Shonee's POV

Johnson Stewart.

The name was practically ingrained in my brain considering how many times I've googled and searched it on all social media platforms within the past twelve hours.

But it seems whoever deleted his FB profile went the extra mile to clear him off the internet. There wasn't a single trace to him or the other two profiles that went missing. Sam Reynolds was basically non-existent. And for Michael Percy, apart from a few news and blogger websites displaying information about the circumstances surrounding his death, there was nothing else.

No social media handle. Nothing. Everything was gone.

Honestly, it didn't make any sense. Three profiles disappearing within minutes of us finding them? Someone had to be pulling strings.

And that only made me more determined to get to the bottom of this.

Slipping on my jacket, I grabbed my bag and headed out of my room. The Techno Symphony Orchestra was gearing up for another program and Mirasol was busy at their rehearsals, giving me a bit of free time to dash down to the police station. Now all I had to do was inform Gerta of my whereabouts before leaving.

Quickly, I descended the stairs. "Gerta?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet house. "Gerta?"

Still no response, so I made my way toward the kitchen but stopped short when I spotted Vincent sitting at the dining table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

He glanced up with an unreadable expression.

"Oh," I said, a little caught off guard. "Sorry to interrupt your breakfast."

The tension was profound, and it was completely understandable. Despite living in the same house, we hadn't said a word to each other since the DNA test argument yesterday.

Vincent set his mug down and gave me a slight shrug. "It's fine." His eyes flicked over my body, taking in my outfit: a fitted jacket, a simple blouse, jeans, and my favourite knee-high boots. "You look nice."

I hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly muttered, "Thanks."

Vincent's brow furrowed slightly. "Where are you off to?"

I crossed my arms and gave him a pointed look. "None of your business."

My tone wasn't harsh, but it wasn't warm either, and Vincent picked up on it immediately.

"What's with the attitude?" he asked.

"Really?" I scoffed with a laugh. "We argued yesterday, and you threatened to kick me out of your house if I so much as went near your wife, remember? You can't seriously expect me to be all kumbaya, everything-is-fine with you."

Vincent leaned forward in his chair, his jaw tightening. "It was the right thing to do, Shonee."

"Oh, I know." I nodded confidently. "That's why I'm not just keeping my distance from your beloved wife, but from you as well." My lips stretched into a forced grin. "Enjoy your marriage."

With that, I turned on my heel and walked out, my boots clicking against the tiled floor.

Outside the house, Dean, the driver, was leaning casually against the sleek black car, his hands busily typing away on his phone.

The moment he heard me approaching, he straightened up and pushed his phone into his back pocket. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

Dean opened the car door, and I slipped inside, settling into the plush leather seat.

Not long after, we started moving and I stared out the window, my mind drifting back to my brief encounter with Vincent.

I understood why he didn't believe me. The DNA test had confirmed Ben was his son, and everything I'd said about Nancy and Michael must have sounded like a desperate attempt to pin something on her. But that didn't change the truth. Whether Vincent believed me or not, Nancy was the kind of person who definitely couldn't be trusted. And the sooner he realized that, the better.

The car pulled up to the New York Police Department, and I stepped out, taking a deep breath before walking up the stone steps. It was a little after nine pm and I wasn't entirely sure Detective Wiley was around. Hopefully, he wasn't one of those officers who liked to show up late to work.

I walked through the sliding doors. The reception was cool and calm with the hum of ringing phones and muffled conversations filling the space. I approached the front desk, where a receptionist in uniform gave me a polite smile.

"Hello, how can I help you?"

"Hi, my name is Shonee Coleman," I said, leaning slightly on the counter. "And I'm here to see Detective Thomas Wiley regarding one of his cases."

"Ok, lemme check if he's in."

"Shonee Coleman." A voice called out behind me, and I turned.

Then my stomach dropped.

Standing there with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, was Ruben. The very 'detective' I was hoping not to see.

"What a pleasant surprise to see you here." He moved closer, tucking his hands in his pants pockets. "Came to turn yourself in?"

I rolled my eyes, not caring that the receptionist was watching us. "Like I said the last time Detective Ruben, your theory doesn't make any sense. I didn't kill Michael and you know it."

"That's exactly what the killer would say," he chuckled. "So, if you're not here to turn yourself in, why the visit?"

My lips remained sealed. Ruben was also on the Michael case, but there was no way in hell I was going to give this pretend-detective the deets on what I had found, not when he'd boldly labelled me as a suspect.

The douchebag picked up on my reluctance to divulge and released another annoying chuckle before turning to the receptionist. "What does she want?"

"She came to see Detective Wiley, sir," The receptionist responded without missing a beat. "Said it was about one of his cases."

I shot her a look, and she sent me an expression that virtually said: 'Sorry, he's my superior. I had to let him know.'

"Oh, one of his cases," Ruben mocked. "It couldn't possibly be the Michael Percy case, could it? Cuz that's the only case you're familiar with, right?"

I cursed under my breath.

"C'mon, Shonee. Fess up," he goaded and stepped closer. "You know something about the killer, don't you? Or perhaps you're the one?"

My eyebrows dipped into a nasty frown and I had just opened my mouth to tell him off when I caught sight of a familiar figure slipping through the front doors.

"Detective Wiley!" I quickly strolled towards him, leaving Ruben with his insinuations.

The tall, burly man adjusted his grip on the briefcase in his hand. "Ms. Coleman. Surprised to see you here, what brings you by?"

"I need to talk to you."

Ruben appeared behind me. "If it's not—"

"It's important and needs to be in private," I quickly added. I had no idea what Ruben was about to say, but I equally wasn't about to let him have his way. "Please."

Detective Wiley shot a confused look at his partner, then nodded. "Of course, my office is this way."

Sizing up Ruben one last time (because he deserved it), I followed the detective through a corridor with several doors until we came to the last one in the hallway. He pushed a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a key, unlocking the door with just a few clicks. "Come in, please."

I stepped into his quaint box-shaped office. Two shelves packed with an eternity's worth of files and folders lined the sides with a simple wooden desk in the middle, holding his computer, a few files, some framed family photos and a penholder. Behind the desk was a double set window, offering a view of the station's parking lot.

Detective Wiley pulled up the blinds, letting in some sunlight. "Kindly have a seat," he urged. "Can I interest you in a drink? Water? Coffee?"

"Nah, thanks but I'm good." I settled down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Ok." He pulled out his chair and sat down. "So, what did you want to talk about? Though I'm more curious as to why you didn't want Ruben to know about this."

"Ruben thinks I killed Michael," I bluntly stated. "And he's hellbent on proving it despite knowing very well that I didn't do it."

The detective's eyebrows narrowed. "What makes you think that?"

"He confronted me about it during the funeral. Said plainly that I was still a suspect on his list."

Detective Wiley leaned back in his seat, making it clear that this was new information to him. Despite working together on the case, it seems there were some things they weren't telling each other.

"Look, detective..." I pushed myself up in my seat. "I understand that, just like Vincent, there is enough reason for me to want Michael dead. I mean, the guy threatened to kill me that night and thirty minutes later, he's found lying in a pool of blood. I'm obviously the first suspect. But believe me when I say that I didn't do it. I want to know who did as much as you do, and that's why I brought you this."

Pushing my hand into my bag, I pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it over.

Detective Wiley unfolded it and read the content, curious. "Johnson Stewart. Who's that?"

"Someone I think you need to run some checks on."

I proceeded to tell him about everything my friends and I had found yesterday, and how all three Facebook profiles went missing with no explanation whatsoever.

"Hmm, interesting." he nodded tersely. "I'll have my guys look into it. Thank you so much for bringing this to me, Ms. Coleman. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it, detective. This is the least I can do to help." I stood up, shook his outstretched hand and we both wished each other a good day. But before I could head towards the door, something suddenly occurred to me and I stopped.

"Detective?"

"Yes?" The elderly man looked up from the sheet of paper I'd given him.

"This may be a strange request but, would you mind keeping me anonymous? It's just that I don't want anyone to know that I was the one who tipped you off on this, especially Ruben."

"I understand, Ms. Coleman. You don't trust him." He pressed his lips together. "And from what you just told me, neither do I." 

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Thank you so much for 22k reads on BSA 1 and 2k reads on BSA 2. I'm super grateful for all the support, hope you all enjoyed the quadruple update. If you did, kindly share your thoughts.

There's still more to come so keep an eye out for next week Friday! Have a wonderful weekend♥️