Where could he possibly have gone? A week had passed without her suspect showing up at the café, even though Carmen had assured her that he went there daily. Abigail seethed with anger in her car, staking out the bar: she had had a surveillance team deployed for a week without any results, which had visibly irritated her superior to the point where he had then ordered her to handle it on her own. Given the exceptional nature of the situation and the numerous promotions, her colleague had left to assist a new pair of officers. Thus, she found herself having to do this surveillance alone for a few hours.
She sighed and finally decided to abandon this lead: it would take her nowhere. Might as well go back to the station and lend a hand to the rest of her colleagues. Key in the ignition, she waited for a passerby to overtake her so as not to startle him with the noise of the engine. A jolt shook her when the man's face finally appeared in her rearview mirror, and she jumped out of her vehicle, struggling with her seatbelt. Hand on her weapon, Abigail ordered him to stop and locked eyes with him as he complied. Without any reaction, as if he had forgotten her, the man nonchalantly asked what she wanted. While his tone annoyed her, she restrained herself and asked him to accompany her to the police station: she had questions to ask.
"Is it really necessary?" he debated. "Can't you ask me here? I'd be delighted if you could do this quickly; I'm expected.
— No. It will be at the station, and that's it," retorted Abigail sharply. "I'm going to ask you to cooperate; it will be simpler for both of us.
— My choice seems limited," he remarked, still in that annoying tone. "Fine, I'll go with you."
The underlying impatience Abigail sensed in his voice and his lack of reaction to her strangely vexed her, prompting her to get into her car perhaps more abruptly than necessary.
The man didn't utter a word during the journey, nor when they crossed the police station's hall, nor even when he was searched and placed in a chair in an interrogation room. Abigail found the notebook Carmen had mentioned and brought the evidence to her section chief, hoping to regain credibility. Alas, he wore a dark expression that didn't leave even when she placed the proof on his desk; on the contrary, he fixed his gaze on her and scrutinized her thoroughly. After a long minute of silence, she opened the notebook to the middle page and unfolded the map, mentioning that each cross corresponded to a murder location. On the opposite page was a legend listing the dates of each case. Yet, it still didn't seem to satisfy him because he hadn't taken his eyes off her. It was only when she asked if anything had happened since she left that he redirected his attention to what was on his desk. His gaze brightened suddenly before darkening again. "This bastard planned to start again, even after taking down our agents… Well done, Inspector Rossi. See what we can extract from this notebook. Find out this guy's motivations."
Despite her superior's unsettling behavior, Abigail complied and left with the notebook. A final glance before passing through the door confirmed that he was hiding something from her: the commander stared at her with the same inquisitive look, as if trying to uncover some secret. Unsure of herself, she left without saying anything and joined the observation room next to the interrogation room where her suspect was held. The man hadn't moved from the position she left him, and he didn't seem bothered by the handcuffs on his wrists.
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Taking a moment for herself to examine the evidence, Abigail began studying the notebook, which at first glance seemed quite ordinary: simple, sturdy, and suitable for note-taking. However, after feeling the texture of the paper beneath her fingers, she realized that, although functional, the notepad was of luxurious craftsmanship; a quick glance at her suspect revealed that he too was richly dressed. Did this have any connection to the case? She returned her attention to the content of the pages and was surprised to find that she couldn't read a word: sticks and triangles arranged and bound into a kind of organized gibberish. Several pages were written in this strange language, and small sketches punctuated the writing: pentacles, monsters, and other fantasies of that kind. Sometimes, she could read words written in other languages such as English, Russian, but the rest remained a combination of lines and triangles that she couldn't decipher.
Lifting her nose from the book, she caught the man observing her despite the one-way mirror. The unsettling feeling that he could see her pushed Abigail to inquire further into the rest of the notebook. As she progressed, she discovered a world map dotted with several points, mostly in major cities. Had similar events occurred to those currently plaguing here? A mental note and a folded corner of the page allowed her to come back to it later, and she continued flipping through the pages. She probably would have spent her entire day on it if another detective hadn't suddenly entered the room, expressing surprise to find her there. He informed her that he and his partner were going to interrogate the suspect but unfortunately, she couldn't stay, still being on probation. Despite her attempts to convince him, her colleague remained unmoved, and she had to leave the room. Without a personal desk, her superior allowed her to go home, ignoring the notebook secretly slipped into her belongings.
Her computer open on the coffee table, several crumpled pages filled with invalidated theories, Abigail lay on her couch after almost three hours of trying to make sense of what she found in the notebook. She had eventually given up to continue perusing without understanding the numerous pages of the book. Who could this man be to write fluently in what she had discovered to be Sumerian? If she had started by noting down every word in a different language, she had quickly stopped: they had no connection to each other, except perhaps for what the cuneiform symbols indicated. Holding the notebook at arm's length, it suddenly slipped from her hands and, after an unexpected bounce on a cushion, crashed onto her tiled floor. A curse, then she leaned forward to sit up and walked to the book. It didn't stay long between her fingers and was turned against the sandstone tiles the next moment. Abigail had let it go the moment her eyes landed inside. She tried to convince herself that she had seen it wrong and picked up the notebook. Curious to see what the sketch she had mistaken for her deceased sister looked like, she searched for the page by sliding the edges against her thumb. When she finally found it, her strength abandoned her, and, feverish, she sank back into her couch. The drawing wasn't just resembling; it was the faithful portrait of her elder sister. Every freckle, every tiny wrinkle… Even the gleam in her eyes could be guessed under the pencil stroke, and although dead for ten years, she seemed to come back to life on this piece of paper.
An infinity of questions erupted in Abigail's mind, but if she would have liked to study them all, her body refused, too tired. Finding only the strength to crash onto her bed, she fiddled with her necklace with her fingers, staring at the photo of her sister on the bedside table. Despite her boiling mind, sleep quickly overtook her.