The Silent Witness

It was raining when Detective Jack Riley pulled up to the scene, his tires hissing on the wet asphalt. The flashing lights of police cars lit up the street like a broken disco ball. He stepped out into the downpour, his coat already soaked through.

“Riley,” said Officer Daniels, a young cop with nervous eyes. “The victim’s inside.”

Jack nodded, pulling his collar up against the cold. “Who’s the victim?”

“Catherine Bellamy. Thirty-two. Looks like she was stabbed twice. No sign of forced entry, though. No struggle.”

Jack frowned. That wasn’t typical for a stabbing. No struggle? It felt wrong.

He stepped inside the modest apartment, the scent of old furniture and lemon-scented cleaner hanging in the air. Catherine Bellamy lay sprawled across the living room floor, blood pooling around her body. Her face was pale, eyes wide open in shock.

Jack crouched beside her, studying the scene. The knife wounds were clean, surgical almost. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. But there was something odd—no fingerprints on the knife, no signs of a struggle, and the room was eerily neat.

“Who found her?” Jack asked, his eyes scanning the apartment.

“Her neighbor, Mr. Andrews. He heard something around 9 PM but didn’t investigate until he noticed the lights were off for too long.”

Jack nodded. He had a gut feeling something was off here. This wasn’t random. Someone close to her had to be involved.

Just then, the door creaked open, and a tall man in his mid-thirties entered. His brown hair was messy, and his clothes were wet from the rain.

“Detective Riley?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Jack stood, his eyes narrowing. “Yes. Can I help you?”

“I’m… I’m Thomas. Thomas Bellamy. Catherine’s brother.” His voice broke on the last word.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Bellamy,” Jack said, his tone softening for a moment. “What can you tell me about your sister? Was she in any kind of trouble?”

Thomas shook his head, swallowing hard. “No, she wasn’t in trouble. But…” He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if ensuring no one was listening. “But she was acting strange lately. She told me she was being watched. By someone from her past. I thought it was just paranoia, you know?”

Jack’s interest piqued. “Someone from her past? Did she give you a name?”

Thomas shifted uncomfortably. “No, but I can tell you this—she had a secret. A big one. She was afraid to tell me, but she mentioned a man, someone she couldn’t escape. Said he had a hold on her.”

Jack’s instincts kicked into overdrive. It was all starting to make sense. Catherine had been running from someone. A stalker, perhaps. Or worse, a criminal.

“Do you have any idea who this person could be?” Jack pressed.

Thomas looked down, his eyes darkening with fear. “I think it was someone who worked with her. I don’t know for sure, but her last few weeks on the job, she seemed… different.”

“Where did she work?” Jack asked quickly, already making mental notes.

“Sterling Financials. She was in accounting. But Detective—”

Just then, the phone rang. Jack glanced at it, his stomach dropping. It was the coroner.

“Detective, we found something,” came the voice on the other end. “Catherine’s phone. It was hidden under the couch cushions. There’s a text message—sent about an hour before her time of death. It’s from someone named ‘G.’ It reads: ‘I’ll be there soon. Don’t try to run.’”

Jack’s heart sank. He turned to Thomas, his face grim. “Who is ‘G’?”

Thomas swallowed, the color draining from his face. “Gavin. Gavin Reece. My sister’s boss.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, the pieces falling into place. Catherine hadn’t just been running from someone—she had been silenced. And Gavin Reece was the key.

“I’ll take it from here,” Jack said, his voice low.

As he left the apartment, the rain seemed to fall harder, as if the city itself was trying to wash away the secrets it held. But Jack knew one thing for sure—this case wasn’t over. It was just beginning.