Chapter 51 Not To Ignore

Chapter 51 Not To Ignore
Detective Harris's POV

The last time I checked, Charlie Carter is only married to Shenell… except for his secretary-mistress, Zoey.

So… what am I missing?

I let out a soft sigh, my finger traveling to my mouth as I gently brushed my lips, lost in thought.

“Then who are you?” I muttered again.

I swear, this case is messing with my head and I'm beginning to hate it already.

I leaned forward again, then I fast forwarded the video carefully to the moment the woman left the building.

I slowed down the video as she stepped out of the station. She was in such a rush, like someone who had forgotten their child in the bathtub and was scrambling to go save them.

She kept looking left and right, adjusting her scarf again and again to cover more of her face.

The minute she stepped out, she raised her hand and waved down a cab quickly.

The cab pulled up at once and she opened the door and got in without hesitation.

I paused the video just as the cab was about to move, then I zoomed into the car’s plate number.

My eyes sharpened instantly. “Got you,” I whispered again.

And without thinking, I grabbed my pen immediately and wrote down the full plate number carefully on a piece of paper. My handwriting was quick but neat as always.

I grabbed the wired desk phone quickly and dialed a number from my memory—it's the contact of the Forensic Transport Analysis Unit.

The line connected immediately after two rings. “Forensic Transport Analysis Unit,” a calm feminine voice answered.

I cleared my throat and spoke sharply, “Detective Harris on the line. I need a plate trace immediately.”

The minute the lady heard and recognized my voice, her tone on the other end instantly shifted respectfully. “Yes sir.” she responded quickly.

I didn’t hesitate before reading out the plate number slowly and clearly to her, then backed it up by saying, ‘I need ownership details, service registration, and the last known drop-off location. I need this information now.”

“Understood sir. Give us a few minutes.” She responded sharply, almost too dutifully.

I added firmly before ending the call, “And call me the second you have anything. I don’t want delays.”

“Yes sir.”

And with that being said, the line went dead.

I placed the receiver down slowly and the room suddenly felt colder than it used to be.

I sat back and continued to play with my fingers, staring aimlessly at the phone on the desk, waiting and hoping it would ring. I wanted to grab it before it went to voicemail, to finally hear what she had to say—and maybe, just maybe, catch a clue about what was really going on.

And just like I expected, a few minutes later, the desk phone rang again.

I picked it up almost instantly. “Detective Harris on the line.” I said quickly.

The lady responded immediately, “Sir, the plate belongs to Metro City Cabs. It’s a serialized company plate.”

I leaned forward. “Go on.” I said softly.

The voice continued, “This specific cab’s last logged drop-off was at 1847 Maplewood Lane, Apartment 3B.”

I grabbed my pen quickly and wrote down the address quickly.

“Maplewood Lane,” I repeated quietly as I wrote it down.

The lady after a short while, added again, “That appears to be a residential address.”

I listened carefully as she spoke, then I nodded slowly even though she couldn’t see him.

“Good work. Stay on standby. I may need more information”

“Yes sir.” She responded briefly and the call ended at once.

I didn’t waste even a second.

I stood up from my seat immediately, grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair, slipped it on quickly while picking up his phone and tiny jotter at the same time.

I unplugged the flash drive from my laptop and slipped it into my pocket.

My movements were fast, focused and maybe just too determined compared to every other day.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” I muttered quietly as I walked to the door.

I opened my office door and stepped out with long strides. Officers moved aside slightly when they saw my expression.

They knew I wasn’t playing around, and they understood how big this case was—and how closely the media were watching every move we made. They're so desperate, they could turn every small mistake into a headline.

I wasn't prepared for that.

I reached the reception quickly and found Lucy at her usual spot, she was seated just behind her desk.

“Lucy, could you please document my sign-out time? I'm out for site inspection,” I asked kindly, though my voice was firm and calm, the kind that made people follow instructions without question.

Lucy immediately pulled out the record book. “Yes sir.” She responded quickly as she flipped to the right page and began writing quickly.

“Time out, 4:37 PM. Detective Harris—site inspection.”

I nodded once. “Thanks!”

I paused just before I walked out, then I turned around and said, “If anyone asks after me, tell them I’m unavailable until I return.”

Lucy looked up. “Understood sir.”

I didn’t wait another second.

I turned and headed out of the station.

But then, just as I stepped outside into the open air, hastily pulling my jacket into place as I walked toward my car, I suddenly froze—just before reaching the edge of the station vicinity.

There was a strange sound that reached my ears—it was soft at first, then clearer upon the second hearing.

Someone was crying.

It wasn't really loud, but it sounded real and painful.

I couldn’t unhear it, yet I couldn’t bring myself to pretend I hadn’t.

I slowly turned my head toward the back side of the station building where the sound was coming from.

Then my instincts kicked in immediately.

I stopped walking and my eyes involuntarily narrowed.

The address could wait two more minutes. But this? This was right here. Right now. And something about the timing felt too strange to ignore.