Ashes Never Forget

Chapter Four - The Missing Diary

Detective Hayes stood motionless in the corridor, the phone still pressed against his ear.

"When did it happen?" he asked.

"We're not sure," Officer Daniels replied. "The housekeeper found the study door open about twenty minutes ago. There are no signs of forced entry."

"No signs?"

"No, sir."

"So whoever entered the house..."

"...already had access."

Hayes thanked the officer and ended the call.

For a few seconds, he simply stared at the dark screen of his phone.

Someone had broken into Whitmore House.

Not for money.

Not for jewelry.

Not for paintings worth millions.

They had gone straight to Eleanor Whitmore's private study.

And they had taken one thing.

A diary.

That wasn't theft.

That was a search.

He opened the interview room door.

Elara looked up immediately.

"What's happened?"

Hayes remained standing.

"There was a break-in at Whitmore House."

Her face drained of color.

"My uncle?"

"Everyone is safe."

She released a shaky breath.

"What did they steal?"

Hayes hesitated.

"A diary."

"A diary?"

He nodded.

"It belonged to your grandmother."

Elara frowned.

"My grandmother kept dozens of journals."

"This one was different."

"How do you know?"

"The intruder ignored everything else."

She stared at the table, trying to understand.

"My grandmother wrote every evening."

"It became a habit after my parents died."

"She said writing helped her remember the things that mattered."

Hayes pulled out his chair again.

"Did she ever let you read them?"

"Never."

"Why?"

Elara gave a faint smile.

"She said some memories belonged to the person who lived them."

The smile disappeared.

"But she promised..."

Hayes looked up.

"Promised what?"

"That one day..."

"...when the time was right..."

"...she'd give me the last diary."

The room fell silent.

Hayes leaned back slowly.

"The last diary."

"Yes."

"What was special about it?"

"I don't know."

"I never asked."

"She simply told me that if anything ever happened to her..."

"...I would understand everything after reading it."

A quiet knock interrupted them.

Officer Brooks entered carrying a brown evidence box.

"I thought you'd want to see this."

She placed it on the table.

"What is it?" Hayes asked.

"Items recovered from Victor Hale."

Hayes removed a pair of gloves and opened the box.

Inside were ordinary belongings.

A wallet.

A watch.

A set of keys.

A fountain pen.

Nothing unusual.

Then he noticed something tucked beneath the lining.

A folded receipt.

He carefully unfolded it.

The date caught his attention immediately.

Yesterday.

"It came from a bookstore," Brooks said.

Hayes looked at the name printed across the top.

Ashcroft Rare Books.

He scanned the rest of the receipt.

Victor Hale hadn't bought a novel.

Or a newspaper.

He had purchased a single item.

One leather-bound journal.

Hayes' eyes narrowed.

"What kind of journal?"

Brooks shook her head.

"The store owner wouldn't tell the responding officers."

"He insisted he would only speak to the lead detective."

Hayes folded the receipt.

He looked at Elara.

Then back at Brooks.

"I think our next stop is Ashcroft Rare Books."

Elara frowned.

"You think the journal is connected to my grandmother's diary?"

Hayes slipped the receipt back into the evidence bag.

"I don't believe in coincidences."

He closed the box.

"Not anymore."

Outside, the rain had finally stopped.

But somewhere across the city...

A person who had already stolen one diary might be searching for another.

Detective Hayes slipped the receipt back into the evidence envelope and closed the box.

"Brooks."

"Sir?"

"Get Ashcroft Rare Books on the phone. Tell the owner not to leave the premises."

Brooks nodded.

"I'll do that now."

She left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

For a moment, only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence.

Elara rested her hands on the table.

"My grandmother hated coincidences."

Hayes looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever something unusual happened, she'd always say, 'If two strange things happen on the same day, they're usually connected.'"

A faint smile crossed Hayes' face.

"She sounds like a detective."

Elara almost smiled back.

"She would have liked that."

The smile faded as quickly as it came.

"I just wish she were here."

Hayes didn't respond.

He had learned that grief didn't need comforting words.

Sometimes, it simply needed space.

After a few seconds, he opened Victor Hale's wallet.

There was cash.

Several bank cards.

A driver's license.

Nothing unusual.

Then, hidden behind an old membership card, he found a faded photograph.

It was no larger than a passport photo.

The edges had curled with age.

He turned it over.

On the back, written in blue ink, were three words.

Summer. Twenty Years.

Hayes frowned.

He flipped the photograph over again.

It showed three people standing on a wooden pier beside a lake.

A smiling woman.

A teenage boy.

And a little girl whose face was partially hidden beneath a wide-brimmed sun hat.

The girl's necklace caught Elara's attention.

Her breathing stopped.

"No..."

Hayes looked at her.

"What is it?"

She pointed at the photograph with a trembling finger.

"The necklace."

"What about it?"

"It..."

She swallowed.

"It looks exactly like mine."

Hayes studied the image again.

The photograph was old, and the details were blurred.

But he could just make out the shape of a small silver pendant hanging from the little girl's neck.

"Can you be sure?"

"No."

Elara shook her head slowly.

"But my grandmother always said there was only one."

"One pendant?"

"One like ours."

Hayes turned the photograph over once more.

"Do you recognize anyone else?"

She leaned closer.

The woman's face stirred something in her memory.

Not recognition.

A feeling.

"I've seen her before."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"It feels..."

She frowned.

"...like a dream I can't quite remember."

Before Hayes could ask another question, Brooks hurried back into the room.

"The owner of Ashcroft Rare Books is gone."

Hayes stood immediately.

"Gone?"

"He closed the shop twenty minutes ago."

"Did anyone speak to him?"

"The neighboring store owner said a man in a dark coat visited just before closing."

"And then?"

"They left together."

Hayes' jaw tightened.

"Did they say where they were going?"

Brooks shook her head.

"But..."

She handed him a business card sealed inside a plastic evidence sleeve.

"This was left on the counter."

Hayes examined it.

There was no name.

No company logo.

Just an address written neatly in black ink.

17 Hawthorne Lane.

Nothing else.

Elara looked at the card.

"Is that the bookstore owner's address?"

Brooks answered before Hayes could.

"No."

"It's an abandoned house."

The room grew quiet.

Hayes slipped the card into his coat pocket.

Someone had taken the bookstore owner.

Or the owner had gone willingly.

Either way, someone wanted the investigation to follow that address.

The question was...

Was it an invitation—

Or a trap?

Detective Hayes turned the business card over.

The back was blank.

No fingerprint powder had been applied yet, but he held it carefully by the edges out of habit.

Officer Brooks watched him.

"Should we send a team to Hawthorne Lane?"

Hayes didn't answer immediately.

He had spent fifteen years investigating murders.

One lesson had stayed with him longer than any other.

When someone hands you a clue...

Ask yourself who benefits if you follow it.

"It's too obvious," he said at last.

Brooks frowned.

"You think it's a setup?"

"I think someone wants us to get there."

Elara listened quietly.

"If it's a trap..."

She hesitated.

"...then why tell you where to go?"

Hayes looked at her.

"Because a good trap doesn't always hide."

"Sometimes it invites."

Brooks folded her arms.

"So what do we do?"

"We verify the address first."

She nodded.

"I'll have Patrol check the property."

"No."

Hayes shook his head.

"Send plainclothes officers."

"If someone is watching that house, I don't want them disappearing before we get there."

Brooks understood immediately.

"I'll arrange it."

She left the room once again.

Hayes slipped the card into an evidence sleeve before placing it inside his file.

When he looked up, Elara was staring at the observation mirror.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She didn't answer right away.

"Have you ever had the feeling..."

"...that everyone knows something except you?"

Hayes followed her gaze.

"The people outside that mirror?"

She nodded.

"My grandmother."

"My uncle."

"Victor Hale."

She lowered her eyes.

"And now a missing diary."

She let out a slow breath.

"I feel like my life started long before I was born."

Hayes leaned back in his chair.

"Maybe it did."

She looked at him.

"You really believe my grandmother was connected to Victor Hale?"

"I don't know."

"But I do know this."

He tapped the evidence file.

"People don't break into houses to steal old diaries unless those diaries contain something worth hiding."

A knock sounded at the door.

This time it wasn't Brooks.

A young constable stepped inside.

"Detective Hayes?"

"Yes?"

"Your plainclothes officers just checked Hawthorne Lane."

Hayes stood.

"What did they find?"

The constable hesitated.

"The house is empty."

Hayes wasn't surprised.

"But..."

The officer swallowed.

"...there's fresh blood on the living room floor."

The room fell silent.

"No body?" Hayes asked.

"No, sir."

"Any sign of a struggle?"

"Very little."

"Just blood."

Hayes reached for his coat.

"We're leaving."

He turned to Elara.

"I'm afraid you'll have to stay here."

She rose from her chair instinctively.

"I can help."

"No."

"This isn't safe."

She met his eyes.

"Neither is whoever framed me."

Before Hayes could respond, Brooks hurried into the room, slightly out of breath.

"Sir..."

"What now?"

She looked from Hayes to Elara.

"The lab called again."

Hayes frowned.

"What did they find?"

"They finally matched the fingerprint lifted from Victor Hale's watch."

Hope flickered across Hayes' face.

"Whose is it?"

Brooks looked down at the report in her hand.

When she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper.

"It belongs to..."

She stopped.

Hayes took a step closer.

"Brooks."

She looked up.

"It belongs to Nathan Carter."

The words hung in the air.

Elara felt as if the floor had vanished beneath her feet.

Her fiancé.

The man who had stood at the altar only hours earlier.

The man who had looked into her eyes and asked for the truth.

His fingerprints...

...were on the victim's watch.