Chapter 09: “Crazy, I know.”

The police station felt like a forgotten relic of the ‘80s: dull beige walls lined with outdated posters, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, and the omnipresent aroma of burnt coffee. Jeff pushed through the glass doors, greeted by the familiar hum of activity—a mixture of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and the occasional raised voice.

He hadn’t been here in years, but the place hadn’t changed. If anything, it looked worse. The linoleum floors bore the scuffs of a thousand boots, and the air-conditioning, barely keeping up with the Missouri heat, did little more than shift the stifling air around. Jeff wiped his brow and adjusted his collar, regretting his decision to wear a jacket.

Steve sat at his usual desk, hunched over a file, his tie loosened just enough to signal that the day had been long, but not so much as to seem unprofessional. Jeff approached cautiously, his boots barely making a sound on the worn floor.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Steve said without looking up, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You lost, Eccles?”

Jeff ignored the jab, pulling up a chair and slumping into it with a sigh. “You got anything for me?” he asked, nodding toward the folder in Steve’s hands.

Steve arched an eyebrow. “You’re still sniffing around this case?”

“Call it morbid curiosity,” Jeff replied, leaning forward. “That, and the fact that it makes zero fucking sense.”

Steve snorted, closing the file and sliding it toward Jeff. “It’s open and shut. Forensics came back this morning. The old lady killed the musicians and then offed herself. Case closed.”

Jeff frowned, flipping open the file. The crime scene photos hit him like a gut punch. Blood spattered the walls like an abstract painting gone horribly wrong. The musicians—two young Ugandan refugees—lay twisted and broken among the shattered remnants of their instruments. It was a scene of chaos, brutality, and overwhelming violence.

“You’re telling me,” Jeff said slowly, his voice tinged with disbelief, “a little old lady did that?”

“Crazy, I know,” Steve said with a shrug. “She must’ve got the drop on them. You know, on account of being an old lady.”

Jeff’s gaze lingered on the photos. The sheer rage in the attacks didn’t align with the frail figure he remembered. “What’s her history?” he asked, flipping to the report’s back pages.

Steve leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “We don’t know. No ID, no family, nothing. She’s a ghost. Maybe she was here illegally.”

Jeff shook his head. “An undocumented senior citizen? Come on, Steve. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Steve spread his hands. “It’s a crazy world out there, Eccles. You know that better than anyone.”

Jeff closed the file, his fingers drumming against its cover as he tried to piece it together. “Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered, though his tone betrayed his doubt.

The door to the office swung open, and Hale sauntered in, his polished shoes clicking against the tile. He was all sharp angles and confidence, his shirt crisp and his tie perfectly knotted. Jeff didn’t need to look up to feel the smugness radiating off him.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Eccles?” Hale said, his voice oozing mock concern. “Upset you can’t milk this case for cash?”

Jeff snapped his head up, meeting Hale’s smirk with a cold, hard stare. “Not at all,” he said, his tone measured and calm. He rose to his feet, towering over Hale by a few inches. “I just discovered your good detective rep is horse shit.”

Steve shot up from his chair, stepping between them as the tension thickened. Hale, unfazed, leaned casually against the desk, his grin widening.

“Careful, Eccles,” Hale said, his voice low and mocking. “You’re starting to sound jealous.”

Jeff didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned and walked past Hale, his boots thudding against the floor.

“Yeah,” Jeff muttered as he reached the door, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Steve watched him leave, shaking his head as he sank back into his chair. Hale chuckled softly, flipping through another file like the confrontation had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The elevator ride down was stifling, the air inside stale and metallic. Jeff leaned against the wall, staring at the scratched metal panels as his mind churned.

A little old lady, with no past, no connections, murdering two young men in a frenzied attack? And then taking herself out in the most brutal way imaginable? It didn’t add up. The pieces of the puzzle refused to fit.

“There are a lot easier ways to off yourself,” Jeff muttered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the elevator.

The soft ding of the elevator startled him from his thoughts. The doors slid open, and for a moment, Jeff thought he was hallucinating.

Debra.

She stood there, her hair pulled back neatly, her sharp features as familiar as ever. She hesitated, her eyes flicking over him with a mixture of surprise and something colder. Jeff stepped aside, holding the doors instinctively as she entered. Neither of them spoke as she reached over and pressed the button for the third floor—Hale’s floor.

The air between them was heavy, charged with all the words they hadn’t said to each other. Jeff shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing against the cool metal railing.

“Hey,” he said finally, his voice awkward and hollow.

Debra didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the glowing numbers above the door. Jeff swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“Look, Debra,” he began, his voice soft, almost pleading. “I know you hate me, but I just want you to know I’m sorry.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Jeff thought she might not answer. Then, without looking at him, she said, “I don’t hate you, Jeffery.”

His brow furrowed in surprise, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Really? That’s… good to know.”

The elevator pinged, the doors sliding open to reveal the third floor. Debra stepped out, pausing just long enough to glance back at him. Her eyes were cold, her expression unreadable.

“No, Jeff,” she said, her voice like ice. “It isn’t.”

Jeff stood frozen as the doors slid shut, her words cutting through him like a blade. As the elevator descended, he tilted his head back against the wall, his eyes closed. He let out a guttural, frustrated, “Fuck!”

The sound echoed faintly as the elevator passed the second floor, drawing a curious glance from a passerby.

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