The fluorescent lights of the police precinct buzzed faintly as Layla scrubbed the tiled floor late into the night. Shadows flickered across the empty desks, and the faint aroma of stale coffee lingered in the air. This job was her last thread of dignity after a series of financial disasters had left her bankrupt, desperate, and teetering on the edge of collapse.
As she knelt near the chief's desk, her elbow accidentally knocked over a stack of files. Papers spilled across the floor like scattered pieces of a puzzle. Sighing, she scrambled to pick them up, only to freeze when her eyes caught a photograph pinned to one of the documents. It was a crime scene photo of a young man lying in a pool of blood, his hand clutching a key. Something about the scene made her stomach tighten.
Layla knew she should not, but curiosity compelled her. She skimmed the report. The investigation had concluded it was a robbery gone wrong, the prime suspect a known petty thief who had been arrested days earlier. But as her eyes darted between the photo, the crime scene description, and the timeline, an unease bubbled in her chest.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"The position of the key…" she murmured to herself. It was wrong. The suspect couldn’t have placed the key in that position given the reported sequence of events. A hundred possibilities swirled in her mind, connecting patterns others might overlook. Layla grabbed a sticky note from a nearby desk and scribbled furiously: "This conclusion is incorrect. Consider the position of the key—it suggests the victim knew the killer."
Placing the note atop the file, she quickly gathered the papers, stacked them neatly, and finished her shift.
The next morning, Layla arrived at work to find the precinct in a frenzy. Officers were gathered around the file she had touched the night before. She tried to slip by unnoticed, but a booming voice stopped her.
“Excuse me! Who wrote this note?” demanded Detective Rami, the lead investigator on the case. He held the sticky note aloft like it was evidence in itself.
Layla hesitated, her heart racing. The last thing she needed was to lose her job. Reluctantly, she stepped forward. “I… I did. I’m sorry if I overstepped—”