Present
"That's all I remember about our past," James said, his voice as cold as ice. He stood up from his armchair, his face a perfect mask of contempt. "Now if you gentlemen don't mind, I'd like to get on with my evening. I'm afraid this little chat is over."
Ethan's jaw tightened, his face flushing with a silent, furious rage. He started to rise, his fists clenching at his sides. Miles saw the anger flare in his partner's eyes and knew they were about to cross a line they couldn't come back from.
Miles quickly placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder, a subtle but firm pressure that kept him in his seat. "Just a moment, Mr. Anderson," Miles said, his voice calm and even, betraying none of the frustration he felt. "Should you happen to remember anything else—anything at all that might be relevant to her passing—you'll contact us."
James's only response was a curt nod. He didn't offer a handshake or a final word. He simply watched them with a wary gaze as they stood and walked out of the house. The moment the door shut behind them, they heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking into place. James sighed audibly with relief, happy to be rid of them.
"That insolent pig," Ethan growled, his hands still shaking with suppressed anger. "He knows more than he's letting on. We should have stayed, thrashing him till his ready to say all he can remember, cause I feel his lying."
"We'll get our answers," Miles said, already walking toward the main road. "But not by trading blows with him. Let's head back to the department. We need to report what we've found."
______
The air in the office was cool and still when they returned. The only one there was Inspector Finch, poring over a stack of reports. Miles's eyes immediately went to Cecilia's empty desk. A pang of disappointment went through him.
"Where's Cecilia?" Miles asked, trying to sound casual, but his voice betrayed a hint of something more.
Inspector Finch looked up from his papers. "Cecilia? She gets off early on Fridays to see her boyfriend. So don't get your hopes up, Miles. That girl is spoken for."
Miles felt a cloud of disappointment settle over him, and a small sigh escaped his lips. The inspector seemed to notice his sadness but chose not to comment.
"Alright, boys, listen up," Finch said, his tone turning serious. "I've been on the phone with Mrs. Vance, Katherine's mother. She knows something we don't. She called me and said she'd only give the knife to us and no one else. The knife that was said to be used on Katherine to make it a suicide case. She wants us to meet at the hospital where they did the autopsy and take the knife from her before anyone knows. We have to secure it ourselves."
Miles and Ethan exchanged a look. This was a risky move, but one they had to make.
"When do we get it?" Miles asked, his focus now completely on the mission.
"Tomorrow morning," Finch replied. "I'll handle the interrogation. Then we'll get her mother to agree about going to Katherine Vance to get more clues."
Miles nodded. He said goodnight to them and left the office, his mind reeling with the new mission.
On his walk home, the city felt different. He was now familiar with the route from work to his house. As he passed a grand building on his left, he realized it was the publishing house where James had said Katherine worked.
He took a mental snapshot of the place, noting the details he hadn't noticed before—the ornate stone carvings, the old brass plaque by the door.
When he got home, he went straight to his room. He removed his black coat and jacket, leaving him in his crisp white sleeve and black trousers. He lay on his bed, his mind a whirlwind of the day's events. He closed his eyes, and a single thought, a single image of James's point of view of Katherine, began to play in his head.
1955
Katherine Vance was already ready for her date, her styled clothes a perfect representation of her quiet elegance.
Katherine Vance, already dressed in her best dress, was a vision of quiet elegance. Her hair was styled in a perfect wave, and her face was illuminated with a soft glow of anticipation. She looked out her window, saw a the black car approaching, and hurried down the stairs.
Stepping out into the cool evening air, she asked the driver, "Uhhh, James he would be the one to pick me up, why are you the only one here?" She asked with a wart look but she got no answers from the front seat and she zipped her lips and the black car pulled away from the curb.
The city lights began to twinkle to life around her, a sparkling contrast to the soft, warm glow of the cab's interior. Her mind was a whirl of thoughts about the man she was about to meet—James Anderson.
The car pulled up in front of a grand, old building. Katherine peered out and saw a beautiful, wrought-iron sign that read: La Bella Vita. Before she could open the door, the driver stepped out of the car and strode to the back and opened up for her as she climbed down and thanked him with a bright smile. As he drove off, she turned and took in the luxurious scene. The restaurant was magnificent, its facade lit by the soft glow of gas lamps. A doorman in a crisp uniform held the door open, his smile welcoming.
Taking a deep breath, Katherine entered. The interior was even more opulent than the exterior. Soft classical music floated through the air, and the room was filled with the gentle clinking of silverware with indistinct chatters coming from the one's seated with the person they came with. The lighting was low and intimate, casting a warm glow on the perfectly set tables, each draped in a crisp white tablecloth. She scanned the room, her eyes searching for a familiar face.
And there he was. He was seated at a table in a quiet corner, looking even more handsome than she remembered in a fine suit. He caught her eye, a smile spreading across his face, and he raised his hand and waved. A rush of relief and happiness went through her. She walked to the table, her heart a little fluttery, and took a seat across from him.
"I can't believe a chance encounter at a party led to this," Katherine said, a small, genuine smile on her lips.
He chuckled, the sound warm and low. "Some of the best things in life are born from happy accidents, wouldn't you say?"
Just then, a waiter, impeccably dressed in his tuxedo just like every other waiters, came to their table with two leather-bound menus. "Good evening, sir. Ma'am," he said, his voice polite and formal.
"Good evening," James replied. He and Katherine placed their orders, and the waiter left, taking the menus with him.
James's eyes met hers, and he smiled. "You look lovely tonight, Katherine. That dress is a true work of art."
"Thank you," she replied, a blush rising on her cheeks. "It's one of my favorites."
He leaned forward slightly, his hazel eyes filled with a genuine curiosity. "So, can I know more about Katherine Vance?" He smirked sweetly.