Chapter 3 - THE SECRET INSIDE THE CASE FILE
I watched the video three times.
The first time, I thought it was fake.
The second time, I searched for editing.
The third time, I accepted the truth.
The man sitting across from Elias Voss was Captain Robert Hayes.
My mentor.
My commander.
The man who taught me how to be a detective.
The man who promoted me.
The man who handed me the Voss case.
I closed the laptop.
My apartment suddenly felt smaller.
Like the walls were moving closer.
Because if Captain Hayes was involved…
Then everything I knew about the case was a lie.
At 5:30 AM, I drove to the station.
I didn’t call anyone.
I didn’t tell my partner.
Trust had become a dangerous thing.
The police department looked exactly the same.
Same lights.
Same desks.
Same people walking through the halls.
But I saw everything differently.
Because now I wondered.
Who was watching me?
Who was pretending?
I entered the evidence room.
The missing file should have been impossible to access.
Only three people had authorization.
Me.
Captain Hayes.
And the commissioner.
I opened the security records.
The access log appeared.
Someone entered the evidence room at 2:47 AM.
Twenty-seven minutes before I received the first message.
The name appeared.
Captain Robert Hayes.
I stared at the screen.
Then my phone rang.
It was him.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
His voice sounded normal.
Too normal.
“Detective Miller, why are you accessing old evidence files?”
I stayed silent.
He knew.
“How did you know?”
A pause.
Then he sighed.
“Because I know what you found.”
My hand tightened.
“What did you do, Captain?”
Another silence.
Then:
“I tried to protect you.”
I almost laughed.
“By hiding evidence?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
His voice became lower.
“Elias Voss was never the beginning.”
I looked around the empty evidence room.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you were never investigating him.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“You were investigating yourself.”
The call ended.
I immediately checked the hallway camera.
Captain Hayes was not at the station.
But someone else was.
Standing outside the evidence room.
Watching me.
The figure turned.
And walked away.
I ran after him.
The hallway was empty.
Only one thing remained.
A small envelope placed on the floor.
My name was written across it.
Inside was a photograph.
Not from a crime scene.
Not from the Voss case.
A photograph of me.
Twenty years earlier.
When I was eighteen years old.
Standing beside a person I had spent years trying to forget.
My father.
A man officially declared dead.
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The message behind the photo said:
“You forgot where the first story began.”
