Chapter 17: “Crazy right?”

“I fucking knew it,” Jeff exclaimed, slamming the file down on the desk with a mixture of triumph and unease. His eyes darted over the pages as if trying to make sense of something that shouldn’t exist. “There was a double murder-suicide that first time!”

Steve snatched the file from Jeff, his skepticism morphing into confusion. “What?” He flipped through the file hurriedly, his brow furrowing deeper with each page. “This was just a little over a month ago. So why the hell can’t I remember it?”

Jeff glanced toward Hale, who was sitting at his desk with his usual smug expression. “Hey, Hale, what do you remember?”

“Don’t drag me into your bullshit,” Hale dismissed, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork. His tone carried the same derision that Jeff had come to expect.

But Steve wasn’t about to let him off so easily. He strode over and tossed the file onto Hale’s desk with an audible thwap. “No, he’s right. Look at this.”

Hale sighed, the picture of reluctant compliance. “Jesus, fine,” he muttered, flipping the file open. His initial irritation gave way to confusion, his brows knitting tightly together as he read. His face shifted through a spectrum of emotions—dismissive, curious, then unsettled. “What the fuck is this?”

“Crazy, right?” Steve said, folding his arms and leaning against the desk as Hale continued to scan the document.

Hale’s eyes narrowed as if trying to focus on something just out of reach. He shook his head, as though attempting to clear it. “Why don’t I remember this?” he muttered, almost to himself.

“That’s not all,” Jeff interjected, pulling another file from the filing cabinet like a magician revealing a trick. He flipped it open and handed it to Steve. “What about this one? Ring any bells?”

Steve took the file, his movements slower now, more deliberate. His face betrayed an unsettling mix of recognition and confusion. “This… this isn’t possible,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he stared at the file like it might suddenly start speaking to him.

Hale, now more agitated than dismissive, stood and yanked the file from Steve’s hands. “What is it now?” he barked, scanning the front page. “This was from yesterday?” His voice was laced with disbelief.

“Keep reading,” Steve instructed, his eyes still glued to the file on Hale’s desk.

Hale’s expression darkened as he read further. “What the hell? It’s just… gibberish. None of this makes sense.” He turned to the signature at the bottom of the page. “And the captain signed off on this?”

“Look,closer,” directed Steve. “That’s not the Captain’s signature, but my handwriting.”

Hale looked at Steve with the look of utter disbelief, “You forged the captain’s signature? Why?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Steve said, defeated. “I have no memory of any of it.”

Jeff suddenly bolted from the office, leaving the filing cabinet open and its contents askew. His abrupt exit left the room in a stunned silence.

“Where the hell are you going?” Hale called after him, but Jeff didn’t respond.

Steve, grabbing his blazer from the back of his chair, quickly followed Jeff. His strides were purposeful, but his face betrayed a creeping sense of dread.

“And where the hell are you going?” Hale snapped, his voice tinged with confusion and irritation.

Steve paused just long enough to glance back. “You figure it out,” he said curtly before disappearing into the hallway.

Hale, now alone with the files, reluctantly picked one up again, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what was happening.

“Where are you rushing off to?” Steve asked, catching up to Jeff as they reached the elevator.

“I’m going to talk to Wallace,” Jeff said, hitting the down button with more force than necessary. “He runs that place—he’s got to know what’s going on.”

Steve adjusted his blazer, a skeptical look on his face. “And me? I’m heading to the morgue. Doc’s probably elbow-deep in one of those two stiffs he pulled out of there today.”

“Three,” Jeff corrected, his voice sharp.

Steve frowned, his confusion evident. “What are you talking about?”

“There were three bodies,” Jeff insisted. “Pete’s two guys and a little woman. You just showed me their bodies an hour ago.”

Steve shook his head, the motion slow and deliberate. “I don’t remember a woman.”

Jeff’s jaw tightened as the elevator bell chimed. “Hold up. You’re telling me you don’t remember three bodies?” He stepped into the elevator, his tone tinged with incredulity. “You personally showed me the bodies—Pete’s guys and a woman.”

Steve stepped in after him, his silence heavier than any denial. He stared straight ahead as the elevator doors slid shut. “No woman,” he muttered, almost to himself.

The ride down was tense, the only sound the faint hum of the elevator. Jeff stole a glance at Steve, whose face was a mask of suppressed frustration and confusion. When the doors opened, Steve walked briskly into the hallway, throwing back a terse confirmation as he left: “No damn woman.”

The two men exited the precinct together, their paths diverging as they reached the parking lot. Steve stopped at his dark police sedan, calling out to Jeff. “Let me know what you find out!”

Jeff didn’t respond verbally, instead raising his arm in a half-hearted wave as he approached his black El Camino. He paused before getting in, leaning against the door as he lit a cigarette. The faint glow of the flame illuminated his face, etched with doubt and determination.

“Who the hell is Ellen Brightstone?” he muttered to himself, the question hanging in the air as he started the car. “And why do I suddenly want tea? I hate tea,” Jeff declared as he pulled away from the lot.

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