Chapter 2: Ghosts of the Past

Kyle Jensen and I grew up together, went to school together, joined the police academy together, and eventually served in the same unit—brothers in arms, facing life and death together.

Kyle was more than a partner—he was family. We’d shared childhood secrets under the old maple tree, snuck beers in high school, pushed each other through the academy’s hell weeks. In the thick of it, he always had my back, and I had his.

Though nineteen years have passed, I always believed Kyle Jensen died in the line of duty because of my recklessness and ambition, and I have lived with crushing guilt ever since.

That guilt was a constant companion. It colored every decision, every late night at my desk. I’d see his face in the mirror sometimes, hear his laugh in the empty squad room. No amount of good work could erase what happened.

For nineteen years after his death, I devoted myself to caring for Marissa Jensen and her daughter Lily, trying to atone for my past, but I never dared tell Lily the truth about her father’s death.

Birthdays, graduations, scraped knees—I was there for all of it. I fixed leaky faucets, helped with college applications, tried to fill a hole that could never really be filled. But when Lily would ask about her dad, I’d always find a way to change the subject. The truth was a burden I couldn’t let her carry.

Because the case file from that shooting only recorded: "Sergeant Second Class Kyle Jensen was killed by a criminal while pursuing suspects running an illegal gambling ring."

The official report was clinical, stripped of all the pain and chaos of that night. I’d read it a hundred times, hoping to find something I missed—a clue, a justification. But it was always just words on a page.

Once, I too believed that was the truth. Even though Kyle could have avoided being shot that day, he ultimately died because of my ambition and recklessness.

I’d replayed every second in my mind. If I’d called for backup, if I’d waited just one more minute… Maybe things would’ve turned out different. But there’s no rewinding the clock in this line of work.

Still, I doubted how much truth there was in Quentin Ford’s words.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Quentin knew something I didn’t. That maybe, just maybe, the past wasn’t as settled as I thought.

After all, nineteen years ago, Quentin was only thirteen. How could a thirteen-year-old possibly know the truth about a case long buried by time?

It didn’t add up. Unless someone told him. Unless he was connected in ways I hadn’t considered. The thought made my skin crawl.

But his words stuck with me like a curse.

They gnawed at me, whispering doubts in the quiet moments. Was there more to Kyle’s death? Had I missed something all those years ago?

Should I seek out Quentin Ford?

The idea felt wrong, but also inevitable. Sometimes you have to dance with the devil to get answers.

Could it be that, as captain of the Criminal Investigation Division, I have no choice but to ask a murderer for help?

It was a bitter pill to swallow. But justice doesn’t care about pride.

I looked at Leonard Graves, standing across from me with the documents, lost in thought.

Leonard’s face was unreadable, but I knew he was sizing up the situation just like I was. He was an old hand—nothing got past him.

Because during the inspection and disciplinary board’s questioning, I had concealed a key part of my conversation with Quentin Ford—that is, the true cause of Kyle Jensen’s death!

I’d kept that piece close to my chest, afraid that sharing it would only make things worse. Some secrets are too dangerous for the open air.

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Leonard, but I feared that if I spoke, I’d be accused of being manipulated by the killer.

In this business, perception is everything. One wrong move, and you’re the next headline.

"Chief Graves, during my suspension, is the accidental death case still under investigation?"

I took a deep breath and finally voiced the question that had weighed on me.

It had been two weeks. While under investigation and stripped of my badge, I had no access to outside information. I didn’t know how far the investigation had progressed, or if they had found any key evidence against Quentin Ford.

The uncertainty was killing me. Every day felt like a year.

"We’ve been investigating, but…"