The Witness

The alley was slick with rain, the neon glow of a liquor store sign casting eerie shadows over the crumpled body on the pavement. Detective James Calloway stood over the scene, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. Another night, another corpse.

Lisa Monroe crouched beside the victim, her gloved fingers pressing against his neck. “He’s still warm. Less than an hour.”

James exhaled, glancing at the blood pooling beneath the man’s chest. “Single gunshot wound. Close range.” He looked up toward the street. “Who called it in?”

Officer Davis, standing nearby, cleared his throat. “An anonymous tip. No name. Just said there was a shooting and hung up.”

Lisa stood, brushing off her knees. “No wallet, no phone. But check this out.” She pointed at the victim’s hand, curled tightly around something.

James knelt, prying the fingers apart carefully. A small, folded piece of paper was pressed into the man’s palm. He opened it, his stomach tightening at the scrawled words inside.

“Warehouse 14. Midnight.”

Lisa raised a brow. “Looks like he was supposed to meet someone.”

James studied the note. The ink was smudged, but the writing was hurried, desperate. “Maybe he was trying to tell us something.”

Lisa scanned the alley. “No security cameras. No witnesses. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”

James sighed, straightening. “Then we don’t have much—unless we figure out what’s at Warehouse 14.”

The warehouse stood at the edge of the docks, rusted metal doors creaking against the wind. Midnight was still twenty minutes away, but James and Lisa weren’t in the mood to wait.

Lisa drew her weapon. “What are the odds we’re walking into a trap?”

James smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

They moved in carefully, sweeping the darkened interior with their flashlights. The place was mostly empty—except for the single chair placed in the center of the floor.

And the person sitting in it.

A young woman, bound and gagged, her wide eyes flashing with panic.

Lisa rushed forward, cutting the restraints. “You’re safe now.”

The woman coughed, her voice hoarse. “No. You don’t understand. He’s still here.”

James’ blood ran cold. “Who?”

A slow clap echoed through the warehouse.

They turned sharply, guns raised, as a man stepped from the shadows.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Detectives Calloway and Monroe. Right on time.”

James’ jaw clenched. He knew that voice.

Lisa stiffened. “Damien Russo.”

Russo grinned, hands casually in his pockets. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

James kept his gun steady. “You killed the guy in the alley.”

Russo tilted his head. “Not me. But let’s just say… he outlived his usefulness.”

Lisa’s grip tightened. “Why leave the note?”

Russo smirked. “Because I wanted an audience.”

Before they could react, the warehouse doors slammed shut behind them.

The trap had already been sprung.