Chapter 7 - The Cross-Referenced Past
“We checked it for fingerprints,” the older man said, his voice soft, modulated, and entirely devoid of any warmth. It carried the chilling weight of an executioner delivering a final sentence. “Yours weren’t in the standard police database.” He tapped the scratched surface of the silver locket with a manicured fingernail. “But the photograph tucked inside was significantly easier to trace.” He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make Minna’s stomach drop into a bottomless chasm. “Minna Jenkins. Class of 2018. St. Jude Academy. Dropped out six months prior to graduation when family circumstances changed. No fixed residential address, though property tax records indicate your family lost their home on the North Side.”
Minna gripped the handle of the steaming coffee pot with white-knuckled intensity, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped animal. “What do you want?” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly despite her best efforts to sound brave. “Mr. Moretti would like to return your property,” the older man replied smoothly, tilting his head. “Personally.” “I can’t,” Minna stammered, panic surging through her veins as she glanced toward the kitchen. “I’m on the clock. I didn’t see anything last night. Tell him that.” The younger man stepped up beside his partner, his face entirely unreadable. “This wasn’t an invitation, Miss Jenkins. It wasn’t a request.” Lou emerged from the kitchen doorway with a heavy cast-iron skillet in his hand, his face flushed with protective anger. “Hey! If the girl said she’s not going anywhere, you two suits better—” The older man flicked his gaze toward Lou just once. The look was so cold, so heavy with implied violence, that Lou’s mouth snapped shut mid-sentence, the iron skillet trembling slightly in his grip. Minna understood the unspoken message immediately; stubborn pride would only get Lou killed, and she refused to let anyone else suffer for her split-second decision on the bridge. She slowly untied her grease-stained apron and laid it across the counter. “It’s okay, Lou,” she said softly, her voice steadying as resignation took over. “I’ll go.”
