Red Alarm [A Detective/Thriller Story] DISCONTINUED

Chapter 9

"So you're telling me you, being able to see ghosts, had something to do with the serial killer?" he clarified.

They sat on the balcony chairs, sobering up with some milk. The room was too cramped and they needed some fresh air.

"I felt like it did," she replied. "I saw it on the news in France. It caught my interest and somehow after knowing about it, I started seeing strange things."

"Was there anyone who could testify for the crimes?"

"Nobody. Everyone who saw him died," she looked at the floor.

She lied. Yes, she agreed that colleagues shouldnt keep secrets from each other but now was not the time. She wanted to keep the fact that she was the sole witness from all the murders. She wanted to keep her promise to her brother. Atarah Watson would continue to run away forever but she wanted Atarah Camembert to pave a way for justice.

"And the reason you solved all those cases in France was-."

"With the help of my eyes, yes,"she finished the detectives sentence who, at this point, still couldn't believe her confession. "I can see the souls of those who seek justice if their bodies are close and if I touch something that's closely related to the victims, I can see clips of their life on earth."

"Okay,"he said after setting up the facts. "We're going to start with him first."

He passed her a picture of the guy wearing a bonnet, James Charles. He was the hobo who exited the shop closely before deputy chief could. Officers believed that the chief was following the man but he was never seen again. Until now, they haven't found his body or any traces of the man, Cole believed he could be the only lead for them.

"Work starts tomorrow detective,"she said as both of them called it a day.

~ ⚜️ ~

Atarah was on her usual spot again. She looked at her watch, it was 10:30 AM. Where on earth did that detective went? she thought. She clearly remembered her saying that the work will start today. Just then, Cole entered the room, walking towards her. It was as if he had heard her talking about him in her mind.

"Let's go," he took hold of her arm and went out of the station.

"What was that?" Officer Gonzales asked, dumbfounded.

"Did we missed something last night?!" Officer Millard gasped with his hand covering his mouth.

The lieutenant released herself from his grip. This was supposed to be a secret investigation but he made it so obvious. She told Cole that she could handle herself from here and headed inside the detectives car.

"I found this address," he said. "James was picking their garbage last year. Maybe we can get something after a few talk."

He showed her the address. It was in Downtown Brooklyn. The streets were busy as ever and she could already see a lot of homeless people as they drove in the alley.

"Good morning. Can I help you with something?" the lady with a British accent greeted.

"We're from the New York Police Department," Cole showed her his ID.

"Oh my. Are we in trouble?" she worriedly asked.

"No, maam. We just wanted to ask if you know this man?" Atarah showed her a picture of James from the footage.

The woman took a closer look and offered them to come inside. The officers sat on the beige sofa as the lady poured in some hot cup of tea. Her name was Susan Benedict, a Brit who was married to her American husband.

"I know, James," she said. "He used to take out our dumps but we haven't heard of him for ages!"

"Do you know where he'd stuck around maam?" he asked.

Susan who had been petting her cat for the whole conversation thought for a moment then said, "I saw him once in the river. He was hanging out with his comrades there. It isn't that far just a few walks from here."

They both looked at each other, satisfied with the answers they have.

"Thank you for your cooperation madam," the lieutenant smiled.

"Oh, don't mention it. I'm glad I could help - whatever it is," she replied to the pleasing young lady.

The hounds howled along their way. That part of Maverick Bridge wasn't suited for the cops who served for justice. For what lied underneath the rustic pathway was a junkyard village filled with what upper classes called pickpockets, thieves, crooks - but that wasn't always the case. For it was also a place where people had come together to form the home that they needed.

They walked along the narrow path hearing snickers from every side. They stared at the officers inside their small forts made out of rugged blankets and trash bags. A ball rolled over, hitting Atarah's shoe. The boy who had accidentally dropped it hid behind a mountain of soiled clothing. She picked up his toy and held her hand out for him to reach it.

"Don't be scared," she comforted.

"Are you going to arrest us officer?" the child asked.

She had been told that the eyes never lied. His showed suffering both from starvation and the fear of being alone with no one to count onto.

"What do you think you're doing hanging around here?" snarled a harsh voice coming from the corner.

An old man's raspy voice reminded him of a cowboy protagonist from a Texas movie. He scratched his nape and sank into one of the garbage bags as if it was a cozy sofa.

"Does anyone of you know a guy named James Charles?" Cole asked the folks.

"Name's Smith, but they call me old man Smith from round here," the gramp introduced himself. "Why? Did Charley bothered y'all's business? Haven't heard a thing or two bout em."

"He's indeed missing for a year now," she agreed. "Does anyone of you had close contact with him?"

"Old man Smith was the closest among st all of us," another guy patted the senior on the back.

Smith guided the officers past the curtains of hanged up laundry to an old shack. The roof had multiple holes in it, the posts were perfectly decorated with cobwebs and bugs and rodents already marked the place their own.

"Suite yourself," he led the cops inside.

Most of the things were soaked from the droplets of water that fell from the bridge. There was nothing much except for a green metal cabinet and a leftover Chinese takeout on the table. It smelled like it hadn't been touched for ages that made Atarah loose her appetite. He rummaged inside the drawers and stopped at the third one. It was stuck from all the rust it had accumulated. He put in some extra force in pulling the knob.

Hidden inside was a notebook. Most of the pages were ripped out but there are some that have names written in them. They were names of his neighbors, probably those houses that he took all the junk from like Mrs. Benedict. However, there was something that caught his eye. The place wasnt around Downtown area. It was an address from that place - Brooklyn, 5th Avenue.

This place. Did he mentioned anything about this? he pointed the location to the man.

"Well, yes," he replied. "Twas the last time I saw him. He got a side job there, said they wanted someone to paint there house."

"Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Smith," she bowed at him.

The old hag pulled down his straw hat bidding goodbye to the officers. "All in a day's work. Oh, and send my regards to Charley will ya."

Quickly, both hurried back to Pizzabros where they parked their car. They went off to find what was lying for them at number 48.