Chapter 116
Damien
Play - Mount Everest by Labrinth
“Champagne, sir?” The waiter asks and I waste no time plucking two flutes from the silver tray.
“Thank you,” I tell him, as I hand one to Mireya and hold the other with my free hand.
He nods his head briefly before walking towards the other guests who are entering behind us.
“Don’t you ever get tired of socializing?” Mireya asks curiously as we both take our time walking further into the room.
“Events like these are all a part of the job,” I say, tilting my head toward her. “You play the part—you plaster a fake smile, nod and pretend that you’re having a good time, that’s it.”
“I hope that I don’t have to go to these sort of events, it’s tiring,” she sighs and I watch her roll her eyes dramatically.
“Well if you play your cards right, you won’t have to,” I say as a smile lifts my lips. My gaze tears away from hers as we bump into a few investors that help fund St. Ellesta that I know.
Hayzel comes in and Mireya disappears from my sight to join her friend at the entrance. I take it as a sign to start what we came here to do.
Jessica Green is standing next to the headmaster, and I wait for her to move before walking toward her.
“Jessica,” I say as I stand in front of her.
She smiles and nods gently, “Damien. Don’t you think this party is quite draining?”
I laugh, replaying what Mireya told me a few moments earlier. “I agree, St. Ellesta can give this feeling.”
“Oh you know, I was born here, grew up on this island. I studied and graduated from St. Ellesta too,” she says. “I know how strange and overwhelming this place can be.”
“You have a child don't you?” I ask, and she turns her head to look at me.
“I do, but she moved off the island when she turned eighteen,” she answers me.
Interesting.
“Was it your choice?” I add, watching her reaction.
“She wanted to, I think, for college but mostly, I wanted her too… sometimes as much as the island is beautiful it can get a little…” She takes her time as she continues, “Unsafe.”
“Oh, Scott,” she says as she's interrupted by another donor. She exchanges formalities and when I pretend to get up, I deliberately knock her clutch to the floor in the process.
“Sorry, I'll get it for you,” I say, bending to pick up the spilled remains of her clutch, and place them neatly back into its place.
I step onto her keycard which I haven't bent to pick up yet, covering it with my foot quickly before handing it back to her.
“I'm just gonna check to see there's nothing on the floor,” I lower myself, using my free hand to quickly grab the keycard and place it away from view, slipping it into my blazer pocket.
“You're a lifesaver, Damien, thank you,” Jessica says and I nod my head.
We all go back to watching what's taking place and I use this as an opportunity to slip away.
A few hands with some of the men and fellow agents slow me down on my way out. Out there, the hallway is empty, nothing but my footsteps echoing off the walls as I approach her office. The keycard slips into the lock perfectly and I make my way inside.
I head over to the grey metallic filing cabinet first, using the key attached to the lock to unlock it, the hinges whine as I pull it all the way out.
“…1980, 79…75…74—1972, here you are,” I mutter to myself when I find what I came here to do.
The folder is upwards, as I place it onto the desk and start to search through it.
As I comb through the sheets of paper, things that I have concluded don’t add up with the information within this folder.
For starters none of the agents from the year of 1972 have gone to the city where the first victim was killed out of Seraphin Bay.
Apart from Spencer Porter and another man who decided not to pursue a life as a federal agent, all of the agents are women.
I look through the amount of students that were supposed to have graduated.
Thirty agents
If thirty agents have graduated then why does the file only seem to document twenty nine agents? This doesn’t make sense. Unless… someone has forged this, and removed their name from admission archives. But that level of skill takes months, or even years of planning.
He did this.
The killer.
I fish my phone out of my pocket, snapping pictures of the archives before placing it back into the folder and into the filing cabinet.
This case just gets more and more complicated and every time we take a step forward, he’s already four steps ahead.