The old smell of the shop filled the detective's nose. With the hunchbacked man descending the stairs, a sudden silence fell. Footsteps echoed ominously from the stairs as Miroslav came down.
Shade didn't move. Leaning against the door, he surveyed the shop as a whole. His eyes drifted from the cheerful portraits on the walls to the chemicals on the shelves. Everything was superficial. He inhaled sharply. His instincts seemed to be warning him that something was wrong here.
His steps creaked lightly on the wooden floorboards as he moved. He looked at the dusty bottles on the shelves. One had a clean cap, clearly used regularly… More than right. It looked staged, like a scene.
His eyes caught on an old shutter box on the shelf. It was too clean compared to the others. He lifted it, checking underneath. Nothing. But his instinct told him to shake it. A faint "click" echoed.
Carefully, he checked inside. There was a thin double layer at the bottom. Grasping the edge with his nails, he pulled it. Out came a small, leather-bound, nameless notebook.
The footsteps on the stairs suddenly quickened. Shade opened the notebook. It was filled with complex mathematical formulas, chemical structures, and strings of letters that seemed encrypted. Nothing comprehensible, no names at all. Only a simple emblem in the corner of a page caught his attention: two interlocking "C"s.
At that moment, a shadow fell over him.
Miroslav stood at the top of the stairs, pale, breathing hard, with a panic and rage Shade had never seen before. His eyes were locked on the notebook in Shade's hand.
"Leave it!" His rough voice shredded into a scream. "It's mine!"
"Looks like it's pretty valuable," Shade replied, calm but alert. He slid the notebook quietly into his jacket pocket. "Is it just yours?"
Miroslav's body shifted. His shoulders tensed, and his hunch straightened in an instant. The old, calm expression in his eyes turned into pure hatred. He removed his glasses and threw them to the ground.
"You'll have to give it up."
As Shade reached for his gun, Miroslav lunged like a panther. The first punch aimed at Shade's temple was narrowly dodged. They were now locked in a fight in the narrow shop, among dusty shelves and fragile equipment. The young detective was stunned.
Miroslav was surprisingly strong and agile. Years of hunching had hidden his muscles. He pushed Shade from one shelf to another, breaking old cameras. Shade seized a momentary opening, striking Miroslav's chest and then shoving him onto the counter.
"This notebook isn't your business!" Miroslav growled, breathless.
Shade took the moment Miroslav was pinned on the counter, twisting his arm behind his back and pressing him face down. With his other hand, he handcuffed Miroslav's wrists to the metal leg of the counter.
"Now it's my business," the detective said, still catching his breath.
The old man finally surrendered. His head drooped forward. "You'll understand nothing," he grunted.
Shade stepped back. His face was scratched, his coat covered in dust. He pulled out his phone and quickly called headquarters.
"Shade. I'm at Capture the Moment Photography. I have a suspect in custody, Miroslav. Send forensic and crime scene teams. Clean the place."
He hung up and examined the notebook again. Two interlocking Cs. Who did it belong to? What did it symbolize?
Miroslav's voice came in a hoarse whisper: "When they arrive, I'll leave. But that notebook… it won't stop after you."
The young man turned toward him. "Are you threatening me?" His voice was cold.
"I'm not afraid of men like you," Miroslav replied, his head still bowed. "But they… they live in the shadows. And you're the first to bring them out."
Sirens could be heard from outside. They were coming.
Shade pocketed the notebook. Whether Miroslav's words were a threat or a warning, he didn't care. "Listen, old man. I'll figure out what's written here. You, however, are under arrest for assaulting a Special Detective on duty." He leaned toward Miroslav. "We'll talk again, in detail."
As the police entered, Shade stepped outside. He removed his extinguished pipe and felt some clarity from the cold air hitting his face. His eyes fell on the cuffed man leaving the shop. The furious glare was gone; only dull eyes remained. He could feel the notebook pressing against his chest in his jacket pocket. What was it that scared him so much?
---
Meanwhile, in the blue-lit Technical Research Room, Logan and Chane were poring over Elena Varga's digital records.
"Look," Logan said, pointing the screen toward Chane. "Elena Varga created a recording three months ago with a lawyer, requesting divorce proceedings."
Chane stared expressionless at the screen. "Reason?"
"Suspicion of infidelity. Her husband, Mark Varga, had been traveling frequently for work, but it didn't match company records." Logan opened the next document. "And more interestingly… Mark withdrew a large sum from the company two weeks after Elena filed for divorce."
"Escape money, or a settlement?" Chane muttered.
"There's a way to find out," Logan said, springing from his chair. "Let's ask him directly."
The two agents prepared and left the office. By evening, they reached the area. Logan took a deep breath as he stepped out of the vehicle, Chane following.
Mark Varga stood at the door of their luxurious, cold-looking home, shirt wrinkled, eyes bloodshot. Seeing Logan's ID, his face tightened.
"May I help you?" he said quietly.
"Detectives Logan and Chane from the Special Criminal Cases Bureau. We have some questions about Elena Varga's death."
Mark exhaled deeply. "Please… come in." His hands trembled slightly.
They moved to the living room. Everything was immaculate, but the air carried a frozen pain.
"Mr. Varga," Chane began softly, "we know you were undergoing a divorce."
Mark shook his head. "Yes… but that… that can't have anything to do with her death. I still loved her."
Logan paced. "Records show frequent business trips. Where were you during the last month?"
"I… just business trips," Mark stammered. "Meetings for the company."
Chane didn't take notes, simply watched him. "Which cities? Which dates? We need to verify these trips."
Mark began sweating. "I… I don't remember exactly. Maybe my passport stayed at the office."
"What about at the time of the murder, Mr. Varga?" Logan pressed.
He loosened his shirt collar. "I wasn't given the exact hour."
Chane rose. "I understand. You'll need to come to headquarters tomorrow. And remember, this is a murder investigation. If you don't appear, a warrant will be issued."
As the door closed, Logan looked at his colleague. "Thoughts?"
"I suspect he knows something," Chane said. "But whether he's the killer or just hiding a secret, we don't know yet."
---
Back in his office, Detective Shade studied the notebook intently. His office was a sanctuary lit by a single desk lamp. His coat still dusted and marked from the shop fight, the leather-bound notebook sat on the desk beside his pipe.
Two interlocking Cs… whose symbol was this? A company? An organization? The panic in Miroslav's eyes wasn't ordinary criminal fear. He wasn't afraid of losing the notebook; he was terrified of what it could reveal.
He traced the emblem with his fingers. It was expertly made. No personal marks. But that reaction… that pure anger was personal. This notebook might not belong to him, but he felt it did.
He leafed through it again. Chemical formulas… could it be connected to Tiyokurat? Mathematical sequences… a cipher or financial records?
The door cracked slightly. Sierra peeked in. "Miroslav is in the interrogation room. Won't talk until his lawyer arrives. But he said he wants to see you."
Shade didn't look up. "First, let's lay out what we know. Gather everyone."
Within minutes, the room filled. Logan and Chane stood to one side, tense from the new interrogation. Harvenn, elegant and observant, remained near the door. Sierra settled beside Shade's desk with her tablet.
Shade leaned on the desk. "Begin."
Logan stepped forward. "Mark Varga is likely hiding something. He doesn't verify his last month's trips, and has no solid alibi for the night Elena died."
Chane added calmly, "There's the divorce and large withdrawals. But not sure if he's a killer. More like… scared."
Sierra placed her tablet down. "Miroslav's financial records show regular, unidentified payments. Monthly, fixed amounts. For the past five years."
Harvenn spoke quietly from the other side of the room. "These started after KempaTek's bankruptcy. Could it be protection money? Or hush money?"
Shade exhaled. The pieces were all on the table, but the picture remained blurry.
"What about this?" he asked, lifting the notebook. "Miroslav attacked over this. It contains only encrypted notes and this symbol." He showed the two interlocking Cs.
Sierra's eyes widened. "That symbol… I've seen it before." She continued while quickly searching on her tablet. "It was among Elena Varga's personal items, drawn on the back of a restaurant napkin."
A heavy silence filled the room. Clues were linking together, but the emerging picture was frightening.
Shade brought the pipe to his lips. "So… the question is simple: Elena Varga, Mark Varga, Miroslav, and this notebook. What connects them?"
He massaged his temples, then ordered the team, "Return to your tasks. I'll interrogate the old man soon."
The door closed after the team left. Silence fell, broken only by Shade's deep breath. He was about to dive back into the notebook when he heard a faint footstep.
Harvenn stood by the door, looking at him. Unlike the others, she hadn't left.
"Can I bother you for a moment?" Her voice was a soft touch in the heavy air.
Shade looked up, eyebrows raised. "Please, Harvenn. Is there something you forgot?"
"No." She stepped closer, eyes scanning the scratch on his cheek and the dust on his coat. "Just checking if you're okay. You were attacked earlier."
Shade, caught off guard by her unexpected concern, gave a slight smirk. Playfully, he replied, rolling his pipe in his hand:
"So, your professional diagnosis is that my pipe needs a break?" He continued with a faint smile. "Maybe I should try a lighter tobacco."
Harvenn tilted her head, almost taking his joke seriously. "Actually, I was going to suggest a face guard. Or at least avoid wrestling with old men in shops."
For a brief moment, they both smiled. Then her expression turned soft but serious.
"Really, Shade. This… is different. Miroslav isn't an ordinary suspect. Be careful."
Shade momentarily dropped his mask. Fatigue and alertness were visible in his eyes. "I know," he muttered. "But the notebook… it's a key. I can feel it."
Harvenn nodded. Then she returned to her sharp, professional persona. "I'll trace the financial trail of that symbol. You… just pay attention while smoking your pipe."
As she left, leaving a faint scent of perfume, Shade felt an odd sense of relief knowing he wasn't entirely alone. His eyes returned to the notebook. The warmth filling the room had dissipated, leaving only the cold reality of his work.
---
İstersen, ben bunu daha akıcı, roman havasında İngilizce olarak yeniden yazıp gerilimi biraz daha artırabilirim. Bunu yapmamı ister misin?