In still waters - стр. 13

"Should we inform Jeffrey about what we've learned?" Christian asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Yes, but let's do that this afternoon. It's crucial we question Bradley first. We should head to his place right now." Nick was already halfway to the door when he noticed Christian's hesitation. His colleague was clearly struggling with how to delicately suggest that they both needed rest after their long day.

"Nick, it's five in the morning," Christian said gently. "Maybe we should at least go home for a few hours of sleep. We'll be sharper after some rest."

Nick paused, considering Christian's words. As much as he wanted to pursue this lead immediately, he knew his partner had a point. Exhaustion could lead to mistakes, and they couldn't afford any missteps at this critical juncture of the investigation.

"You're right, Christian," Nick conceded with a sigh. "The morning is wiser than the evening, as they say. Let's get some rest and hit this fresh in a few hours."

The next day dawned bright and clear, a gentle breeze carrying the sweet songs of birds through the air. It seemed almost perverse that nature could be so beautiful in the wake of such tragedy.

Nick placed a call to Christian, instructing him to meet him directly at Bradley Force's residence rather than stopping by the station first. They converged on the southern part of town, an area known for its age and history. During the day, this neighborhood was typically quiet and peaceful, most residents away at work. The streets were lined with trees imported from Europe, lending the area a quaint, almost old-world charm. The houses were predominantly single-story structures, many clearly over three decades old.

Leaving their car parked at the curb, Nick and Christian approached a weathered, beige wooden house that had clearly seen better days. It stood slightly askew, its windows grimy and opaque. The scent of decaying wood hung in the air, a testament to years of neglect.

The detectives rang the doorbell, its muffled chime barely audible through the thick wooden door. After a moment, it creaked open to reveal a short, thin woman with gray hair cut close to her scalp. She wore a long, shapeless gray robe that seemed to swallow her diminutive frame. Nick estimated her age to be somewhere between sixty-five and seventy. Her face was set in an expression of extreme displeasure, as if their very presence on her doorstep was an affront.

This, Nick realized, must be Bradley Force's foster mother. Her lack of surprise at their visit spoke volumes – clearly, the police were not unfamiliar visitors to this household.