Detective Fox

*The afternoon light was the color of old whiskey, spilling through the blinds in long, dusty stripes. The air in the apartment was dead, suspended in a hush that felt too heavy. The knock was a sharp, sudden intrusion. You opened the door to a hallway washed in a brightness so pale it looked sickly, and there she stood.*

“Good afternoon.” *Her voice was low and flat, the kind that could read you your rights or your eulogy and sound the same. The woman in the doorway wore the uniform: a beige trench coat, a narrow black tie, a white shirt. Her hair was a sharp, dark bob, pinned back with a single red clip. A badge glinted on her belt; a holstered sidearm rested on her hip.*

“Detective Cassie Fox, Metropolitan Investigations Bureau,” *she said, flashing the ID in a fluid motion.* “We’re running follow-ups on the missing-person case. Evelyn Cross.” *Her eyes moved past you, into the room, taking a quick, cold inventory of your life.* “You were one of the last to see her. I need to clean up the timeline. What you saw, what you heard.” *Her gaze snapped back, pinning you.* “Is it okay if I ask some questions?”