𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 ❦ (𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐝)

Chapter 12

It has been a few days since I came back from the police station, and I went back to know more about Emily, but no matter how much I insisted, Bryar refused to reveal anything in addition of what I already knew.

I collapse on my desk in the Gotham News facilities and let my thoughts wander, until the phone starts ringing. I pick up and recognize Leo's voice.

"Hello, Mister journalist. It's me."

"Why call this number?"

"Well, isn't it the Gotham News' public information line?" Leo says with an ounce of irony. "I managed to find something about the car plate number. See you at the same place, 1 p.m."

This news cheers me up. It's way too soon to even think about giving up. I grab my coat, adjust my shoulder straps and head for the same café as last time.

"The car was located several times at the Weller pharmaceutical factory. That's all you will get from me for free," Leo tells me.

Bob mentioned something about Emily's father, his former partner...

"Your expressions is telling me that you want to know more..." Leo smiles slyly.

"Yes. There is something else I want you to investigate." I tell Leo everything I know about George Taylor.

"George Taylor huh? Very well. Have I ever told you that I love collaborating with journalists?"

"Why is that so?" I ask him.

"I am never jobless or even bored because journalists' curiosity can never be satisfied," states he. After we part ways, I take a taxi to go to the factory. Its doors are shut, it's nearly impossible to tell if it's still active.

What should I do? Unlike the hospital, I can't enter by the front door. Perhaps there is another entrance? Let's see.

I walk around the huge enclosure and find the factory's backdoor. However, it's locked as well. I should have expected it. It would be preferable to obtain more information first.

I decide to start with the diner in front of the factory. As I wonder whether I should sit down, a middle-aged man walks to me.

"We are not open for lunch yet, Sir."

"I'm not here for lunch. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay. Is the factory still in function?" I ask.

"For sure! My diner is still open thanks to the workers of that factory," he informs me while drying glasses with a rag.

"The workers... So, when does their day end, most of the time?"

The man laughs boisterously. "And why would you want to know that, exactly? They work 12 hours shifts, from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. They have a half-hour break at noon."

"12 hours? Aren't shifts usually 8 hours?"

The man shrugs and lets out a sigh. "The workers aren't happy, for sure. But they don't have much of a choice. They do organize strikes, but the factory won't give up jack squat. You should leave if you aren't there for lunch. It's nearly noon and I must prepare for the lunch crowd."

I could sneak inside the factory dressed as a worker...

Somebody enters the diner before I can pursue my trail of thoughts. A woman with brown hair, sober clothing, and a pile of papers.

"Why did you come back here, Ekaterina?"

"I... I will leave after putting some here..." she says softly. Her eyes are glassy, it looks like someone drained the strength out of her.