In still waters. Natalie Shpet
with that loser! They were just classmates, nothing more! I forbade her to associate with those two good-for-nothings. I told her they weren't her equals!"
"Jeffrey," Christian interjected, his voice calm but firm, "if that's the case, why was Rose with Bradley at the bar? Our witness reports an argument between them, followed by some kind of physical altercation."
Before Jeffrey could respond, Mary's voice cut through the tension, quiet but clear:
"Rose told me that Bradley had been persistently trying to court her. He'd been chasing after her since their school days, but Rose never reciprocated his feelings. I… I don't understand why she was with him that evening."
Jeffrey collapsed into an armchair opposite the couch, looking as if he'd been physically struck by this revelation.
"What? Why the hell didn't you tell me any of this before, Mary?" he snarled, his face contorting with a mixture of anger and betrayal. "I would have dealt with that punk long ago!"
"Rose begged me not to tell you," Mary replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she rubbed her knees nervously. "But who could have imagined he would… that he would kill our little girl?"
"Hold on," Nick interjected, his tone calm but authoritative. "Mary, let's not jump to conclusions. We can't say with certainty that Bradley is the killer. Right now, we have no concrete evidence against him, only the testimony of a witness who saw them together that evening."
Mary's sobs intensified, and suddenly she appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Her head was spinning, and she looked as if she might faint at any moment. Jeffrey, his anger momentarily forgotten, rushed to help his wife up to their bedroom on the second floor. He gently laid her on the bed, covering her with a blanket. Mary's body shook uncontrollably, prompting Jeffrey to give her a sedative to help her sleep.
"I don't want to live anymore, Jeff," Mary whispered, her voice fading as the sedative began to take effect. "I don't want to…"
Her words trailed off as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, the combination of exhaustion and medication finally overtaking her. Nick and Christian waited downstairs, and after a few minutes, Jeffrey descended the stairs, his face a mask of barely contained emotion.
"How's Mary holding up?" Nick asked, genuine concern in his voice.
"I gave her a sedative," Jeffrey replied, his tone flat. "She's asleep now."
"Alright, then Christian and I will head back to the station. We'll try to get more information on Bradley and Steven's whereabouts."
Jeffrey's demeanor suddenly shifted, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity. "Do whatever you want, but I have not a single doubt that he killed my daughter! I'll find him myself if I have to."
Nick felt a chill run down his spine at Jeffrey's words. The sheriff's mood was volatile, unpredictable. It felt as if he was planning something rash, something that could jeopardize the entire investigation.
"Jeffrey, please," Nick implored, his voice stern but tinged with understanding. "Don't do anything stupid. We'll sort this out ourselves, and whoever's responsible will answer to the full extent of the law." Nick and Christian were already at the door when Jeffrey advanced on them, his index finger raised in a threatening gesture.
"I am the law!" Jeffrey shouted, his face contorted with rage. "I'm the sheriff of this godforsaken town!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled, some of it landing on Christian's polished black shoes.
Christian grimaced in disgust, pulling a tissue from his jacket pocket to wipe his shoe clean. Nick tactfully pretended not to notice the exchange.
"Jeffrey, we understand your emotions," Nick said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "But please, try to calm down. Your wife needs you now more than ever. We'll keep you informed of any developments, alright?"
"Fine, agreed," Jeffrey replied, his glare still filled with malice. But behind his eyes, a different plan was already taking shape…
As soon as Christian and Nick left for the station, Jeffrey stormed out of the house and climbed into his pickup truck. He headed towards the outskirts of town, his mind racing with dark thoughts. Just before reaching the city limits, he veered left onto a narrow paved road that cut through a dense stretch of forest. After about a mile, he made a sharp right turn. There, in the middle of the woods, stood a large, imposing mansion.
Jeffrey harbored secrets that had long made him unpopular in town. Many suspected he took bribes and turned a blind eye to petty crimes, but his biggest secret was his connection to a particular gang known as the Hawks. This large, well-organized group operated across multiple states, with high-level connections that kept them largely untouchable. Their primary business was arms trafficking, and their leader was known only by the nickname "Bison." His real name remained a closely guarded secret.
Bison was an imposing figure – a tall, athletically built African American man with a shaved head. His arms were a canvas of intricate tattoos depicting various weapons. At forty-seven, he cut an intimidating figure. He had a wife and two sons living in a mansion in Caracas, Venezuela, where Bison himself had been born. From childhood, Bison had been shaped by the streets, clawing his way up through a life of crime to reach his current position of power. He had no tolerance for empty words or actions, holding his people to the highest standards of loyalty and efficiency.
Jeffrey and Bison's relationship stretched back eight years. Mary's late father had been an influential figure in town with powerful connections, and it was through these connections that Jeffrey had first made contact with Bison. In return for Jeffrey's cooperation, Bison had pulled strings to ensure Jeffrey became the sheriff of Austin in 2015. Jeffrey had played his part well, keeping the local police oblivious to the Hawks' existence. As a cover, Bison owned several grocery stores and gas stations in Austin and neighboring towns, effectively diverting attention from his true operations.
It was to Bison that Jeffrey now turned, desperation driving him to seek help from the dangerous man he both feared and relied upon.
Chapter 8
An hour later, Jeffrey found himself standing before the entrance of the sprawling two-story mansion. The light-colored edifice resembled an impregnable fortress, secured behind an expensive stone fence. A small army of burly guards in black suits patrolled the grounds, their watchful eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.
Jeffrey pulled up to the gates, stepping out of his vehicle with forced confidence. The security detail, recognizing the sheriff, allowed him to pass without issue. Two particularly imposing guards were tasked with escorting the visitor to the house.
As they entered, Jeffrey was struck anew by the opulence of the interior. The massive living room resembled a tropical oasis, complete with a central fountain surrounded by lush vegetation. Subdued lighting cast long shadows across the space, while a large parrot squawked loudly from its ornate cage suspended from the ceiling. The green walls were adorned with expensive frescoes, and the air was cool and crisp thanks to state-of-the-art air conditioning. Oversized dark green leather sofas and armchairs lined the walls, facing an enormous flat-screen TV that dominated one wall.
At the far end of the living room, a grand staircase of expensive white stone with dark wood banisters led to the second floor. The upper level opened onto a long, straight corridor. Its walls matched the green theme of the lower level, with large potted plants lining the hallway. Several closed doors of dark, richly stained wood were visible, with a large panoramic window at the corridor's end. Jeffrey was led through the first door on the left – Bison's office.
The office décor was a stark departure from the rest of the house. A gleaming black floor reflected the bright light from a hanging crystal chandelier. Fresh air wafted in through a large open window, carrying with it the muffled conversations of the guards at the gates. Light gray walls served as a backdrop for an impressive array of weapons – Bison's prized collection, which he treated as a hobby.
The man himself sat behind a massive black wooden desk, lounging in a large dark leather chair. He wore a white tank top that emphasized his muscular physique, a thick gold chain hanging around his neck and resting on his chest.
The most striking features of the