After all the chit-chat and food, everyone got back to work.
Derin, however, had decided to burn calories by sparring with the office's old boxing dummy—the one they kept for "stress relief" but really just gathered dust in the corner.
"Derin," Mary's voice cut like a whip, "stop doing that crap and sit down."
He froze mid-punch, glancing at her. "What's her problem…why am I the only one she scolds? She looks at the others too, but aaaaa—"
The weight of everyone's silence pressed on him. Everyone else was already seated and tapping away at their work. Derin muttered something under his breath and reluctantly dropped into his chair.
"Okay, Luther, come here," Mary said, motioning him to the front where the big clue board stood. "Tell us what you've found so far."
"Yeah… so, I've gathered and cross-checked all the information Ben told me. I've also spoken to a few regulars from Drill's café."
"Drill Den was 26 years old this year… and he was an orphan."
Derin immediately raised a hand. "Hold on—so in this case, everyone has no parents? Lyla Brojorn—no parents. Violeta her parents are missing,they fuckin don't even care their kid died. Now Drill he too have no parents. What is this, an orphan suicide special?"
"Derin, at least respect the dead...and I'll be really happy if you shut your mouth ," Mary snapped.
"Yeah, yeah," he waved her off. "But tell me it's not suspicious. What if there's a racket that makes orphans suicide? Huh?"
"Well…" Luther hesitated, "it's… not impossible. I could look into that."
Derin leaned back with a smug grin. "See? I'm smart too."
Luther continued, "Drill opened his café at age 20 by taking a big loan. Since then, he's been running it… but he also borrowed a huge sum illegally from loan sharks for the cafe and he even bought a house just in six years after his work..in Milestone valley."
Mary's brow furrowed "Loan sharks usually bleed you dry. If you miss payments, you mostly get beaten up or lose all your property. But Drill bought a house? In Milestone Valley? That's not a cheap place, even if it's not top-tier."
"Yes, Chief. And here's the twist: he paid for the house in full, no mortgage. Here's the registration document." Luther clicked the projector to show the scanned paperwork.
Mary leaned forward. "So you're saying… a man with huge debt managed to pay for a house outright in six years? How?"
"Exactly," Luther nodded. "And before you say maybe he had great sales—no. The café's numbers were way below the city average."
He clicked to the next slide: Normal Café Sales Structure (Urban UK Example)
Average turnover: £15,000–£25,000/month for a mid-sized café with good location.
Peak hours: 7–9am (breakfast rush), 12–2pm (lunch/coffee break).
Profit margin: Typically 8–12% after rent, staff wages, and supplies.
Customer count: 100–150/day in busy city areas, lower in suburban.
Special events or catering: Occasional, boosts monthly revenue by 10–20%.
Major costs: Coffee beans (premium imports cost more), milk/dairy, pastries, rent, utilities, licenses.
Luther pointed at the numbers. "Drill's café? Barely pulled in £8,000 a month on average, with a profit margin under 5%. No seasonal booms, no catering contracts, no franchise support. In other words—there's no way he saved enough to buy that house without another income source."
Derin crossed his arms. "Sounds like someone had a sugar daddy. Or… sugar mafia."
Mary shot him a look that made him shut up instantly. The kind of look that said she was two seconds away from throwing him out of the room.
This man is like a fly in a sealed jar… buzzing, irritating, impossible to ignore. Her jaw clenched as she tried to refocus on the case rather than the growing urge to snap. Derin's careless interruptions were getting under her skin, and right now, she couldn't afford distractions.
"What about his friends? Or… maybe he borrowed it from someone else?" she asked, her voice steady but edged with impatience.
Chief Luther adjusted his cap before answering. "Me and Brittney checked his entire phone—contacts, WhatsApp, everything. Mostly average folks, factory workers, drinking buddies… and of course, Lyla Brojorn contact was there but it was also the most suspicious thing as that's the only chat he deleted completely—no trace left, and there is really no chance of recovery."
Mary's fingers drummed against her notebook, a slow, steady rhythm. Deleting something that thoroughly… it's not cleaning up. It's erasing history.
Luther continued, "After asking his regular customers and friends, I found out Lyla and Drill were actually dating. Despite their differences, Drill always said she was his comfort. Even the house he bought was for her..she joined him after two years when the shop was opened and they were dating for almost 2 years..."
The words lingered in the air. Mary's mind flashed back to the neighbor's hesitance, the slight twitch in her smile when asked about Lyla. So the neighbor was right… but she was definitely holding something back...she spoke her mind.
Derin leaned forward, voice low. "That might be the case even I thought she was just talking from the upper surface."
Mary resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Thank you for stating the obvious, Derin. Brilliant deduction.
"Yeah…" Luther's tone shifted. "One more thing—Drill also had contacts with Violeta. And I found out he visited her after Lyla's disappearance. It could be normal—Violeta was Lyla's best friend—but the important thing is this…" Luther played a video."
The room seemed to tighten around Mary. The faint hum of the ceiling fan. The smell of overbrewed coffee gone bitter in the corner as Luther started the video.
"It—it's Violeta's house," Ben said, leaning toward the screen like it might give him answers if he stared hard enough.
Mary's eyes narrowed. The grainy footage wobbled slightly as Luther played it back.
A girl with soft violet-tinted hair stands outside her house , carefully handing an object to a stern-looking man who was definitely Drill den...as he head looked towards the cctv unknowingly few times...
"Right," Luther confirmed, his voice low. "You can see she handed something to Drill before she died."
A prickle ran up Mary's neck. Before she died. The words always hit the same way—cold and heavy. "Zoom in," she ordered. "Can you see what it is?"
Luther's fingers tapped the keyboard, the image sharpening by degrees. "Yes, Chief. It's… a chip."
Mary's pen stilled mid-note. "A chip? Ben, did we find anything like that at the scene?"
Ben shook his head. "No, Chief. Not yet. But forensics are still working maybe they'll find it, I will remind them."
Mary's gaze flicked to the wall clock. 9:00 p.m. already. A dull ache started behind her eyes. If I don't leave now, Dad will keep calling until I lose my sanity.
"Fine," she told Luther. "We'll continue tomorrow I have to go back home today."
"Yes, Chief. Want me to send you the slideshow?"
"Yeah—" Her phone buzzed, cutting her off. She didn't need to look to know who it was.
"Hello, Mary, are you coming or not? Do you want your father to die in his old age?"
Mary pinched the bridge of her nose. "Shut up, Dad. I'm on my way; I just finished the meeting."
"Good. I asked Julia to send you clothes. Wear them there—they should be in your locker. Come soon, honey."
The call ended before she could argue. Typical.
She exhaled through her teeth, grabbing her bag and heading toward the lockers as the others started packing up. The smell of burnt coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faint tang of disinfectant from the janitor's mop.
Her locker clicked open. Inside, neatly folded, was a black dress with matching heels.
Oh, for crying out loud. Mary hated dresses. She lived in pants, shirts, suits—things that let her move fast and look sharp without worrying about tripping over fabric. This was the opposite of everything she wore. But her father's voice was still ringing in her head. Fine. Just get it over with.
In the washroom, she tugged the dress on. The fabric clung to her skin in a way that felt… foreign as she rarely wore those things. She tried to pull the zipper up, but it stuck halfway.
"Ugh, damn it… what should I do...Hey! Anyone outside?"
Her voice echoed off the tiled walls. No answer—until footsteps approached.
Derin had just left the men's washroom next door when he froze at the sound. Chief? In trouble? Or… no, wait. If I go in and she's fine, she'll call me a pervert. But if she's not fine and I don't go in—damn it.
His instincts won. He reloaded his gun, kicked the door open. "Who's in here? I'll kill you if you touch our killer lady—"
And then he froze.
Gun still raised, his brain stalled at the sight in front of him.
This wasn't the sharp, grumpy Chief Mary who spent the day barking orders over crime scene photos. This Mary had her hair loose—blonde waves tumbling over bare shoulders. Her makeup was barely there, yet somehow caught every bit of the harsh fluorescent light. The black sleeveless dress skimmed mid-thigh, hugging her in ways her suits never did. She held her heels in one hand like she hadn't decided if she'd wear them or hurl them at someone.
Derin's mouth went dry. "…Who are you? Where's our Chief? And how dare you impersonate—"
Mary spun on her heel, glare sharp enough to cut glass. "It's me, idiot! And who the hell are you calling a killer lady?"
He blinked, then muttered, "Chief… how could you try to seduce a righteous man in a bathroom? Sorry, but I'm not into—"
"What are you talking about? Just zip this damn thing up."
She turned, baring the pale length of her back. The zipper...I can't do it.
Derin's pulse jumped. "What if someone walks in?"
"Then they'll see a grown man being useless. Now help me."
He stepped closer, catching her perfume—warm citrus with something darker beneath. His fingers brushed her skin as he caught the zipper.
"Careful," she murmured.
"You're the one half-dressed in bathroom that too with a grown man," he replied, his voice lower now. The sound of the zipper sliding upward seemed too loud in the enclosed space.
Halfway up, Mary's voice softened. "So… do I really not look like myself right now?"
why is he acting like that...Mary thought
Derin's hand paused mid-motion. "…You look… different."his face blushed as he spoke
"Different?" Her head tilted, one eyebrow raised, eyes glinting in the mirror's reflection.
"…Nothing," he said quickly, zipping the rest in one motion.
He stepped back, trying to look anywhere but her. "Done."
Mary faced him, slipping into the heels with practiced efficiency. "Thanks. Now forget this happened."
"Not a chance. It's burned into my retinas… the killer lady actually looking like a lady....haha, he laughed to ease the mood"
She rolled her eyes and reached for the door—just as Derin's phone buzzed.
The sound broke the moment. He checked it, and whatever he saw wiped the teasing grin from his face. His posture straightened.
Mary caught the shift immediately. That's not a casual text. "What is it?"
His voice dropped, all traces of humor gone. "Chief… you might want to cancel your plans. They just found the chip."