please hold.

2- my name is zeke sabroso

10:28 a.m., Monday, Starbucks Heathrow branch

"Anne Silva, Robbery-Homicide Open-Unsolved, what's up?" I rolled my eyes. Anne was always very informal. But at least she made it a point to mention her department, even when she knew it was me calling.

"Well, Detective Silva, we have a case to crack. Woman, probably late forties. Found at-

"Found at Left-Handed Woods, yes, yes. Hung up to a tree, multiple stab wounds. Fear is human. Blah, blah, blah."

Ara groaned. Pam had beat her to Anne. "That traitor. Captain said I would tell you."

Anne giggled. "Stop being so salty, you butt. Where are you? Starbucks?"

"You know me. Gonna catch up?"

"Nah. I have a lunch out with David. You know me," she mocked.

Ara rolled her eyes. "Have fun, but not too much fun." She dropped the call. She got lonely, once in a while. But there was Lisa, who worked as coroner. She was probably working on the body.

She looked at the TV. It was on the news. "Dead body found hanging at Left-Handed Woods, identified as woman from missing persons case." There was a disturbing picture of the face, mouth open in a silent plead for life. It was captioned, "Fear is human."

Captain Laurence then appeared on the screen. He was being interviewed by so much reporters. Multiple microphones were held to his chin. "The body has now been taken to the coroner. Detectives Artemis Rabaya and Anne Silva are appointed to this case. We will have their numbers on screen now." And it showed both our working numbers. Shit, Ara cursed. He could've gave them front desk.

She turned away from the screen, staring at her empty coffee cup. Why the fuck, she thought, do people think they've got the right to be judge and executioner? We don't choose who gets life and who gets dumped in the middle of nowhere, lifeless soul waiting to be found.

Jerks.

While she was being overly existential, her phone started to vibrate. She scooped it from her bag. It was an unknown number. Tip caller, maybe? Next of kin?

"Hello? Detective?" A male voice came out from the other side. Young, Ara thought, my age.

"Detective Rabaya, HPD Robbery-Homicide Division. Why do you call, sir?"

There was a deep breath. "My name is Zeke Sabroso. I'm twenty-seven."

Ara wrote the number, name, and age down in her notepad. There was a second, or two, of silence.

"That person," he continued, "showed hanging in the news— that was my mother."

Then there was a loud sob. Ara dropped her pen.