Murmurs on the Mist by H. C. Cardona

Author:H. C. Cardona [Cardona, H. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grey Star Publishing, LLC

Chapter 13

I settled into the chair at my desk, the familiar creak of the old wood beneath me. The computer hummed to life as I logged into the online database, fingers flying across the keyboard with a practiced ease. My heart pounded a little faster as I typed in the search terms, anticipation and nerves intertwining in my chest.

The screen flickered, loading slowly as it always did. I leaned back, tapping my foot impatiently against the floor. The progress bar inched forward, taunting me with its slowness. Finally, the search results appeared.

My eyes scanned the list of files, looking for anything that might relate to the cold case George had mentioned. But as I clicked through each result, frustration began to bubble up. Most of the records hadn’t been scanned in yet. The entries were there—titles and dates—but clicking on them brought up nothing but error messages or blank pages.

I let out a heavy sigh and rubbed my temples, trying to push back the growing sense of defeat. It wasn’t entirely unexpected; Cherry Blossom Bay's police department was known for being behind on their digital archiving. Still, it felt like hitting a brick wall just when I thought I'd found a way forward.

I glanced around the room, eyes landing on the rows of filing cabinets lining the walls. If the digital files weren't available, maybe I could find what I needed in those old cabinets. It would be time-consuming and tedious work, but it wasn't like I had any other leads at the moment.

Standing up, I moved towards one of the nearest cabinets and pulled open a drawer. The metallic clang echoed through the empty room. Inside, folders were crammed together in no particular order. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack, but at least it was something.

I approached the first cabinet labeled Cold Cases and pulled open a drawer. The files were neatly organized by year, and I flipped through them quickly until I found the one from the time of the heist. My fingers tingled with anticipation as I pulled out the thick manila folder.

I took out a handful of folders and brought them back to my desk, spreading them out in front of me. The musty smell of aged paper filled my nose as I flipped through each one methodically. The familiar names and faces stared back at me from black-and-white photos and typewritten reports. The details were sparse, but they painted a vivid picture in my mind.

Determination kept me going as I worked my way through file after file. Hours seemed to slip by unnoticed until a knock on the doorframe startled me from my search.

I traced my finger over a map included in the report, showing where each piece of evidence had been found. My eyes scanned the page, absorbing every detail like a sponge. Each note, each photograph seemed to whisper secrets long buried beneath layers of dust and neglect.

As I continued reading, it became clear that there had been loose ends left untied—details that hadn't been fully explored or connections that hadn't been made.

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