The Havenport Files: Book One

Day 3

It is a little more strange than I thought to be in the same car as both agents; the fact that Agent Yui—the one who seems to have some difficulty holding their instincts of making a joke every minute or so—isn't here to turn this situation all a little less awkward; even with that, I focus myself on other things in my mind, avoiding to up the level of it.

Different from when I drive my car, the radio in this one stays untouched—grounded—and so the only sound that runs across the car is the wind that comes from the open window of Agent Colette as she sits on the passenger seat comfortably, focusing her eyes so dearly on the road that she seems unreachable at this moment, on a world of her own—something I can relate to.

Beside her, driving the car, Agent Dalia carefully conducts the SUV on the gentle streets of the city, not yielding her eyes from the road, or so I think, as for a moment, a not long moment, her eyes dive up to the rearview mirror, meeting mine in the process. I am quick to drive my eyes away from hers, or so I think, because in reality, the moment where we both looked at each other lasted some more than I registered—at least five seconds; her response to me turning away is but a simple smile on her soft lips, then she adjusts the mirror's angle to be able to see the few cars behind us.

Fifteen minutes go by, and before I know it, as I choose to focus on my hands for the rest of the way, we reach the entrance to the warehouse area; it is a good thing that the station and the harbor are not so far apart, with the only thing that takes some of the time to get there being the poorly made dirt road that goes over the train rails.

By opening the window and looking out, I'm granted the view of the many warehouses, side to side, having only a thin alley in between each for people to get by; directly in front of us, the guardhouse blocks our path forward with its sliding gate.

One thing that stands out about it is that the gate seems to have been run down by something—most likely a car—and then placed back where it was supposed to be. It is easy to tell by the way the gate bends at the top half. With the SUV not being recognizable to them, one of the guards, clearly on high alert because of the incident that seems to have happened—a tall black man with a bald head, adorned with a nicely kept beard—approaches us, adjusting his uniform and the bulletproof vest, keeping one hand near the radio resting in one of the pockets.

At first, I don't manage to recognize him, but once he gets to the side of the car and taps the window to coerce the driver to roll them down, I recognize the scar across his palm.

Agent Dalia lowers the window, looks at the man with a friendly expression, and begins to explain the situation before he even manages to pose his question.

"Hello, good morning. I'm sorry to interrupt your work, gentleman. We are here to investigate the incident that I believe your team had to deal with yesterday; we are working alongside the local police force."

She takes her federal badge from her pocket and hands it to the security guard, who in return glances at it for a moment before looking at Agent Colette, who rests quietly on her seat; at one point she notices that the man is waiting, and so she grabs the badge from her heavy coat and shows it to him, earning only a nod from his head as he returns Dalia's.

Before moving to me, I finally manage to shake my memory enough to remember who he is; he used to work as a night guard for the old red brick factory when the city still wanted to rebuild it ten years ago or so. I bumped into him sometimes since I joined the station, generally when he got hold of some teen's drug stash when he moved on to the Mountain View Academy. It is good to know he is away from that place—bad memories.

If I remember correctly, his name is Robson.

When I come to, the man stops at my window with a clear expression of surprise taking over his face; it doesn't last for much, as not long after he allows a small smile to take over his chapped lips, betraying his image from before.

"Hey, Robson, it is good to see you again; I'm glad you are still around," I comment as my hands fall on the badge clipped to my jeans, taking it out to show him. "Is the harbor treating you any better than the academy?"

"In ways, yes; the pay is not bad, and the guys around here are a lot easier to deal with than those damn, entitled teenagers, something that's good; after all, escaping this city is no easy task." Robson's eyes fall on the badge, spotting almost immediately the difference from my old one; that alone makes him cross his arm and look proud—dammit, he is almost making me smile here. "Wow, who would have thought that little Officer Rivers, the same scared girl from a little back, would become Detective Rivers? Good job, kid; I hope the station is treating you well too."

"Say, Robson, do you know someone named Pete who works around here? I was told he is the guy to go to if I want to know about what happened here."

"Oh, Rowe's boy? Yeah, he works the night shifts from time to time, but, if I'm not wrong, I saw him checking in not long ago; if you want to catch him, just go to Warehouse 6, he should be working some equipment there. A friendly warning though: the boy likes to 'indulge' in some, less than legal substances, so take all he says with a spoon of salt."

"I'll keep that in mind; it was good seeing you around. If anything happens, just remember that I'm one call away, or you can find me around the station." I extend my hand to him, and he takes it and shakes it strongly, not shying away or hiding his strength of grip; a cool-looking smile, the kind that makes you feel cool too, adorns his face.

"Of course, if anything like this happens again, you'll be the first one that I will call; best luck with your case, Rivers. Hope you catch the son of a bitch that is bugging this city soon."

Robson, as he finishes his words, brings two fingers to his mouth and whistles loudly, doing so with his head turned to the guardhouse, where I can spot one of his co-workers giving a thumbs up and opening the gates for us promptly.

To signal that we can go, he gives the car two good knocks and takes a step away.

I watch from my window as Robson gets back to the guardhouse, his figure slowly getting further and further away as Agent Dalia drives and starts to look for an empty spot to park the SUV.

Around us, the big open area of the harbor blooms with workers, a lot more than you see around the city, and that is to do with this business of harboring stuff and sending on the train to other cities being so lucrative, so, unlike the rest of the city, this place has a top-notch quality to it, from illumination to tools. The most important one is, without a doubt, the very good surveillance system this place has, one that, I'm sure, unlike the old one back in the bar, won't be magically corrupted.

To our left, I spot some stacked red and dark blue containers, one atop the other so neatly that it looks like someone's attempt at modern, urban art.

The important part to the driving agent lies to our right, where we can all spot the Harbor's parking lot that we need; where many of the worker's personal vehicles and a load of different types of trucks, ranging from simple pickup trucks to semi-trailers, wait patiently to be of use. Agent Dalia quickly secures an empty space in the first row for the car, careful not to hit any of the trucks in the process as the space proves to be quite thin for the robust SUV, but she finds a way to make it work without any damages.

The first second the car's engine quiets down, Agent Colette forces the car's door open and gets out of the car, slamming the door close as she exits, leaving Agent Dalia and I to accompany her so we don't separate—this is one of the rare situations that I think discussing how to approach the problem would be good, especially as we are missing Agent Yui, who set off in front of us in the road and disappeared, and keeping in mind the kind warning from Robson.

I'm sure that a drug user might not be so happy when he finds three federal agents and a detective approaching them; even so, the best I can do right now is keep calm and be ready to defuse any situation that might occur.

Stepping out, my eyes automatically search around for a very characteristic motorcycle resting somewhere in the parking lot, and to my fortune, it doesn't take long before I spot my target. From its side, the agent in question becomes easy to spot, and even more so when they spot me back. Promptly, they craft a smile on their lips and begin running towards us without thinking.

When they are close enough, the agent, not minding the speed they set off, has a hard time coming to a stop and entering the collision route with the car's side; instinctively, I get in front of them and put my hands on their shoulder, helping them stabilize.

The agent places their strangely cold hands atop mine; the temperature difference is enough to make me shiver in response—their touch feels like the one of a corpse.

"Oh, that was close; breaking my nose like this would have been very, very awkward." Agent Yui comments as they laugh awkwardly, but not short after they manage to stabilize themselves on their feet, they grin; their eyes shine, differently from before now that I look close to them, almost like they have a light of their own, and their teeth seem sharper somehow, but I blame the light reflecting on them for that. "Hey, you just earn some points with me; keep that up, and you can claim a special prize. Rest assured that there will be a lot of opportunities to earn more points. I fall a lot more than the average person." They add, forcing a tone to try mimicking a carny. "I think you'll like what I can do for you, or, if you are more into being the one on top, I'm sure you can do a lot of things to me."

Embarrassingly, it takes me more than a little while before the true meaning behind those words, laced with kittenish and lust, hits me with full force, managing to grab some heat from out of nowhere and drag it to the center stage—my face—exposing my reaction loudly to anyone's curious eyes.

"I..."

In my mind, millions of ways to respond to the agent's flirt surface, but with the ample amount and the fact I was not expecting something like this to happen, I end up red-faced and without a single word to say.

Agent Yui grins wider at my reaction and plants their hand on my shoulder before mapping with their fingers a path towards my collarbone, one that ends up shortly as they come to a stop on the vein in my neck, lingering there.

"That's a very nice reaction, Detective; I'm glad to see you're not one of those boring people who play only for one team." Those words from them just worsen my situation; fortunately, they give me enough time to regain my composure, but even that seemed to already be on their plans as the moment I open my mouth to, finally, talk back, they seize their touch and step away, teasingly. "Come on, Detective, even if I would love to pull you away from the others for a moment to have some alone time, we have a job to do, no?"

As I'm left there to push down my throat all of this anomalous situation by the smug, walking agent, in my mind the question 'What just happened?' resounds until I'm compelled to follow right behind the moment I notice none of them stop to check if I'm near.

One towering warehouse after another—a never-ending sight that just keeps on going. We walk all at different speeds and pass by them on the cement path leading to the end of the harbor; the yellow lines on the road, the various marks of tires, and the smell of car smoke are all too overwhelming to the senses, especially my nose. I find it hard to believe that someone could just get used to this, but then I recall the smell of Sergeant Eddie's office room, and everything suddenly becomes a bit more bearable.

I can see the part where the road ends and meets the cold, unforgiving waters of the ocean; gazing at it, I see the nothingness that waits, where the waters continue on but my eyes can't see past the earth's curvature, leaving me to feel strangely calm at the scene.

To all sides, life goes on very tumultuously: workers drive around with copious amounts of crates on their cars, getting them to the other side of the harbor; people talk, laugh, and argue, all without fear of being heard, using the tumult to keep their conversations anonymous.

Warehouse six, the one we were told the man named Pete would be, stares right back at us with its imposing height; the metal walls, somewhat rusted, with parts being hidden with a new coat of silver paint, stain the air with the smell of salt from years of being embraced by the winds coming from the waters.

On the wall, the number six can be seen, painted in old, black, almost all gone paint; not only that but resting its back against the same wall is a very skinny man, wearing a harbor security uniform, missing only the vest. The figure's cheeks are almost hollow, devoid of any filling; the beginning of a beard is visible on his face, almost completely shaved off. A band-aid hides what I assume are scars from trying to manage a razor while not being able to control the shakes in his hands.

Clearly, the figure is, as told before, our drug addict, and remembering the words from the station's rules: 'Drug addicts are one of the most complicated types to deal with; if your badge is visible, they will see it before you approach them and will proceed to run away, so to avoid this scenario, approach the individual when alone and with one partner only.'

Before the agents go for the man, I step forward and hold one hand up to stop them.

"Wait, just one second. If I can make a suggestion, I believe it is better if only one of you goes with me to talk to the guy."

Agent Dalia is the first to nod her head. "Sure thing, detective; who do you want to accompany you?"

Hum, that is a difficult decision to make. Of the three agents, Dalia is the best choice if I don't want things to escalate; her calmness and softness surely will subdue the man if he feels threatened. Agent Colette is probably the most trustworthy when it comes to stopping the man from doing something dumb, like running away in fear; she surely can hold him while I attempt to calm him down. And there's Yui, who with their relaxed posture should be able to coerce the man to be more open; I'm sure that of the three, they would be the best choice, but only if I knew more about the man.

"Colette, come with me; be prepared to stop the man if he tries to run. Just try to be a little less aggressive if you can; I don't want him scared." When she looks back at me without any kind of response, I take it only as her way of accepting my words, so I look at the other two agents to let them ready. "You two, just wait here a moment; if you see things are okay on our side, then you can join us."

"Yes, Captain, as you wish." Yui, still holding that grin from before, pulls out their phone, connects a black earphone to it, and occupies themselves with, from what I can tell, watching videos on it.

Agent Dalia, on the other hand, has a newfound seriousness to her expression; she looks at the man before gazing back at me. "I'll keep an eye and join you shortly; please be careful."

"I'll be, don't you worry; we will just talk with the guy," I answer with a serious face, mimicking hers, and that seems to swipe away some of the tension forming on her shoulders, but even if I would love to just stay around doing nothing, with the task at hand, I nod at Colette, and we both start approaching Alexandrina's informant.

As we do, I look side to side to make sure that if anything happens and things escalate, there won't be a crowd ready to start filming the incident and get me a not-very-pleasant warning from the mayor; the many sounds and moving people, fortunately, create the perfect scenario, one that gives us the chance to avoid unwanted eyes.

The moment the sound of my boots hitting the cement floor reaches the man's ears, they twitch in response, and his eyes shoot in our direction like a scared rabbit; he gazes for a moment before lingering his eyes lower and meeting the reflecting beam of sunlight against my metal badge. His face turns from chilling and disconnected to immediate fear and anxiety; his hands move to his side, where he grabs a cigarette pack from atop a crate and hides it in his clothes, shoving it down his pants.

Once close enough to him, the man opens his mouth to talk—smiling awkwardly—but before he can produce words, Colette's voice rings—stern, powerful, and disarming.

"Don't even think of it." She warns with a growl as the man's feet move away from the ground, ready to spring away to safety.

"I'm not thinking of anything, ma'am, haha... just working; yeah, I'm working, so what do the two cops want, huh? Bothering a working man on his... working hour." He doesn't lose a single second before activating defensive mode, where he takes a step back, and adjusts his posture to look more imposing, which ends up making the rise and fall of his chest more visible, showing how nervous he is, and attempts to copycat Agent's Colette expression, failing miserably to do so. That is enough to tell me that this isn't his first rodeo.

I step forward with my hands raised to my chest, showing that we are not here for trouble, or attempting, as the growls from Colette do a good job of leaving the man scared for his life.

"Relax, just take it easy; we just have some questions, that's all. You answer them, and we go away to let you enjoy your work."

The man reaches his breaking point pretty fast; sweat pours from his face down to his eyes, forcing him to blink a lot, his hands tremble with adrenaline, and before I know it, he decides that a stupid move is better than not doing anything. For a junkie, the man is pretty fast; he dashes backward and turns around to run away; in that same moment, the agent who was beside me, just watching him, leaps in the man's direction incredibly fast, reacting instantly to his movement and gaining the upper hand.

She grabs the man by the shoulder and pulls him backward strongly to the point that he is left to spin nauseatingly before having his neck grabbed and body lifted from the ground a centimeter or so.

For a moment I stay immobile, stunned by the woman's fast reflexes and attitude; her grip on the man is not light, but I can see that she holds herself from being more aggressive like I ask, especially when I remember how easy she lifted Agent Yui before and how much more aggressive she was. Her eyes fall on mine as the man struggles to fight her grip, but not needing to fight for air.

He ends up losing all his energy in the process and, in the end, decides to stop and stay like a puppet in her grasp, defeated. I can't read her expression, but I sure can tell that she wants me to do something that isn't staying around, looking, so not to disappoint, I get to her side and clear my throat.

"Look, Skinny; Alexandrina sent me a message saying you had some information for me about what happened last night." Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I show the man the messages exchanged between me and the journalist; his eyes widen before softening, and from his lips, a relieved sigh escapes. "I told you that we are here just to ask some questions."

"So you're the friend Alex talked about? Geez, man, why didn't you say so before? It would have saved me some sweat." Skinny's personality changes like so, going from deeply afraid to super chill; he taps Colette's arms in surrender and looks at me pleadingly. "Can you please ask the barbarian in your party to let go of me already? I like to be strangled by strong women from time to time, but I'm working right now, you know? Kinda unprofessional."

With a disgusted expression, the agent promptly lets go of the man, like someone who touched something nasty on the sink, and instinctively retreats away, leaving him to stumble for balance before finding it by hitting his back against the warehouse's wall. A dry laugh escapes him before he uses the back of his hand to clear the saliva from his lips after being strangled.

"Okay, Skinny, you're free like you asked; now tell us what you saw," I order, getting in front of the agent as I notice her discomfort; I don't manage to look at her expression to confirm if I'm right, because instead I gesture for the other two agents to join us.

Once everyone is within ear reach, the man's smile dies down and turns more serious, like he's about to tell us something that should be a secret or that sounds like complete bullshit.

"Right, imagine me sitting super chill in the guardhouse, hearing some AC/DC while keeping my eyes on the cameras; just one more regular night, nothing strange around, only one team working on double-checking some of the crates to ship by train to the big city. Then, out of nowhere, some headlights shine in my direction so bright that I raise my hands to shield my eyes from it. Some anger boils in me, and I step out of the guardhouse to talk with the dumbass when the car speeds out of nowhere; it hits the gate loud as fuck and keeps on driving, almost falling apart because of that. Then, when it gets to the end of the road, it just falls into the waters; I rush to see if it is some drunk teen who decided to be dumb for a night, but when I get to the sinking car, there isn't a single body in there. Well, that was what I was able to see before it had fully sunk to the rocks."

"So you didn't manage to see anyone driving the car, but you said that they speeded out of nowhere, so there must have been someone, no?" My question is met with the man's widest smile as he nods his head frenetically.

"That was my thought too, so get this: when I got back to the guardhouse to call my supervisor, I had to satisfy my curiosity or I would go crazy over it, so I checked the cameras to see if they got something, and then I saw that they managed to catch a figure inside the car; actually, let me grab the tablet in my truck so I can show you the recordings; just wait here a moment."

My eyes linger on Skinny's figure as he runs as fast as his lean legs can manage towards a forklift with two crates stacked on its forks; my gaze doesn't stay for long on him, as from the edge of my view I can notice a certain shift in feeling coming especially from Agent Yui, who rocks their body while avoiding looking anywhere near me. The time I have to question this strange behavior goes by as, in impressive time, the thin man returns breathless to our view.

"Found it; I just need to ask you a small, tiny favor if you want to see the recordings. You see, downloading the camera content is not exactly something someone like me can do, legally speaking, but if anything comes up, I need a good excuse to avoid any problems. And what better excuse if I did to help the police, huh?"

"Sure, if anyone asks, just say that I requested of you the recordings; now, the tablet, please." I extend my hand, reminding him that we are on the clock here and that what he has is important; gladly, after getting what he wants, the man hands me the table with the recording paused on the screen.

The first thing I can see is Skinny, as he stated before, sitting in the guardhouse without a worry on his mind; he holds what looks like a hand-made cigarette, which, looking at him and catching the strong 'herbal' scent coming from his clothes, I can tell is no cigarette.

Touching the play button, the device recognizes the request and starts playing the video for me and the agents who gather around me, not needing to fight for space because of their different heights; their interest is unusual, but again, this is an important clue to the investigation; maybe we will finally get the face of our killer.

Continuing the video, all goes fine for about thirty seconds before, from the depths of the darkness that is the road leading to the harbor's entrance, everything becomes illuminated by the bright headlight of a car; it stays there for a moment before the car accelerates as told and hits the gate, bringing it down and breaking some of the car's front body part before it manages to go past the blockage and into the road of the harbor. It only accelerates more and more, and then the camera changes, showing the dark waters that I saw before, calm and untouched in the night, but not for long, as the car, driven sideways in some fast frames, hits one of the small, metal street poles connected by chains and loses momentum before falling into the water.

The face of the person does not appear on the video, but before I can ask Skinny about it, he touches the screen and slows it down before repeating the scene where the car falls into the water. Now one interesting thing is noticeable: in one single frame, a gangly man can be seen leaving the car and simply disappearing in the next.

"You see now, attempt to explain that to me." The man smiles as he points out his findings; one thing he doesn't notice is that he is the only one smiling. "I knew for sure I was not high enough to see this type of shit."

With some difficulty, I manage to get back the frames of the video and find the exact point the figure appears, stopping at it. The doubts in my mind disappear as recognition strikes me: 'He is the man from the mill.' I think to myself, frowning deeply as a headache threatens to take me over, 'It is the same type of gangly body.'

I notice some features of his that sure will come in hand, like the fact he wears his hair in a low ponytail, that he seems tall, and his face, even if not in all best resolution, still manages to creep me out.

"Skinny, I—"

"Wait, there's more; as you are already here, I think it is the perfect moment to add that some equipment was stolen from us. Not the 'everyday' type of equipment; just come with me; I'll show you what I mean."

Without any options, I follow the man as he guides me and the agents towards the entrance of warehouse six; meanwhile, I pull out my phone and take a photo of the figure on the video, just to have it with me. I can't risk that this evidence gets corrupted as well.

Skinny guides us to the warehouse's big, imposing metal doors and loses no time in putting his hand on the small space in between them and trying to open it for us. When I notice him clearly showing some difficulty doing it alone, I get to his side and assist him on the task that turns out to be not as easy as I thought. The door is really heavy to open, and the lack of anything to hold on to that can help us turn it into an even harder task—there's no way someone alone could open this.

The smell of rust and old oil on the rails creates a real assault on my nose—someone should clean this door soon; nonetheless, forcing a bit more, the door opens and we are granted a look inside the place.

Crates take the tall shelves to left and right, not enough in quantity to fill all of them, but still impressive on its own. All of the crates seem to be marked with something that I'll need to get closer to properly check out. The air inside is cold, as the temperature inside is kept to a certain degree, probably to not let certain items expire.

Regaining his breath, the man walks to the inside wall near us and grabs a clipboard that rests in a holder, soon returning to me with the item in hand.

"I'll explain the situation before you can read it—better for you to have some context; some days ago I noticed that one or two crates that were supposed to be on the top shelf to the right were missing. Well, it wasn't really me who noticed but the workers. Anyway, yesterday, after the incident, I had a bad feeling that something was wrong; I think I caught a glimpse of the warehouse door half open while running back, and that stuck with me. Then I came here and noticed that more crates were missing—lucky for me the door was still half open; it is all in the clipboard." After telling the story, he finally hands me the thing so I can read the paper in it. "This shit will not fly well with my boss if he thinks the workers did it."

No words leave me; instead, like in his story, a bad feeling overshadows me, growing down my stomach and up my lips where I frown because of it. My eyes focus on the paper, and reading the name of who owns this warehouse, the bad feeling becomes explainable. "Temporary Owner: Andrey Kolesov," I mutter loud enough for the agents around me to listen, and instantly, Agent Dalia joins me in reading the document; her hand falls to my shoulder as she tries to not make me uncomfortable while still having space enough to read.

"This is the same name of the second victim, is it not?" She asks, to which I nod my head, not ungluing my focus from the paper.

Reading the list of equipment, I can see that all of them were to be shipped on two different dates, half of them in two days to the big city, where they should be delivered to Galileo Biotech, and next year to the same place. On the list, the names are too complex and strange for me to recognize, so instead of trying to figure them out myself, I pass the clipboard to the agent beside me.

"I don't know what any of this equipment is; because it is for Galileo Biotech, I have a clue of what it might be, but if we can know exactly what it is, my sergeant would appreciate having it in the report. Got any clue?"

"Most of what I can remember by name tells me that on these crates lies equipment for blood research of all kinds, enough to supply at least two hospitals for a considerable amount of time. That and the other most basic materials like gloves, needles, tube holders, blood tubes, and gauze; there are loads of those here—industrial quantity." Dalia responds with a puzzled face as she sees the same things as me; some of the materials, the ones with the most complicated names, are marked in red, presumably the ones that went missing yesterday and the days prior.

Suddenly, Agent Yui, who was quiet until now, leans by the agent's side and gives a quick look at the paper, like they are making sure of something, before turning to me with a proud grin and their phone in hand.

"I just researched the name of the missing stuff; all of them are for dealing with blood—at least that's what the internet tells me. One is for extracting blood and processing; the other is for counting blood cells; stuff, not your average Joe would know how to handle."

Their words remind me of the conversation I had with Astero yesterday and what he told me about the first victim, something that I didn't have the chance to tell the agents until now.

"It is a good thing that I remembered something important; yesterday our lab tech was making his report on the body of the girl, the first victim, and he managed to find that her blood was somewhat mixed with someone else's blood—he told me that it seemed like the blood came from a corpse. Now, this thing doesn't prove that—only the hospital will when they send the results back about the sample—but it sure connects the murders to the lab, or at least someone who worked there. How else would they know about the warehouse if the documents were private? Why go after one of the researchers from the lab and one of the big investors? And too, how would they drain Andrey's body and toy with his daughter's blood?" Nodding my head in affirmation to my own questions, I start walking from side to side while thinking about it, and seeing that the more I think, the more sense it makes. "It fits the questions; we just got concrete evidence to start a manhunt for our killer; we just need a name and permission from my superior."

I feel a familiar touch on my shoulder as someone stops me from walking around. Agent Dalia looks deep into my eyes and breathes deeply, prompting me to do the same. "Detective, don't forget that we need to check the car too; the evidence can be connected later when we have all of them."

"Yeah, you're right; sorry. It is just that this is big; for once in three days we have a face and some good pieces on the board. The prospect that the city can, maybe, soon breathe calmly again just got to me." I calm myself from the excitement and steel myself once more, preparing myself for the work ahead. "Alright, let's see where the car fell into the waters—maybe we can find something." Turning around, I look at Pete and see him standing awkwardly as he waits for us to either finish or talk to him. "Skinny, can you call the station for me? Tell them that Detective Rivers is requesting a team to help get a car off the waters."

"Sure thing, ma'am; I'll be at the entrance if you need me." He answers with a salute before walking out of the warehouse, holding his phone in one hand as he dials the station's number.

Agent Dalia hands me back the clipboard, and once she does, a letter falls from between the papers to the ground; intrigued, I squat down and take it. The item seems handcrafted, especially when seeing the hints of glue that seeped from the edges of it and solidified. With nothing else to do but open it, I pry open the letter and get the paper inside.

The most noticeable thing when I get a hold of the paper is the name of the father, inked outside with a drawing of some balloons and a cake; the ink didn't fair well with the paper and blurred the lines.

Inside the paper, a message reads, 'Happy birthday, my sweet angel; I know I have been distant lately, but work must be done. I got you some of the best equipment I could find with the help of a colleague, and I am sure you'll appreciate them in your future and current research. Know that even if I'm far, I can always feel you near me, and I hope you can as well. Love, Father.'

Some sadness entangles me as I read the letter; this was all a present to his daughter, one that she will never receive... Feeling bad, like this was not something I should have seen, I put the paper back in the letter and together in the clipboard before placing it back where it was on the wall.

With that out of the way, I focus on the agents; there is a moment of silence in which no words are needed, only the simple exchange of looks before we all start walking out of the warehouse in shared sympathy.