Chapter 14: 14
Sasha, as if reading the air, shifted the conversation, probably sensing that discussing the serial killer living next door was too grim for an old woman. She complimented the flowers blooming vibrantly in the garden. The mansion itself seemed straight out of a fairy tale—an old castle wrapped in English ivy, the kind you'd read about in stories that had long faded into myth.
Samuel and I remained silent. The flowers, the garden—none of it interested us. We sat quietly, the stillness of the moment almost surreal in contrast to the weight of the case we were investigating.
As the conversation with the elderly woman drifted into the background, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I stood up and stepped out of the room, glancing at the screen. It was my superior. I excused myself briefly, moving toward the edge of the porch for a bit more privacy.
"Hello, sir," I said, keeping my voice calm, despite the slight flutter of anticipation in my chest.
His voice came through, unusually upbeat. "We got the search warrant."
The weight of his words settled in, finally delivering the break we'd been waiting for. Two weeks of frustration, of pushing and pulling—now, at last, the warrant was in our hands.
"About time," I muttered under my breath, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
"Where are you?" he asked, cutting through my thoughts. "I've been looking for you in my office."
"Beverly Hills," I replied, glancing at the quiet street. The contrast between the opulence around me and the dark undercurrent of the case was almost surreal. "I'm at the scene."
There was a pause, then his voice came back with a hint of surprise. "Beverly Hills?"
"Yes," I said, keeping my tone steady, though my mind raced. "Let's see what secrets this place is hiding."
"Very well then. Start your search. I'll be there in two hours. I'll send the police and photographers to capture the scene."
I joined Sasha and Samuel, who were sipping their milk tea and nibbling on cookies. The old woman was cheerful, as if the visit had been a rare treat for her. She seemed delighted to have us for company, a welcome distraction from the quiet and secretive nature of the wealthy neighborhood around us.
"Would you care for some tea?" Her voice was soft, almost too gentle for the weight of the circumstances.
I nodded, taking a sip. The tea was excellent—rich and aromatic, with a depth of flavor that lingered on my tongue. It reminded me of the tea my grandmother used to make, full of care and tradition. It was the kind of comfort you didn't expect to find in a place like this, in the midst of so much wealth and hidden agendas.
"Have some cookies. I baked them," she added, her smile brightening as she placed a plate of fresh almond cookies on the table.
I picked one up. It was crisp, perfectly baked, the almonds adding a subtle crunch. As I bit into it, the sweetness and warmth filled my senses. It was simple but satisfying—an unassuming gesture of kindness in the middle of a case that felt far from simple.
Sasha seemed to be enjoying the moment, her usual intensity softened by the peacefulness of the scene. Samuel, on the other hand, appeared distracted, his gaze distant as he stared out into the garden.
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax, to forget about the weight of the investigation. But it didn't last long. The search warrant was in my hand, and there were secrets waiting to be uncovered.
I set the empty teacup down gently, the thought of what lay ahead creeping back into my mind.
"I saw Cassandra digging in the backyard in the middle of the night," she added, her tone shifting as if she had been holding onto this secret for a long time, finally deciding to share it with us.
The words hung in the air, and I could see the tension in her shoulders relax slightly, as though telling us was a release. But the revelation sent a ripple of unease through the room. The calm facade of the afternoon shattered, and I could feel the sudden weight of her admission.
"Digging?" I repeated, my voice sharper now, as my mind began to race. "What was she digging for?"
"Well, I asked her," the old woman continued, her voice quieter now. "She just said that her cat died. Said she was burying it."
A heavy silence followed her words, and I could see the doubt in her eyes as she relived the moment. There was something she wasn't saying, or perhaps something she didn't believe.
I exchanged a glance with Sasha, then Samuel. We all knew that the cat story didn't quite add up. A burial in the middle of the night, with the kind of secrecy Cassandra seemed to thrive on—it felt off, like a cover for something more sinister.
"You didn't see any cat?" I asked carefully, though I already knew the answer.
The old woman shook her head. "No. I never saw any sign of a cat. Not a body, not even a collar. Nothing."
A chill crept up my spine. It was starting to feel like the pieces were finally starting to form a clearer picture, but the edges were jagged and messy. Cassandra had buried something—whether it was truly a cat or something else entirely, we couldn't be sure.
"We need to get back to that backyard," I said, my mind made up. "Whatever she buried out there, it's more than just a pet. And if it's what I think it is..."
I left the sentence unfinished, but the implication hung in the air. This was no ordinary investigation anymore. Whatever Cassandra was hiding, it had the potential to change everything.