Chapter 12: “Really? That’s what you’re running with?”

Jeff sat in the cold, sterile interview room, the metal chair beneath him squealing faintly every time he shifted. He rubbed his temples, trying to piece together everything that had happened. Mrs. Brightstone’s death gnawed at the edges of his mind, the cheerful old woman he had helped with groceries now reduced to a grotesque case file. Jeff had seen plenty of bodies in his day, but this one felt different. It felt wrong.

The door creaked open, and Detective Hale strode in with all the swagger of someone who thought they were the smartest guy in the room. He leaned casually against the edge of the table, his smirk practically dripping with condescension.

“Well, if it isn’t Jeff Eccles,” Hale began, his tone light but needling. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Bodies turning up, and you always seem to be in the vicinity. Makes one wonder.”

Jeff didn’t look up right away. He took a slow breath, letting Hale’s words hang in the air before finally meeting his gaze. “Really? That’s what you’re running with? You are a shitty detective.”

Hale chuckled, unfazed by the jab. “Just connecting the dots, Jeff. It’s not a great look for you, let’s be honest.”

Jeff’s expression remained flat, unimpressed. “If I was a serial killer, you’d be my first victim.”

Hale raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Ooh, scary. What happened, Eccles? Did Mrs. Brightstone refuse to let you borrow her tea set?”

The door opened again before Jeff could respond, and Steve walked in, his face a mix of irritation and concern. He didn’t even acknowledge Hale as he gestured for him to leave.

“Hale, get out. Now.”

Hale shrugged, pushing off the table. “Sure thing, boss. Just let me know when we find the next body. I’m sure our boy here will be close by.” He gave Jeff a mock salute on his way out, closing the door behind him with a smug grin.

Steve dropped into the seat across from Jeff, his demeanor shifting from cop to concerned friend. He studied Jeff for a moment before speaking.

“You okay?” Steve asked, his voice softer than usual.

Jeff exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Not really. This whole thing with Mrs. Brightstone… it’s messed up.”

Steve nodded, pulling a file from under his arm and opening it on the table. “I need you to walk me through the last time you saw her. Everything you remember.”

Jeff rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the unease that had settled there since the discovery. “It was a couple of days ago. I helped her with her groceries, went up to her apartment. She offered me tea.”

“And?” Steve prompted, flipping through the photos in the file.

Jeff frowned, the details suddenly feeling slippery. “I don’t know. She disappeared into the back of her apartment while I was sitting there. I called out to her, but she didn’t answer. I could hear her hammering something, though. I just… left.”

“Why didn’t you wait for her?” Steve asked, his tone neutral but probing.

Jeff shifted uncomfortably. “I had other things to do.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but let it slide. He slid a series of photos across the table. “Dr. St. John thinks it might be suicide.”

Jeff hesitated before looking at the images, and when he did, his stomach churned. Mrs. Brightstone’s head was unrecognizable, a mangled mass of flesh and bone. Blood had soaked into her floral carpet, the vibrant patterns now smeared with dark, sticky red. Jeff pushed the photos away, his face pale.

“There’s no way she did that to herself,” he said quietly. “She was… so cheerful.”

“I know,” Steve said, rubbing his temples. “It doesn’t make sense. But right now, we don’t have much to go on.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the case pressing down on both men. After a moment, Steve stood, closing the file.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

Jeff nodded, following Steve out of the room. They walked through the precinct, Steve making small talk to lighten the mood. The elevator doors closed behind them, enclosing them in a small, private space.

“So,” Steve began, his tone casual but pointed, “who were those guys chasing you earlier?”

Jeff froze for a moment before recovering. “What?”

“You heard me,” Steve said, his eyes locked on Jeff.

Jeff sighed, the fight draining out of him. “Pete’s guys.”

Steve’s expression darkened. “How much?”

“Twenty-eight,” Jeff admitted, the number heavy in the air between them.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “What’s your plan, Jeff? How are you going to get out of this?”

Jeff shrugged, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “I’ll handle it.”

“Yeah? How?” Steve pressed, his voice rising slightly.

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. Jeff stepped out, mumbling, “I’m working on it.”

Steve followed, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

They walked in silence for a moment, the tension between them palpable. They stopped in front of a vending machine, Jeff’s eyes settling on a bag of corn chips.

“Got two bucks?” Jeff asked, breaking the silence.

Steve sighed, pulling a five from his wallet. “Tell me that’s not your dinner.”

Jeff watched the bag drop. “It’s breakfast.”

Punching in another code, a second bag fell. “That’s dinner,” Jeff said with a smile.

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