I walked out of the Interrogation room, chewing absently, wishing I had the untouchable brilliance of Sherlock Holmes. But instead, I was stuck with a case that had spiraled into something far worse—an untouchable killer.
The world saw her as innocent, flawless even, while I stood here knowing the truth yet unable to prove it.
Criminals were supposed to be guilty until proven innocent. But her? She was innocent until proven innocent.
Thanks to her, I had the most unbearable case in my hands—one with no clear lead, no tangible evidence, just a trail of calculated chaos that never pointed back to her.
I flipped open my notepad and scrawled down the clue: Kitty.
Kitty. The name felt ridiculous on paper, even more so in my head. And yet, something about it gnawed at me.
My thoughts were drowning in the mess of details I had yet to piece together. The case thickened by the hour, and the weight of missing dots pressed against my mind like an itch I couldn't scratch.
As I walked down the corridor, I noticed the sudden stillness in the room—everyone's eyes glued to the ever-glowing television screen.
I followed their gaze. News channel.
Crossing my arms, I stood there, momentarily pulled away from the chaos of Kitty—or whatever ridiculous clue I was supposed to chase next.
The screen displayed the Mayor of New York City. A bald man with blindingly white teeth.
Mayor Vincent Calloway.
The press conference was in full swing, a celebration of his latest election win—another one, as expected. Calloway had a reputation for being an excellent speaker. I didn't know much about his deeds, but his words? They had weight. Strong. Convincing. The kind that made people believe things were getting better, even when they weren't.
"We are live with Mayor Vincent Calloway, who has maintained an unbroken streak of election victories for decades. Any promises for the citizens?" a reporter asked.
The mayor leaned forward with a practiced smile. "I think it's pure honesty. I am not a mayor—I represent the voice of millions of New Yorkers, and I promise them to do my best."
I barely held back a scoff. If I had to guess, that voice of "millions" came with a price tag. Calloway struck me as the type to be involved in money laundering—one of those men who smiled too much, said all the right things, and walked away with pockets full of cash that didn't belong to him.
I never trusted a bald man. There's a reason even their hair abandoned them.
He answered every question with enthusiasm, boldness, and just the right touch of charisma. The kind of politician who made you feel like you were in good hands while he picked your pockets. Then, one of the reporters hesitated before asking something more serious.
"How would you solve the growing problem of AIDS and HIV?"
Calloway grinned. "I'd make condoms cheaper than sanitary pads."
The room went silent.
Bold.
Very bold.
I pressed a finger against my lips, barely suppressing my reaction. The male reporter gave an awkward smile, clearly thrown off, and decided not to press further. Instead, he shuffled through his notes, searching for something safer to ask.
Then came the question I wasn't expecting.
"As we know, Cassandra Cottingham has now become global news. What are your views on her?"
Calloway's demeanor shifted slightly. His shoulders relaxed, and a nostalgic expression crossed his face.
"Oh, Cassandra? She's a great doctor." He crossed one leg over the other, settling in. "My son was just five when he had a terrible accident. A head injury that affected his eyesight. Multiple surgeons had to operate on him, and Dr. Cottingham was one of them. She told me that if I had been even a little later, my son would have lost both of his eyes. Luckily, he can still see, and his injuries gradually improved."
The reporter nodded. "So, what are your final words on her?"
Calloway smiled, his voice warm. "She's an angel to my son's vision."
Angel. Right.
The room buzzed with murmurs after Calloway's statement. His words carried weight—too much weight. People loved a hero, and Cassandra Cottingham had just been handed a halo on live television.
I clenched my jaw. An angel?
It was almost laughable. If only they knew. If only they saw what I saw.
But that was the problem, wasn't it? Cassandra Cottingham wasn't just untouchable—she was beloved. The kind of woman whose mere reputation shielded her better than any alibi ever could.
I turned on my heel, walking away before the press conference could drill her sainthood any deeper into the public's mind.
As I stepped into my office, I tossed my notepad onto the desk and ran a hand down my face.
Kitty.
I had scribbled it down like it meant something, but in a case where nothing made sense, it was hard to tell anymore.
Still, something about it nagged at me.
I grabbed the notepad again and tapped my pen against the desk.
I exhaled slowly. Cassandra had built her world so perfectly that even the tiniest clue felt like a joke.
And yet, if there was one thing I knew, it was that every fortress had a crack.
I just had to find it.