Making a beeline for the interview room where I had left Louise sitting alone, my steps were quick and purposeful. However, as I neared the frosted glass door, I instinctively slowed down. From within the room, hushed voices drifted through the door, which was left slightly ajar, inviting curiosity.

"They've been watching him for years," I heard Louise whisper, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and urgency.

"Who?" Sergeant Claiborne's voice rumbled in response. He was attempting to speak softly, but his deep baritone voice failed to lower to a whisper, making his words more audible than perhaps intended.

Curiosity piqued, I leaned closer to the door, straining to catch more of the conversation. The response was muffled, frustratingly indistinct. A part of me urged to listen more, to glean whatever information I could, but a stronger sense of professionalism held me back. I have to stop, I told myself firmly. Karl will be here any moment now. It would look unprofessional, to say the least, if I were caught eavesdropping on the Sergeant.

Taking a few discreet steps back, I set my approach to appear casual, unassuming. I walked up to the door and gave a sharp knock with my knuckle, feigning surprise. "Oh, Sergeant," I said, my voice tinged with carefully calibrated astonishment as I pushed the door open and stepped into the interview room.

"Did you find Karl?" Sergeant Claiborne asked immediately. His movements were quick, almost reflexive, as he scrunched a small piece of paper in his hand, enclosing it securely in his fist. I made a conscious effort not to stare, pretending not to have noticed his sudden action. A part of me regretted not entering the room a few moments earlier, or forgoing the formality of knocking. Had I witnessed the exchange firsthand, I might have understood better. Was the Sergeant showing something to Louise, or had she passed the paper to him? The possibilities swirled in my mind.

"Yes," I responded, keeping my tone neutral. "He's on his way now."

Without a word, Sergeant Claiborne rose from his seat, walking past me towards the door. His departure was swift, almost abrupt, and he didn't spare Louise even the slightest backward glance.

As we both stood in the corridor, an air of uneasiness enveloped us. The tension was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken questions hanging between us.

The Sergeant remained silent, his demeanour closed off. I, too, stayed quiet, not daring to probe further.

"She's in there," I informed Karl as he finally arrived, my voice steady but carrying an underlying current of urgency. "You ready for this?"

Karl, looking a bit worse for wear but composed, nodded in affirmation. As he moved towards the interview room door, however, Sergeant Claiborne intervened abruptly. With a swift motion, he slammed his hand hard against Karl's chest, effectively halting him. The Sergeant's eyes bore into Karl's with an intensity that was almost palpable. I couldn't help but think, He is totally busted.

"I'd normally tell you to go home," Claiborne said, his voice firm and unwavering. "But she has a unique story to tell, and she's determined to tell it to you, specifically."

I watched, surprised at the Sergeant's leniency. It was unlike him to allow any officer to remain at work in such an obviously hungover state, let alone conduct an interview. The situation piqued my curiosity even further. What was so special about this case that warranted such an exception?

Unique? The word echoed in my mind. From what I had gathered during the initial interview with Louise, there didn't seem to be anything particularly 'unique' about her story. What had transpired between Louise and Sergeant Claiborne while I was away?

Entering the room, I took a seat opposite Louise, my mind still racing with questions. The sight of her filled me with a mix of empathy and intrigue. She sat there, a picture of worry and distress. Her head was hung low, a posture of defeat, and her eyes - when they occasionally met mine - revealed the depth of her pain and anxiety.

Moments later, Karl stepped into the small, windowless room, the air heavy with anticipation. His entrance was marked by a slight hesitation as he took in the scene before him. "Louise Jeffries?" he asked, his voice tinged with a note of surprise as he recognised the woman sitting at the interview desk.

Louise turned slowly to face him, her expression solemn and unreadable. She remained silent, her gaze steady and unwavering.

"Oh my god! It is you!" Karl's voice cracked with incredulity, his usual composure slipping momentarily as he grappled with the unexpected recognition.

"You two know each other?" I couldn't hide my surprise at just how familiar they appeared to be with each other.

"You could say that," Karl replied, his voice low. He then turned his attention to Louise. "How have you been?" he asked, his tone carrying a mix of concern and a hint of awkwardness.

Louise's expression remained unchanged, her face a mask that revealed nothing of her inner thoughts or feelings. "Please, Karl. Sit," she said, her voice firm yet tinged with a note of urgency.

As Karl pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Louise, the way they looked at each other suggested a deep familiarity, a connection that went beyond a mere acquaintance. I couldn't help but feel like an outsider, intruding on a personal moment.

"I've already told most of this to your colleague here," Louise said, gesturing towards me. Her eyes briefly met mine, then flicked back to Karl. "But I wanted to tell you directly."

I watched Karl closely, observing his reaction. His face turned a dark shade of serious, a look I had never seen on him before. It was clear that whatever connection they shared, it was significant. "I'm listening," he said, his voice steady but intense. He looked directly into Louise's eyes, bracing himself for whatever revelation she was about to share.

The room seemed to shrink around us, the tension palpable. I sat quietly, aware that I was witnessing a crucial piece of the puzzle about to unfold, one that could potentially change the course of the investigation, which had barely begun.

Louise's demeanour was measured, her words deliberate, as she gathered herself to speak. There was a solemn gravity in her voice that conveyed the seriousness of her situation. "My son, Kain, is missing." She paused, letting the weight of her statement sink in. "And so is my brother," she added, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Jamie?" Karl inquired, his tone careful, as if he was treading on fragile ground.

"Yes," Louise nodded, her affirmation carrying a sense of deep worry.

"Are you sure?" Karl's question was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was trying to grasp the full implications of her statement.

Louise's response was detailed, her voice growing slightly more anxious. "I haven't been able to contact him for several days now. He hasn't answered any of my calls or responded to any of my texts. I've driven past his house a few times and his car is still in the driveway," she explained, her face clouding with concern.

"Have you knocked on the door?" Karl's question was straightforward, his detective instincts kicking in.

Louise's eyes started to become watery, a clear sign of her emotional turmoil. "I didn't at first," she admitted, her voice tinged with regret. "Maybe if I had, Kain would still be around," she said, her voice cracking slightly as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I'm confused, Louise. You said you didn't knock on his door at first. But you have now?" Karl pressed for clarification.

"Yes," she confessed, her admission laced with a sense of resignation. "But he didn't answer. I only spoke to Luke.”

I observed this exchange silently, noting the complex web of emotions playing across both their faces. Louise's distress was palpable, and Karl's concern for her was evident, even as he maintained his professional demeanour.

Karl's question cut through the tension in the room. "Who is Luke?" he asked, his tone indicating that he was also struggling to piece the puzzle together.

"Luke Smith," Louise replied, her voice laced with unmistakable disdain. "His partner."

"Oh. I didn't realise," Karl responded, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"It's okay," Louise said, her tone resigned, as if she had expected this lack of awareness from Karl.

I watched as Karl took a deep breath, clearly processing the new information. It was evident he was trying to connect the dots, his mind working overtime. "Louise," he began slowly, cautiously. "I'm still quite confused. Please, start again from the beginning," he requested.

"The beginning?" Louise echoed, her surprise evident.

"Just of the disappearance," Karl clarified, trying to narrow down the focus of her narrative.

Just of the disappearance? I questioned internally, my curiosity piqued. What the hell is that supposed to mean? The depth of their history seemed more extensive than I had initially thought. I found myself wondering about the extent of Karl's past involvement with Louise Jeffries and Jamie Greyson. In all the time Karl and I had worked together, he had never mentioned either of them. It had to be something significant, given the growing concern etched on his face.

I sat quietly, observing the exchange intently. Karl's usually unreadable expression was now clouded with concern, his brow furrowed as he listened to Louise. The situation was clearly more complex than a simple missing persons case. There were layers here, personal connections that I hadn't anticipated, which seemed to add a weight to Karl's demeanour that I hadn't seen before.

As Louise prepared to delve into her story once more, I braced myself for the revelations to come, aware that whatever she was about to share could shed light on not only the case but also on Karl's past.

As Louise recounted the events of the past few days, I could sense her growing anxiety. "It's been four days since I've been able to get in touch with Jamie, and it's unusual that he doesn't answer any of my calls. I was concerned about his relationship with Luke and so I sent Kain over to their house to check on him. But I haven't heard from Kain since," she said, her voice wavering slightly with each word.

A surge of pity washed over me as I observed Louise struggling to maintain her composure. Her lower lip trembled as she fought to keep her emotions in check, a clear indication of the turmoil that was churning inside her.

"I'm really worried that something terrible might have happened to them," Louise continued, barely managing to keep the tears at bay. Her eyes, glimmering with unshed tears, conveyed the depth of her fear and concern.

Karl, reacting with a compassion I hadn't often seen in him, reached across the small interview table. He gently took hold of Louise’s trembling hands, offering a silent gesture of support. "When did you send Kain?" he asked, his voice soft yet firm.

"Two days ago. It was first thing in the morning. I've contacted his friends, but nobody has seen or heard from him since he left our house. His fiancée swears to me she hasn't heard from him either. So, after driving past Jamie's house several times, yesterday morning —" Louise's voice trailed off, her emotions finally getting the better of her.

I watched, feeling a mix of professional detachment and personal empathy. The room felt charged with Louise's distress, and I could see the impact it was having on Karl. His usual stoic demeanour was replaced with one of genuine concern. The complexity of the situation was becoming more apparent with each passing moment.

As the conversation unfolded before me, my mind began to drift, tangling itself in a web of speculation and unanswered questions. Jamie and Luke? My thoughts echoed inquisitively. Had there been a past between Jamie and Karl? I found myself eyeing Karl, my gaze sweeping over him with a newfound curiosity. He did harbour some mysteries, that much I had always sensed. But considering the passion and frequency of our intimate encounters, the thought of Karl being gay seemed far-fetched... or was it?

My internal musings were abruptly interrupted by Karl's voice. "And do you believe him?" he asked.

Shit! Believe what? I berated myself internally for getting lost in my thoughts and not paying full attention to the conversation.

"Well, he did seem to be pretty upset about it all. But even if it were true and Jamie had gone to Melbourne, that doesn't explain why he won't respond to any of my calls or messages," Louise was saying, her voice tinged with a mix of confusion and skepticism.

"And did Luke say anything about Kain?" Karl pressed further.

Kain… who was Kain again? I mentally scolded myself for the lapse in concentration. Oh yes, her son. I quickly scribbled down the details, ensuring I didn't miss any more crucial information.

It was unlike me to let my focus waver during such a critical moment in an investigation. But the potential implications of the connection between Karl and this case had thrown me off balance. I resolved to put aside my personal conjectures and concentrate on the task at hand. This case was rapidly unfolding into something more complex than I had initially anticipated, and every piece of information was vital. I needed to stay sharp and attentive, focusing on the facts and evidence, rather than getting lost in the maze of personal entanglements and possibilities.

"Not really," Louise continued, her voice laced with a mixture of uncertainty and frustration. "He just said that Kain never made it around. He said he hadn't seen him since last Christmas."

None of this was adding up in my mind. "None of this makes any sense at all," I interjected, speaking up for the first time since we had started this interview. I was partly hoping that my comment might encourage Louise to reiterate some of the details I had missed while lost in my thoughts.

"No. It doesn't," Karl agreed. He stood up, his movements deliberate and professional. He motioned for Louise to do the same. "Thank you for coming in, Louise," he said. "Detective Lahey and I will write up our notes and open an investigation immediately. We'll keep you informed of our progress. I'm sure we'll be in touch very soon."

Shit! No, Karl! I missed the important bit! I silently lamented, wishing I could communicate my frustration to him without words.

"Thank you, Karl," Louise said, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Detective Lahey will take you to a more comfortable room where you can write up your formal statement," Karl instructed.

I breathed a sigh of relief. A second chance at redemption. And, if I played my cards right, perhaps an opportunity to gently probe for more information – not just about the case, but about Karl and Jamie's history as well.

"This way, please," I said, gesturing to Louise with a professional yet empathetic demeanour, guiding her out of the interview room. As we walked, I mentally prepared myself to carefully navigate this delicate situation. I needed to be attentive and astute, ready to pick up on any subtle cues or information that Louise might share. This was not just about solving a case anymore; it was also about understanding the hidden connections and secrets that seemed to be woven into its fabric.

The small, sparsely furnished interview room was steeped in a silence that felt heavy with unspoken words and hidden truths. The only sound was the steady scratch of Louise Jeffries' pen as she scribbled her formal statement. I sat across from her, feeling the starkness of the room pressing in on us. The sterile white walls seemed to close in, creating an atmosphere that was both clinical and foreboding. A single window, high up and barred, allowed a sliver of daylight to filter in, casting long shadows across the table.

"How long have you lived at Jeffries Manor?" I inquired, my voice casual yet laced with a professional curiosity. Watching Louise hastily write down her account, I struggled to maintain focus. The monotonous rhythm of her pen was hypnotic, and I found my thoughts drifting, making me restless and bored.

"I’m only forty-seven," Louise snapped, her response abrupt, her tone sharp. She didn't even glance up from her work, her focus solely on the pages in front of her.

"Sorry. I wasn't suggesting… I was just…" I stammered, trailing off awkwardly. Realising my question might have been misinterpreted as prying or insensitive, I let a few more minutes pass in a tense silence.

Desperate to alleviate the tension and perhaps uncover something new, I ventured another question, hoping to steer the conversation back on track. "You two sound like you have a bit of a history," I commented, striving to maintain a nonchalant tone.

"What do you mean?" Louise responded quickly, her voice tinged with defensiveness.

"Oh, just the beginning of the disappearance," I replied, echoing Karl's earlier words in an attempt to lighten the mood and possibly encourage her to divulge more details.

However, Louise's reaction was not what I had anticipated. Her head shot up, and she fixed me with a stare that was a mix of confusion and annoyance. "I don't know what you are suggesting, detective, but I suggest you stay focused," she snapped, her voice edged with anger.

A flush of embarrassment crept up my cheeks. "Of course. Sorry, Mrs. Jeffries," I replied sheepishly, feeling rebuffed. My attempt at casual probing had clearly backfired, leaving me to tread more carefully around Louise's guarded demeanour. I resolved not to let my personal curiosity interfere with the professional integrity of the investigation.

"What a bitch," I muttered under my breath, the sting of Louise's parting remark still fresh as I navigated the corridor towards Sergeant Claiborne's office. The hallways of the precinct echoed with the subdued hum of daily activity, a sharp contrast to the tension-filled room I had just left.

I reached the Sergeant's office and knocked lightly, expecting the usual gruff call to enter. Instead, the door creaked open slightly under my touch, revealing an empty office. The absence of the Sergeant was unexpected, leaving me momentarily uncertain.

Without much further thought, I stepped inside, my gaze drawn to the Sergeant's desk. It was a testament to his methodical nature, every item meticulously placed, exuding a sense of order and discipline. But amidst this orderly setup, a small, scrunched-up piece of notepaper on the desk caught my eye. It seemed oddly out of place in the otherwise immaculate environment.

As I reached across the desk to place Louise's file in the in-tray, curiosity overtook me. The paper looked vaguely familiar, stirring a sense of intrigue and unease within me. A cold shiver trickled down my spine, but I tried to dismiss the feeling. It's just an old, crumpled piece of paper after all, I reassured myself.

Yet, the nagging question lingered in my mind: But what if it isn't? The paper seemed to hold a significance that went beyond mere trash. I couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than it appeared.

Cautiously, I glanced over my shoulder towards the door. It was now half open, but my position blocked a clear view of the desk. If someone were to walk in, they wouldn't immediately see what I was doing. The thought gave me a sense of daring.

Slowly, my hand reached out towards the crumpled piece of paper, my heart thumping in my chest. Just a small peek, I rationalised. It wouldn't hurt, would it? The air around me seemed to crackle with suspense, and I could feel a bead of sweat forming on my forehead, betraying my inner conflict.

"This is ridiculous," I hissed under my breath, chastising myself for this lapse in professionalism. Just as my fingertips almost brushed the paper, I retracted my hand as if it had been burned. Dropping the manila folder onto Sergeant Claiborne's desk, I made a move to head to the door.

"Ah, shit!" I exclaimed quietly, realising my mistake. I should have placed the file in the in-tray. Glancing back at the desk, the folder stood out like a sore thumb amongst the meticulously arranged belongings. It was a glaring sign of my distraction, and I knew Sergeant Claiborne would notice it immediately. The thought of appearing distracted or careless gnawed at me.

I paused, my inner turmoil intensifying as I chewed the inside of my lip, considering the enigmatic piece of paper lying just a few inches from where I had carelessly dropped the folder. I poked my head outside the room, scanning the corridor for any signs of approaching officers. It was deserted, a rare moment of solitude in the usually bustling precinct.

I let out a nervous exhale. With calculated care, I gently pushed the door closed, leaving just a small gap. It didn't need to be completely closed; just enough to shield me from the view of any potential passersby.

"Please stay closed," I whispered to the door, my hand gesturing in a stop-sign motion, as if it could comprehend my desperate plea.

I tiptoed back to the desk. I wasn't sure why. It wasn't as though anybody would hear my boots on the carpet. I picked up the file that I'd left so indiscriminately on the desk. Taking a deep breath, I shoved the file under my armpit. 

The thrill of the forbidden mingled with a sense of urgency. I knew I was crossing a line, but the potential importance of the paper's contents was too compelling to ignore. With a final glance towards the slightly ajar door, I turned back to the desk, my resolve solidifying.

My heart pounded as my fingertip hesitantly touched the edge of the crumpled paper, sending an electric rush of adrenaline surging through my arm. It felt like I was defusing a bomb, not simply touching a piece of paper. I noticed my heart thumping wildly, as if trying to escape my chest, and a nervous giggle escaped my lips. What a totally ridiculous situation I had gotten myself into.

With a held breath, I quickly snatched up the paper, eager to unveil its secrets.

"What the hell are you doing?" a booming voice erupted behind me, startling me so fiercely that my knee banged against the edge of Sergeant Claiborne's desk. The manila file slipped from the loose grip of my armpit, spewing its contents across the floor in a cascade of fluttering papers.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, my heart skipping a beat. I whirled around to confront the source of the interruption. "What the hell did you do that for, Glen?" I demanded, trying to mask my agitation and buy myself some precious seconds.

Glen's dry laugh only served to heighten my irritation. "I just came to put this file on the sergeant's desk," he responded nonchalantly, holding up the file in his hands.

"Oh, you too?" I asked, trying to sound casual while my heart raced. I bent down to gather the scattered papers, my movements deliberate and controlled.

"Yeah," Glen replied, his tone dismissive as he nudged me aside with his chubby leg to make space for himself at the desk. "I heard Claiborne has asked all detectives to let him read their case files before anything is formally filed."

"Oh?" I murmured, my mind racing. While Glen was preoccupied with his task, I seized the opportunity. I quickly folded the small piece of now somewhat smoothed-out scrap-paper and discreetly slid it into my pocket. I then proceeded to collect the remaining papers, haphazardly stacking them back into the file, acutely aware that I wasn't paying any attention to their original order.

Glen, seemingly oblivious to my internal panic, casually dropped his file into the in-tray. "I think he just wants to do a little check of his own before the auditors arrive next week," he mused aloud.

"Well, that makes sense," I agreed, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. I placed my own file in the in-tray on top of Glen's, hoping my feigned nonchalance was convincing.

Walking with Glen out of the office, I carefully pulled the door closed behind us. Once we were out of sight, I quickly dried my sweaty palms on my trousers and tried to calm my racing heart. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Shit! I berated myself internally, the realisation of my recklessness hitting me like a wave. What the hell did I just do? I had taken a significant risk, and now the unknown contents of that crumpled piece of paper were burning a hole in my pocket. The gravity of my actions weighed heavily on me as I walked alongside Glen, my mind preoccupied with what the paper might reveal and the potential consequences of my impulsive decision.