The list of sinners

...Donovan...

Since the file wasn't promising to take steps on the issue, I decided to speak more with Cameroon. I unlocked my BMW car from the other side and grabbed my morning coffee. As I turned to head towards the department, my mind resembled the movements of people: erratic in thoughts, noisy, and overly messy.

I wasn't that focused. Often, in the cases assigned to me, it was enough to read the file and ask the family members or anyone else connected to the victim and feel like I had it in hand, sensing the solution nearby. I didn't know what wasn't going well with me today and why these thoughts were bothering me, but it was better to get things laid out. I parked my car as usual, took my coffee in hand, and headed towards Cameroon, who was waiting for me in the main hall.

"Good morning, everyone," I greeted as I entered the department.

It was common for all the department employees to wish their colleagues "good morning" and then dive into work with determination.

"Morning, Donzo."

"Good morning, Cameroon."

"You got your coffee today without any incidents," Cameroon said, raising an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth simultaneously.

"Yes, this time, yes."

"Good."

"Let's not waste time," I said.

"Isn't it, John, your old man?" he asked ironically. "We made daddy look like you."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"Well," he said somewhat disappointed. A simple summary of Rebecca Simons, a student at Yale University. Her mother works at the hospital while her father works in a company. She's not the only daughter and has a sister. Here are all the answers marked on the questionnaire.

Cameroon handed me the notebook where he had noted down every answer received from the people interviewed for the case we were handling.

"I'm not surprised by these answers," I said after quickly scanning through the responses.

I flipped through the grey notebook page by page. The answers were positive. It looked like a detailed painting with no flaws.

"Everything seems perfect, Donzo. A calm, smiling girl with dreams."

"Everyone says that when someone's no longer alive."

"You're right to some extent."

"Have you asked about the school she attended?" I asked. "I mean other students, teachers..."

"We've asked one by one, but the conclusion is: a very studious and diligent girl."

"Did her parents notice anything strange lately with their daughter?"

"In fact, her mother stated that the last time she spoke, on Monday, the 5th of July at 5:20 p.m., Rebecca seemed stressed."

"The report stated that no substances were found in her body..."

"It's more likely she was overwhelmed with first-year exams."

"And Ana King, the childhood friend, didn't share any secrets, let's say, with you?"

"What secrets?"

"I mean any hostilities Rebecca might have had recently or even a lover?"

"After all, aren't those the topics girls mostly talk about?"

"Ms. King was asked about this but didn't disclose anything like that. The same goes for Rebecca's mother."

"There are two possibilities here," I said firmly. "Either Rebecca truly had no lovers or she had a secret relationship."

What worried me was the truth. We always sought the truth in every word of the people we questioned, but we would never know if everything was true until the end. Even a word. Even a hint in all those lines written in the notebook. I closed the notebook, not very pleased with what I read.

"Both possibilities could be true, Donovan."

"Possible, but we must speak with determination. We can't proceed with possibilities."

"True... since we're on the topic, it's not just girls who talk about love stuff," Cameroon said, throwing his arm around my neck.

"What's on your poor mind?"

"Shall we grab lunch somewhere after work?"

"I don't see why I should object as long as you're paying."

"What?!" Cameroon exclaimed.

"Think about it. It's your turn today to treat."

"Ah, Donovan. What did I do to deserve this?"