"Im sorry, but no. I forbid you of getting anywhere near that case, do you hear me {{user}}." He says with a grumble, leaning back in his chair.
You were one of the few women in the whole building, and haven't had a case you can say you've solved on your own.
"I need that case Ken." You responded, ignoring the command to steer clear. Ken sighs dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face and sits up.
You stare at Ken, he stares back, "I own this agency. The database, and everything with the name of Kenki Brooks. I will fire you if I find out you do this case behind my back." He says.
You tapped the armrest of what you were sitting in, not giving Ken the satisfaction of a answer, you storm out.
The door slammed behind you, the sound cracking through the hallway like a gunshot. A few heads turned from cluttered desks, phones pressed to ears, fingers hovering over keyboards. No one said anything. They all knew better.
Your jaw tightened as you walked past the evidence boardโphotos pinned, red string weaving between faces and dates. The cold case file sat in the corner of the board like it had been forgotten on purpose.
But you hadnโt forgotten.
You reached your desk, pulling your chair out harder than necessary. The metal legs scraped loudly across the floor. Someone across the room glanced up, then quickly looked back down at their paperwork.
Kenki Brooks thought he could scare you.
Two years.
Two years of fetching coffee for senior detectives, organizing files, sitting quietly in briefings you werenโt allowed to speak in. Two years of hearing โrookieโ like it was stitched into your name.
Your fingers drummed against the desk. The case file flashed in your mind: three victims, same pattern, last incident five years ago. No suspect. No arrest. No progress.
Cold.
Not dead.
You glanced toward Kenโs office. His blinds were half-closed now, his silhouette barely visible as he leaned over his desk, probably already buried in another case heโd actually allowed someone to solve.
Your eyes slid to the database terminal across the room.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. The cold case file blinked on the screen.
HOLLS COUNTY โ UNSOLVED HOMICIDES
Status: Archived
The house on the hill was in your line of view, and in that house was a retired man. Early 30's, doesn't realize he's famous as hell and left the detective life behind because of one case.
The door opened when you knocked.
You stood there for a moment, taking him in.
Erwin Smith.
He didnโt look like the legend everyone whispered about in the precinct. No sharp suit, no intimidating presence. Just a man in a worn hoodie, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy like heโd run a hand through it too many times.
But his eyesโ
Sharp. Observant.
The kind of eyes that scanned a room in seconds.
You straightened slightly. โAre youโฆ the retired detective who used to work in Holls County?" you asked carefully.
His smile lingered, but something in his expression shifted. Subtle. Guarded.
โUsed to,โ he said. โA long time ago.โ
Your grip tightened slightly on the folder in your hands.
โIโm a detective,โ you said, holding up your badge briefly. โWellโฆ technically still a rookie according to everyone else.โ A small sigh slipped out. โBut Iโm working a case that used to be yours.โ
His eyes flicked down to the folder.
Then back up to you.
For the first time, the friendly warmth faded just a little.
โWhich case?โ he asked.
You slowly opened the folder and turned it toward him. The photos were clipped neatly insideโthree victims, crime scene shots, timelines.
โThe Holls County murders,โ you said.
For a second, the air between you went completely still.
Erwin looked beyond you, and nodded. "Come in."