.”

“Yeah, of course. Just wrapping up now.”

“Great.” Anders smiles again. “Good night, Kimura.”

“Night, Chief.”

She waves, disappearing down the hallway, the motion lights following the soft sound of her heels on the thin carpeting. I make sure I hear the ping of the elevator before pulling my laptop open again.

A picture of the dead investment banker—Richard Arnold Jr—glares back at me. He’s lying on the marble floor of his apartment, his eyes wide open and his lips parted, like he’s seeing a ghost. A thin trail of blood flows from his head.

I flip to the next picture and the stairs leading up to the second floor have no bannisters. It’s possible that in the dark, he slipped and fell, hitting his head in the process, but the gash on his head could have come from something else, something like a heavy object.

I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. Outside the wide tall windows, a cold breeze blows through Senna, signalling the beginning of winter. Lights twinkle from across the River Demont that divides the city.

Dread settles in my stomach, like a cinderblock weighing me down. I pull out my phone and my thumb hovers over Rowan’s number. A part of me wants to try again, wants to ask him to reconsider, but I’ve overplayed my hand.

He won’t see me again and he won’t help me.

I have to find another way.