“Three days before I toss your raggedy behind on the streets!” A slam of the creaky front door punctuated the end of the landlord’s cry. When his footsteps faded down the staircase, she lifted the blanket of scribbles from her desk, revealing an intricate web of yarn attached to pictures and silhouettes. Opening the drawer to her left, Tally retrieved her leather-bound notebook and flipped to a dog-eared page. She flipped through a few more before finding a list of names, then frowned over the intricate map on the desk. In the pocket of her slacks, her phone pinged.
Tally unlocked the message. Nothing, it read. Not even a glance. She locked the phone and pocketed the device.
The footsteps were so soft she didn’t hear them at first. It was only midway up the stairs that the famous old step groaned under someone’s weight. She immediately straightened. Tally had had just enough time to shuffle her papers before a tentative knock sounded at her door. Reaching behind her, she flicked off the safety of her handgun, tucked into the waistband of her pants.
A click, and the door revealed a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with wavy brown hair and fresh unmade cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and bright from the glare of tears. By her sides, the young woman’s hands shook.
“Can I help you?”
“M-Ms. Rohm you have to help me! Please!” she cried, and promptly reached out to clutch Tally’s arm. She sidestepped the lady just in time, gesturing for her to enter. The woman did, folding herself into the chair directly across Tally’s desk.
Settling herself in, Tally opened her notebook to a fresh page. “Name and date of birth, please,” she said.
“Wait,” the woman sniffled. “I’m not sure if I want to hire you yet.”
“It’s an outdated business, sure. But as a private investigator I must keep a record of all visitors for safety reasons. Name and date of birth, please.”
“Jocelyn Hassan. November 22nd, 1992.”
“Start from the very beginning, Jocelyn.”
“It -” Before she’d even gotten to the second word, Jocelyn burst into tears. Great, wracking sobs shook her small frame. She blubbered something, but it was lost in the onslaught of wave after wave of grief. Tally rose, her impatience rising, and retrieved the box of tissues from her nightstand. It took Jocelyn a good ten minutes before she collected herself and her bouncy brown curls.
“Last night, my fiance told me that she was heading to the bar with ‘an old friend’. I should have known that something wasn’t right when she said that. So, I told her I’d go for a little bit, see if she’s okay, all of that. She’s innovating something ultra cutting-edge, and recently her competitors have been giving her a lot of pressure. I figured she might be meeting the old friend who just happened to be her biggest competitor, and I just didn’t want to leave her vulnerable in a place like that. She avoided me as soon as I drove her there, and I lost her in the crowd, so I texted her later on to text me if she’s alright. We’d agreed in the car that I would be her driver. I went home, fell asleep on the couch, and the next day, she still wasn’t home. I then saw that I had multiple missed calls from an unknown number, which turned out to be the bar owner’s, and I called back only to find that she’s – that she’s…” Tally sighed when the girl broke down again.
She couldn’t deny, however, that it was an interesting case. A fascinating one, if she could rule out alcohol poisoning or drug abuse. Perhaps a real, live murder. One that could get her the paycheck she needed to save her raggedy behind. Under her desk, beyond the scope of Jocelyn’s eyes, she shot a text.
It seems there must have been at least one glance, she retorted. Body of a woman came in from a bar last night, correct? Send autopsy report asap.
“There’s no way she could have died from a medical condition? Or poisoning or drug use of some kind?”
Jocelyn shook her head vehemently. “It’s that damned ‘old friend’, I’m telling you! Oh, Ms. Rohm, you have to help me!”
“And…what is this invention?”
The girl’s entire demeanour retracted inward at her question. “It’s highly classified,” she whispered. “I’m not sure if I can tell you. Scratch that, I don’t even know if I understand it. But if it helps, my fiance was a specialist in nanotechnology. If she had gotten that developed and patented, she would have made billions.”
“Using technology at the billionth of a metre.”
“That’s right, Ms. Rohm.”
“What else can you tell me, Jocelyn?”
“Well…”
Her phone vibrated. Tally quickly glanced down at the unlocked message.
On it.
