Chapter 54 Caught In Between

Chapter 54 Caught In Between

Detective Harris's POV

I kept my eyes on the road as I drove through the quiet street, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

The intern didn’t speak at first. He sat upright in the car, as if he was afraid of making the slightest wrong move.

But I noticed the way his body wanted to move; he just couldn’t hide his nervousness.

Though I didn't let the silence stretch any longer, I suddenly cleared my throat and eventually spoke up.

“So, Blue shirt… why law enforcement?” My voice was calm but direct.

The boy suddenly sat up straighter. “Sir… I just always wanted to help people.”

I smirked lightly. “Help people? That’s the clean answer. I want the real one.”

The boy swallowed hard. “Okay… the real one? I grew up watching officers in my neighborhood. Some were good. Some were bad. I told myself I’d be one of the good ones.” He answered quickly, adjusting himself softly on the seat.

I nodded slowly. “You think this job is clean?” I asked suddenly.

The boy hesitated.

He slowly looked at my face and said, “No sir.”

I glanced at him briefly. “You think people will clap for you? Thank you? Respect you?” The boy shook his head slowly. “No sir.”

My tone sharpened slightly. “This job will test you. Break you. Make you question yourself. You ready for that?”

The boy swallowed again but nodded. “Yes sir.”

I tilted my head sideways and studied the boy's face quietly for a second before looking back at the road.

“Listen, Blue shirt,” I continued, my voice firm but not harsh.

The boy suddenly gave a small awkward scoff, almost embarrassed.

I noticed it but I didn't react to it. “What’s wrong?” I suddenly asked without looking away from the road.

The boy shifted in his seat nervously. “Sir… actually… My name is Paris.” He said it respectfully, almost afraid it would annoy me.

Then there was a small, awkward silence in the car, as if someone had just turned off the music we all have been dancing to.

But then I was very quick to brush off the awkwardness of the situation, then I scoffed lightly. “Okay… Paris.” I said it calmly, like testing the name to know if it suits the owner or bearer.

The boy smiled a little, shy but proud.

I continued driving.

“Paris,” I repeated again. “Don’t ever be too scared to say your name. That’s the first thing you own in this world.” I said quietly.

I suddenly heard the boy shift beside me, like my words had touched something he was trying to hide. He stayed quiet, but I could feel his gaze on me—uncertain, thoughtful, like he was trying to decide whether to believe me.

Then he looked at me quietly. “Yes sir.” he muttered weakly.

Without looking away from the road, I added smoothly, “And stop shrinking yourself. You don’t survive here by shrinking.”

By now, I could tell my voice had already changed slightly. “Tell me something honestly, Paris. When they called you useless… Did you believe them?”

I bet the question had hit hard and unexpectedly.

The way he let out a dry laugh and hesitated for a while “For a second… yes.” He answered quietly.

My grip gradually tightened around the steering wheel. “That’s the problem,” I said firmly. “The second you believe what weak people say about you, you lose.” Paris frowned slightly. “But sir… they’re senior officers. They know more than me.” I shook his head. “Experience doesn’t mean character. Some people wear a badge and forget what it means.” My voice has grown heavier now. “You know what makes a good officer? It’s not how loud you shout. It’s not how scared people are of you. It’s how you treat the smallest person in the room.” Paris listened deeply.

I didn't stop, I continued to speak, “If you want respect, earn it. But don’t beg for it. And don’t cry because someone threw a cup at you.”

Paris' gaze instantly dropped on his laps, he looked embarrassed.

I glanced at him quickly. “Next time someone throws something at you?” I paused. “Stand straight. Look them in the eye. And make sure they never do it again.” The words were strong, heavy and almost too wild and I bet he felt them.

And that was the last thing I said to Paris before the car suddenly went quiet.

He couldn't speak.
He just sat there and played with his nails like a terrified child.

After a while, I slowed the car down as we entered Maplewood Lane.

The buildings looked old but clean. Quiet street. Too quiet.

I checked the number carefully. “1847,” I muttered quietly, then I pulled the car over and turned off the engine.

“We’re here.” I said sharply, my tone carried a strange excitement.

Paris looked out the window. “This is it?” he asked with a forced smile.

I nodded. “Yeah. This is it.” I responded and stepped out of the car confidently.

Paris followed quickly, trying to look professional.

I adjusted my jacket and looked up at the building. “Stay sharp,” I whispered to Paris quietly.

But just before going through the estate’s gate, I suddenly turned to Paris. “Listen carefully,” I said with a serious expression.

Paris straightened immediately.

I continued briefly, “This is connected to the Charlie Carter case.” I said sharply.

Paris’ eyes widened slightly.

Then I lowered my voice a little bit before I continued. “A woman came to the station earlier today, and dropped a note. She claimed her mother-in-law killed her husband.”

Paris swallowed. “Charlie Carter?”

I nodded slowly, glad he was catching up quickly. “That’s what we’re here to confirm. We’re meeting the woman who claims she’s his wife.” I paused. “You don’t speak unless I ask you to. You observe. You listen. You watch body language. You learn.” Paris nodded quickly. “Yes sir.”

Then I looked him in the eye. “And don’t look scared.” Paris took a deep breath. “Yes sir.”

After the briefing, we turned around and walked into the building lobby.

The place smelled slightly old. The elevator doors were just closing when suddenly someone rushed around the corner and bumped into us.

It was a woman and she had a luggage in one hand.

She also had a scarf covering her head and half her face.

She looked tired—breathless like she'd just completed a marathon race.

She looks like someone suffering from sleep deprivation, in fact the luggage almost fell from her grip. “Sorry—” she began quickly, but then she suddenly froze.

My eyes locked onto her immediately and recognition hit me instantly.

It was her.

The same woman from the CCTV.

I remember the scarf, the restless movements—everything was the same. Very familiar.

Paris looked confused behind me, but I knew clearly what was happening here.

I didn't say anything at first.

I'd just studied her face carefully. “Ma’am,” I said slowly, stepping slightly in front of her.