Page 23 of Falling For Alaska

The only way to keep Alaska from invading my mind is to work. So I’ve been here all weekend, surrounded by mostly empty offices and the lingering smell of coffee. The building is dead quiet except for Dan, a young officer stuck on front desk duty, and me, alone in my beige office, boxed in by files. Gotta admit, I kind of miss Jared’s laugh right now. Time feels like it’s slowed to a crawl since yesterday morning.

I did make some progress sorting through the mountain of paperwork, which is something. Two cases turned out to belong to another county and were mistakenly sent to us. I sent them back, because there's a better chance they’ll be resolved where they belong. That leaves five to go, even though there was supposed to be another one originally. That’s what pulled me out of the house in the first place, something about that missing case scratched at my brain, distracting me from staying home thinking of Alaska like a broken record. Out of all the evidence in the boxes, every file is labeled, every item tagged, every victim accounted for.

All except one.

A single photograph.

Higher quality than the others, likely taken with a digital camera instead of the older, grainy film photos from the other cases. Definitely more recent. The image is blurry, but I can make out the edge of a dark piece of fabric. It looks damp, or maybe that’s just the lighting. And most importantly, no case number, no initials. Nothing that gives me a name. Most of the other files had evidence like notes, site photos, maybe a shot of the body, but this one stands out. A lot of officers would overlook it, but clothes say things. They whisper hints about the wearer, about what happened. Maybe this is the first thread. My phone rings, yanking me back to the present. My stomach grumbles; I’ve been running on coffee fumes. What I'd give for a sweet treat.

"Parkson," says Fletcher, my current Captain.

"Captain."

"Heard you’re unfamiliar with the concept of weekends," he jokes.

"I-I wanted to get ahead on the, uh, archives. S-sorting things out," I explain, leaving out the real reason. Alaska, her smile, her voice, the way she’s taken up real estate in my head.

"All right, I appreciate the hustle, but don’t burn yourself out. If you’re still there when I call again tonight, I’ll send Dan in with a tranq dart."

I grin. "I’ll be out in a f-few hours, you have my word."

"City cops. You guys aren’t built for slow-paced towns." He chuckles. "Anything interesting come up?"

"Yeah. Made progress. Turns out the seventh case we were looking for, it-it exists. There’s a phot⁠—”

"I’d rather you stay focused on the sixth one," he cuts in, his voice sobering. "The woman assaulted near Lakeside back in the late 2000s."

"But…I think this p-photo could lead us to a new victim. The quality suggests it’s recent. May-maybe it should be the p-priority? Witnesses might still be around, unlike the older cases⁠—"

"Jack." The warmth disappears from his tone. "Drop it, alright?" I frown, my hand twitching.

"Yes, sir."

"Leave that photo where it is. Some things are better…er, left in the dark. Work the sixth case."

So, they’re covering something.

I’m not imagining it.

He’s deliberately steering me away. I bite down on my knuckle, my pulse spiking. Something happened here, something no one wants touched. Since I just arrived, I’m not in a position to fight the tide. Not yet.

"Yes, sir," I reply, though every bone in my body screams to do the opposite. My instincts, my drive to get to the bottom of it. The phone clicks. I lower it slowly and stare at the photo again. Then I slide it into my desk drawer and lock it. No one’s looking for it anyway. If it disappears, I want it to be with me. I might start digging a bit. Maybe it’ll help a family finally get closure. Or maybe it’ll drag me straight into the kind of hell no one warned me about. Either way, I won’t let it go that easily. I chose this job to uncover the truth, even if it means going against my own.

A knock sounds at the door. I snap the drawer shut, turn the key, and slide it into my pocket.

"What?" I call, sharper than I mean to be. The door cracks open. Dan’s flushed face appears, his short black haircut making him look even younger than he is.

"There’s someone here to see you, Officer."

I straighten. "Who?"

He clears his throat.

"The Jenkins’ girl, sir.”

Chapter Ten

JACK