LAKESHORE PRECINT
''Hello, yes, this is he. Okay… ask her to wait. I will be there soon. Please don't let her leave, no matter what. I am on my way.''
Inspector Ade's voice cut through the static of the phone line, sharp and urgent.
He stuffed the device into his pocket, his fingers trembling just a fraction—enough to betray the storm brewing inside him. The office air felt stifled, heavy with the scent of papers and Cigarettes. He had to leave now.
''What's going on?'' Inspector Morka asked, leaning back in his creaky chair, his brow furrowed under the harsh fluorescent lights. He was midway through a report, pen hovering over stacks of papers.
''I'll tell you once it's clear.''
Ade tapped his partner's shoulder softly, a gesture he was used to, which translated to — trust me on this one — before bolting out the door. His footsteps echoed down the dimly lit hallway of the police station, each one pounding in rhythm with his racing heart. For the past year and a half, Ade had been chasing the holes he felt were in the death of Mrs. Amy Bems. It haunted him like a ghost that refused to rest—every lead a dead end, every hunch crumbling under scrutiny. The official file screamed suicide: she had accelerated fast, running into the tree, flames devouring what was left. But Ade's gut twisted otherwise. No note, her sick children, no clear motive, as well as those faint skidmarks that didn't seem intentional. Her life snuffed out too neatly.
Just when despair clawed at him, a cryptic text had buzzed his phone—a license plate number, from an anonymous sender. He'd dialled the sender, only to hit the wall of a burner phone. Undeterred, he traced the plate: It turned out that the car with the license plate had been on the road that fateful day. He had tried to get through to the owner, but they were Elusive.
However, a breakthrough had come a couple of Months ago via a quaint cafe near the crash site where he investigated. The owner of the cafe recognised the plate number, and mentioned that the owner had jetted abroad. Ade had then left strict instructions to be called the second she showed. Today was that day.
The cafe owner had just called him now to give him the news he had been waiting for. Ade climbed into his unmarked Ranger truck, the engine roaring to life with a throaty growl. He weaved through Renwick traffic, horns blaring like angry beasts, his hands gripping the wheel until his knuckles threatened to bust out of his flesh. Rain began to patter against the windshield, blurring the city into a watercolour of neon signs and bustling pedestrians. He tapped the steering wheel anxiously, mind racing ahead: What if they refuse to talk? What if this is nothing? But deeper, a flicker of hope—maybe this cracks it open.
AT THE CAFE
Before long, the cafe loomed into view, its warm glow cutting through the drizzle. Ade parked haphazardly, slamming the door and sprinting inside, raindrops clinging to his outerwear Jacket. The aroma of fresh brews and pastries hit him, a contrast to the tension coiling in his chest. He scanned the room, locking eyes with the cafe owner behind the counter, who nodded subtly toward a corner table. He turned and saw the person he had been waiting to see.
There she sat—a woman in her mid-thirties, or so she appeared, exuding an aura of refined poise. Her legs were crossed elegantly, one slender calf exposed beneath a textured purple two-piece ensemble that hugged her form like a second skin. The long-sleeve top shimmered under the soft cafe lights, paired with pristine white stiletto heels that clicked softly when she shifted. She lifted her cup with grace, sipping what smelled like herbal tea, her long nails—painted a bold red and adorned with glittering multicoloured rhinestones on three tips—catching the light like tiny jewels. A small white beaded purse rested on the seat beside her, unassuming yet screaming luxury. Her expression was stern, composed, as if the world bent to her rhythm rather than the other way around. She wasn't rushed; she savoured the ambience, the soft Pop music humming from hidden speakers, the murmur of other patrons a distant hum. Ade nodded back to the owner, who busied himself with a customer, then approached her table. She set down her cup with a gentle clink, her big, pretty eyes—sparkling like polished onyx—lifting to meet his. They held a depth that made him pause, curiosity flickering in their depths. He cleared his throat, pulling out his ID card with a steady hand.
"Hello, Mrs Kambili. My name is Inspector Ade. May I?"
He gestured to the empty seat opposite her, his voice calm but laced with the undercurrent of urgency. She eyed the card, then him—not with disdain, but a probing curiosity, like assessing a rare artifact. After a beat, she nodded, her full lips curving just slightly. He thanked her and sat, the wooden chair creaking under his weight.
"I know you're curious why I'm interrupting your afternoon," he began, leaning forward slightly, his tone apologetic yet firm.
"First off, I apologise for that. I've been trying to reach you because you might help with an investigation I'm handling. I have a few questions, if you don't mind." She placed the card on the table with a soft tap, gesturing with a manicured hand for him to proceed. No words, just that elegant wave— which could be interpreted as her saying continue, I'm listening.
"Do you remember November 14th, 2022?" Ade asked, watching her face closely. She tilted her head, thinking, her rhinestone nails drumming lightly on the cup. A furrow creased her brow, but recognition didn't dawn immediately.
"There was an—" She sat up abruptly, her eyes widening.
"Was that the day of that accident?" It was more a murmur to herself, but she turned to him.
"I can't recall the exact date, but if it's the crash you're referring to, I called the ambulance right after it happened. I'm not sure if they saved anyone—I didn't stick around. I was in a hurry, you see."
Ade nodded, jotting notes in his worn notebook, the pen scratching like a whisper.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to record this." He pulled out his smartphone, waiting for her silent assent before hitting record and placing it on the table.
"Could you walk me through what you remember? As much detail as possible."
She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling under the purple fabric, composing herself like an actress stepping into a role.
"I came into the cafe as usual. I enjoy my afternoons here—it's peaceful, quiet, a little oasis in this chaotic city. I'm rarely in the country, so this spot has become my ritual. That day, I was savouring one last peaceful moment before flying to Velmark to see my kids and my... well, my crazy ex-husband." She paused, a wry smile tugging at her lips, her voice dripping with dry humour.
"It's not a trip I look forward to, as you can probably tell from my face. The arguments alone could power a small village." Ade chuckled softly, easing the tension.
"Sounds exhausting. Go on."
"My flight was later that evening," she continued, her tone steady, eyes distant as if replaying the memory.
"I planned to head straight to the airport from here. Finished my drink, gathered my things, and started driving. That's when my lawyer called—said my trashy ex wanted to hike up the child support he's been squeezing out of me. I was furious, Inspector. So upset, I had to pull over by the roadside to curse him out to the moon and back."
She leaned back, crossing her arms, the rhinestones glinting. "We were in the thick of it, when two cars whipped past mine— so fast, so close, it shook me. I dropped my phone under the dashboard and bent down to grab it. Then... boom. A deafening crash." Ade leaned in, his pulse quickening.
"What did you see when you looked up?"
"All I could make out was a car mangled around a tree, smoke rising fast. I jumped out, my heart pounding, started walking toward it—shocked, you know? But then it exploded, flames shooting up like fireworks. I called the ambulance immediately, gave them the details as best I could. After that, I called my caretaker to have him pick up the car from the airport. I was running late for my flight, so I left. There wasn't anything more I could do—the scene was chaos." Ade glanced out the window, where the drizzle had thickened into a steady rain, painting the parking lot in slick grays. His gaze snagged on the key fob peeking from her purse, attached to a set of Lunark keys. A spark ignited in his eyes.
"Are you, by chance, the owner of that Lunark-Benz out there?" She followed his gaze, then nodded, her expression neutral.
"Yes, that's mine."
"Those models come with built-in dash cams, right?" he pressed, keeping his voice even. She blinked, momentarily lost.
"Um, I don't know. I never really check those things."
"Has anyone been in the car since you left the country?" She pondered briefly.
"No, just my caretaker when he retrieved it from the airport. My property has an electronic keypad—I change the password when it's locked, so no one accesses it without me." Ade nodded, opportunity blooming.
"If you don't mind, could I take a look?" She shrugged nonchalantly, pressing a button on her phone. The car's lights flashed, doors unlocking with a soft beep. Ade dashed out into the rain, the drops cold against his skin, and retrieved the memory card from the dash cam. He hurried back, brushing water from his jacket, and resumed his seat.
"I took this. Mind if I borrow it? It might have footage of the accident. I'll return it once I'm done." The woman—Ms. Adelaide, as he now knew—nodded silently, her demeanour unflappable.
"Thanks for your cooperation, Ms. Adelaide,"
He said, pocketing the card with a grateful smile. She eyed him up and down, a sly smile creeping across her face.
"Now, Inspector..." She paused, waiting.
"Ade," he supplied.
"Ah, right, Inspector Ade. You should know all this information isn't free." She leaned forward, her fingers lightly stroking the back of his hand, sending an unexpected jolt through him. He withdrew nervously, and she scoffed, amused.
"Do you feel repulsed because you're such a pretty young thing?" He met her gaze, taking in her ageless beauty—she looked mid-thirties, but something in her eyes hinted at more.
"I turn fifty-seven in two weeks," she revealed, as if reading his thoughts.
"Here..." She snatched his phone, punched in her number, called it to save his, then texted an RSVP invite.
"See, I saved you as 'Inspector Hot.'' She grinned, standing with fluid grace, grabbing her bag. Before leaving, she leaned in close, her expensive cologne—a heady mix of Peony and Vanilla—enveloping him.
"I'm fun to handle. Come to me when you've made up your mind. I may have bad taste in men, but I don't regret it one bit. It's annoying and fun at the same time." With that, she sauntered out, hips swaying like a siren's call.
Ade felt a flush creep up his neck, fanning himself as the cafe air suddenly turned hot. No woman had made him feel like a flustered teen in years, yet this enigma in her late fifties—appearing decades younger—was able to do that with just some words. It just reminded him how long it's been since he had been with anyone.
He shook it off, standing and heading back to the station, the memory card burning a hole in his pocket.
BACK AT THE STATION
''Where have you been? You missed the meeting with the chief,'' Morka said as Ade burst in, rain-dampened and breathless. No reply—Ade went straight to his computer, plugging in the card. A video file popped up, crystal clear. The car was parked, and Ms Adelaide was in a heated argument, like she had mentioned earlier, her voice muffled but intense through the dashboard audio. Then, two cars blurred past, her phone dropping. It was a bit far but he could see it. The crash unfolded: one vehicle seem to have lost control, but soon regained control and sped past the other, which just spiralled into the tree. Ade replayed it, then again in slow motion, squinting at the details. Morka, curious, ambled over, draping an arm around his shoulder.
"You're gonna wear out the keyboard at this rate." Ade ignored him, looping the scene. Morka recognised the plate, eyes widening.
"Y-you! Where did you get this?"
"What do you see?" Ade asked, replaying it without answering. Morka pulled up a chair, leaning in.
"What does this look like to you?" Morka sucked in a breath, pointing at the screen.
"That second car... looks like it lost control after a tire slipped off the road. The first one tried to avoid a collision, but the second regained and sped past. They didn't hit it—we investigated that. Remember, the driver claimed a medical emergency."
"Ha! Medical emergency," Ade scoffed, turning to his partner.
"But that's what he said, though," he continued
"What do you mean?" Morka pressed, confusion etching his face.
"The doctor confirmed heart disease history, showed us documents," Ade continued, his voice laced with suspicion.
"Yeah, but don't you think that doctor's popping up in this mess a bit too much? Coincidence?"
"Isn't it just that—a coincidence?" Morka retorted, shifting uncomfortably.
"A coincidence, you say." Ade's tone dripped with irony, making Morka's stomach twist. Without another word, Ade ejected the card, grabbed his keys, and stormed out, leaving his partner with more Questions than answers.
MEANWHILE AT SMART POWERS
Amy stood up, pushing away her tray with its half-eaten meal, the bland prison-like food turning her stomach. Nausea had been her constant companion these days, waves of it crashing without warning, leaving her unable to choke down more than a few bites. The cafeteria buzzed with low chatter, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry insects. As she dropped the tray in the bin with a clatter, a young woman nearby shot her an annoyed glare, lips pursed.
"The boss wants you," the woman snapped, her voice laced with petty venom. Amy didn't dignify it with a response, just walked past, her footsteps unhurried, leaving the fuming woman in her wake. She walked through the huge hallways, knocking once on the heavy office door before entering.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" The boss didn't look up from his stack of documents, his pen scratching across a paper.
"Hmm, go to Kyle's office and change your outfit. We have somewhere to be." He waved her off dismissively, like swatting a fly.
Amy had learned long ago not to question her Boss—curiosity was a luxury she couldn't afford. This job was something she had to do to bide her time; Time to have something doing while planning on how to get back at those people who ruined her life.
She exited without a word, heading to Kyle's office. Knocking lightly, she poked her head in.
"Boss said you had something for me?" Kyle glanced up, appraising her with a quick once-over. He reached for a sleek designer bag—CECES, the logo gleaming under the warm glow of the office light.
"Here."
Amy took it, her fingers tracing the smooth leather, memories flooding back unbidden. She'd always dreamed of owning something from Cece's line—his designs were masterpieces, elegant and unattainable. Back when life was kind, her husband had promised her custom earrings, engraved with her name. Happy times, now soured by betrayal. That man and his vile family had shattered her world, but revenge simmered in her veins—she'd make them pay. Kyle cleared his throat, snapping her back to the present.
"I'll change now." She retreated to the adjoining bathroom, unzipping the bag.
Inside, the jewellery sparkled like captured stars—earrings, necklace, bracelet, all delicate and radiant, forcing her to shield her eyes from the glare. Cece was dead, his empire was seized. Yet she could tell these pieces screamed his signature. How? She'd studied his work obsessively; She loved his brands and followed every design unveiling. These designs, however, were new, unseen. Questions hammered her skull—how did the boss acquire them? It fueled a pounding headache, the answers to her question elusive like smoke.
Shaking it off, she stripped and slipped into the dress: a long gold maxi with a daring thigh-high split that accentuated her toned legs, fabric flowing like liquid sunlight. The deep V back plunged to her waist, exposing smooth skin she hadn't bared in ages. Her breasts were perfectly framed, bouncing subtly with movement. Paired black platform heels added height and poise. She donned the jewellery—the earrings dangling like whispers, bracelet cool against her wrist, necklace nestling in her cleavage. Ditching her smartwatch, she grabbed the small black-and-gold handbag, diamonds winking under the lights. Stepping to the mirror, Amy gasped—royalty stared back, confident and transformed. Her dream of modelling these luxuries felt tantalizingly real. She couldn't believe the reflection staring back at her was her own. She fingered the necklace, absentmindedly looking over herself. The sound of someone coughing brought her back to reality. She touched up her makeup quickly, enhancing her features with a subtle glow. Returning to Kyle's office, she entered, and he froze, standing stunned. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes wide.
"You... you look incredible," he stammered, clearing his throat again, clearly flustered by the vision before him.