Chapter 4 - The Missing Autopsy
The air in the county morgue was always too cold, a sterile chill that seemed to seep through the bone-white walls and settle in the marrow. Dr. Aris, a man whose face resembled a crumpled map of worry lines, stood behind a desk cluttered with unfiled lab results and half-empty coffee cups.
David stood on the other side of the desk, his jacket collar damp with sweat despite the air conditioning. Across from him, Maya’s attorney, a sharp-eyed woman named Vance, tapped her pen rhythmically against the wood.
"Dr. Aris," Vance said, her voice low and dangerous. "I’m here for the original autopsy report on Lily Evans. The one dated November 12th."
Dr. Aris avoided eye contact, staring at a stack of papers as if they held the secrets of the universe. "I’m afraid there’s been a... complication."
"A complication?" David stepped forward, his voice a low growl. "You lost a file? In a county facility?"
"It wasn’t just a file, Mr. Evans," Aris stammered, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "A water main ruptured in the basement storage unit last night. It flooded the entire archives. The server... the drive with the physical records? It’s gone. Charred. Waterlogged."
David laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "A flood. Exactly when you were supposed to be reviewing the toxicology results. Convenient."
"It’s just bad luck, sir!" Aris snapped, then immediately regretted it, shrinking back. "I have the digital backups, but they’re corrupted. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t release a report that doesn’t exist."
The frustration was palpable. The agents exchanged heavy glances. Without the autopsy, they had no proof of how Lily died. They were flying blind, and the frustration of the investigation was beginning to curdle into something darker, something that pointed a finger at the living.
That afternoon, the agents received a call from a source they had been cultivating for weeks—a nurse who worked the night shift at St. Jude’s.
"We need to meet," the voice on the line rasped. "Now. Alone."
They met in a diner booth miles away from the city, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The nurse, a young woman named Elena, looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. Her hands trembled as she gripped a cup of coffee that had gone cold.
"I can't do this," she whispered, her eyes darting to the door. "If Maya finds out I talked..."
"If you help us, Elena, we can protect you," Agent Miller said, leaning in. "We know about the bribe."
Elena flinched. "It wasn't just a bribe. It was a payment. Every week, she slipped me an envelope under the changing table. She told me Lily was... she told me Lily was critical. She said if I delayed the ambulance by ten minutes, it would look like a cardiac arrest. Natural causes."
The room went silent. The implication was devastating. Maya hadn't just been grieving; she had been actively manipulating the timeline of her daughter's death.
"She said she wanted the police to focus on David's absence," Elena continued, tears finally spilling over. "She said, 'Let him be the villain. Let him be the one who isn't there when she needs him.'"
The belief solidified in their minds: Maya was a monster. She had orchestrated the delay to create the perfect alibi for herself, leaving David as the only suspect. But as the sun began to set, casting long, bloody shadows across the diner, the agents made the mistake of thinking the nightmare was over. They let their guard down.
They returned to the evidence room, the weight of the new information pressing down on them. They needed to find a way to corroborate Elena’s story without alerting Maya. But the first sign of trouble wasn't a subpoena or a raid—it was a text message.
*She knows. She knows you spoke.*
Miller’s phone buzzed again. This time, the message was accompanied by a picture.
It was a picture of Elena’s apartment. The door was open. The lights were on.
"Get out," Miller hissed, grabbing his radio. "Now."
But it was too late.
They arrived at the apartment complex twenty minutes later, sirens wailing in the distance. The atmosphere was thick with a static dread. The hallway smelled of stale cooking and fear. They kicked down Elena’s door, the wood splintering with a deafening crack.
Elena was slumped against the wall in the living room, a dark pool of crimson spreading rapidly across her white uniform shirt. Her eyes were wide, staring at nothing, as if she were still seeing the ghost of the bribe money.
"She’s gone," Miller whispered, stepping over the body. "It’s murder."
David was there, having been alerted by the commotion. He looked pale, his face a mask of horror. "Is she...?"
"She's dead, David," Miller said, his voice hollow.
They turned their attention to the scene. There was no forced entry. No struggle marks on the victim. It looked like a professional hit—or a very personal execution. A single sheet of notebook paper lay on the floor next to her hand, crumpled but readable.
Agent Miller picked it up, his hands shaking. He read the words aloud, the silence of the room amplifying the sound of his voice.
*"I'm sorry, Maya."*
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
David stared at the note, confusion knitting his brow. "Who wrote this? Elena?"
Miller’s eyes narrowed as he studied the handwriting. It was slanted, aggressive, and jagged. He pulled out his phone, snapping a photo of the note, then typed a quick command.
"Get me the handwriting analysis results on the forgery from Chapter One," Miller ordered.
A tech expert walked in from the hallway, looking pale. "I just ran the comparison. The note on the floor? It matches the signature on the fake confession Maya signed."
"What?" David gasped. "Julianne?"
"The note is written in Julianne's hand," the expert confirmed, looking up with a terrifying realization in his eyes. "Elena didn't leave this note for herself. Someone came here, killed her, and left a message for Maya. But the message... it's signed by the wrong person."
Miller looked at the crumpled paper, his mind racing. If Julianne had killed the nurse to keep her quiet, and the note was signed by Julianne... did that mean Julianne was the one who killed Lily?
May you like
Or was the note a warning?
As the realization set in, the front door of the apartment complex slammed shut. A shadow detached itself from the landing above them and began to descend the stairs, moving with a terrifying, practiced silence.
