19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Daniel
After agreeing to meet once Aurora returned from Mount Charleston, Daniel parks his car a few blocks from the apartment building, anxiously waiting for her.
As soon as Aurora gets inside and shuts the door, he asks, “How was the trip? Did you find anything interesting?”
“It was fine. And no,” she replies, avoiding eye contact.
“What’s up?” Daniel presses.
“You should go before anyone sees us,” Aurora mutters, sinking lower into her seat.
Daniel nods and starts the car. As they drive, he senses something is weighing on her mind.
Last week, she was eager to meet, excited to share a revelation she believed she’d uncovered.
Yet, over the weekend, she went radio silent, as if she had vanished.
It wasn’t until last night that she finally texted him to meet up.
They drive in silence as the sun sets, casting a warm glow on the horizon.
Streetlights flicker on, illuminating the picturesque road lined with swaying palm trees and modern homes.
The mountains rise tall in the distance, silhouetted against the fading lights, emphasizing their majesty.
As they move further from the city center and into a neighborhood few venture into willingly, the stars begin to shine brighter and clearer, adding a serene backdrop to their quiet journey.
“I don’t think I should do this anymore,” Aurora mumbles as if this is the hundredth time she’s said it in her head, but the first time she let the words escape her lips.
Daniel isn’t surprised. He’s been expecting this moment since they began their unofficial investigative partnership.
“I still don’t think he did it,” Aurora continues, her voice steadier. “And I don’t feel comfortable doing this anymore.” She nods firmly, as if to affirm, There, I said it.
“What changed?” Daniel asks, his voice low, barely masking his frustration.
“I got to know him better,” Aurora replies. “I saw how he is with Misha, how he is with...” she hesitates, carefully choosing her words, “people. I don’t think he’s someone who would kill his wife.”
Daniel decides to ignore her words for now, even though it’s clear there’s something she’s not saying. Instead, he asks, “What did you want to tell me on Friday?”
“It isn’t important anymore.”
“Tell me,” he insists, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.
“I agree with you that it wasn’t a robbery gone wrong,” Aurora says. “If you’re going to kill someone, whether by accident or not, you wouldn’t leave behind such an expensive earring.”
“We already know this,” Daniel dismisses.
“It’s just…” she hesitates. “I now think the person knew Alessia.”
Daniel snaps his head toward her, his eyes wide with anticipation, urging her to continue.
“Her earring was removed, not ripped away. If the person killed her with the intention of taking the earrings, why would they do it so carefully? Would they bend over and delicately remove them?” She folds her legs underneath herself and turns to face him.
Despite saying just moments ago that she’s no longer interested in working with him, the spark of curiosity lights up her face.
“They were the kind that have to be unscrewed to remove the back clasp, not easily taken off, right? So, it doesn’t make sense.
It would be more logical if they had ripped them off. But her earlobes were intact. Right?”
Daniel remains silent, his mind racing as he tries to figure out how Aurora’s line of thinking might fit into his investigation puzzle. If she’s correct, it further confirms Sergei’s guilt. Yet she says she doesn’t want to help anymore. He straightens in his seat, glancing at the rearview mirror.
“Do you see the blue folder in the backseat?” Daniel asks, adjusting the mirror.
Aurora turns around, pushing aside the other documents stacked on top to retrieve the folder.
“Read it,” Daniel instructs.
She opens the folder and takes a few minutes to read the documents inside. Daniel waits, frustration building.
“What am I looking at?” Aurora asks, flipping through the heavy stack of printed financial records.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Daniel points to the highlighted sections on the page in front of her. “These deposits suggest he’s trying to avoid reporting thresholds. And those—” The car jolts as Daniel corrects the wheel, eyes flickering back on the road. “There’s one account—”
Aurora flips to the next page.
“Yes, that one. It’s an offshore account.”
“So?” Aurora gathers the papers, straightening them on her thighs. She appears completely unfazed by the information presented to her. “He’s a businessman who I’m sure does international deals.”
Daniel’s irritation flares at Aurora’s naivety. “This clearly shows his money comes from shady sources, which usually means illegal ones.”
“If that’s true,” she counters, “why hasn’t he been arrested?”
“I don’t fucking know.” Daniel slams his palm on the steering wheel, causing Aurora to jerk in her seat. “I don’t know,” he repeats, his voice softer this time. “But this is what I got from his computer, and this suggests he’s involved in illegal shit.”
“Even if this is true,” Aurora says, her use of conditional language not lost on Daniel, “there’s a big difference between financial crimes and murder. One is white-collar crime, and the other is... well, it’s twenty-five to life with no parole.”
Daniel takes a deep breath. “Give me another week,” he pleads. “Another week to dig up more information. If we don’t find anything new or compelling, you can… stop helping me.”
Aurora stares at the desperation in his eyes.
“You’ll keep being Misha’s nanny, and I’ll...” he trails off, not because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t close the case, but because he does. Saying it out loud—what he’s prepared to do—scares even him.
As the car hums along, the conversation shifts to a lighter, more mundane tone. Aurora recounts her interactions with Misha, detailing her conversations with Nadia, Anton, and Pavel. Daniel listens with genuine interest.
He takes them to his usual diner, the spot he uses to hold meetings away from prying eyes. Despite its rundown appearance, it serves as the perfect setting, offering decent food and staff who are too exhausted to pay much attention to customers or their business.
“I know it might be nothing,” Aurora says as Daniel holds the diner door open for her, letting her enter first. “But the fact that the car got detailed the same day or the day after she died just screams to me that it’s important.”
“Why would it matter?” Daniel asks as they step inside. “We know she was in Sergei’s car and likely walked those four blocks to the alley where she was found. The other car being detailed doesn’t change anything.”
Aurora walks past him, the bell above the door jingling as it swings shut. “You said it yourself—Misha got sick earlier that day,” Daniel continues. “So, Anton probably cleaned it because of that.”
“I know,” Aurora replies. “I’m just saying it seems odd.”
“I think you’ve watched too many shows,” Daniel says dismissively, signaling to the server as he leads Aurora to the furthest booth from the door.
“Maybe,” she concedes, turning around to look at him. “But could you at least check when he detailed the car?”
Daniel tilts his head, weighing whether to lie or promise to look into it. Maybe he’ll check—probably can’t hurt.
“Why do we have to listen to your gut feeling but never to mine?” Aurora protests as she slides into the booth across from him.
“Well,” Daniel smirks, “my gut feeling has been honed and tested over the past ten years. Yours… is probably just hungry.”
Daniel can tell he was right by the way Aurora devours her chicken sandwich once it arrives fifteen minutes later.
“I know we talked about it before,” Aurora says, taking another bite of her sandwich, “but he does have an alibi. At least, have you given up on the theory Sergei did it himself?” She speaks slowly as she chews, her hand covering her mouth.
“No,” Daniel replies with unwavering conviction, already on his second refill of coffee.
The roasted aroma lingers in the air. “We have photos of him arriving at the gala, plus additional images from social media.” He pulls out a handful of pictures from one of the folders.
“You can see him in the background here and here.”
He points to two of them. The first shows a group of elegantly dressed guests posing around a lavish banquet table, their smiles wide and carefree. Sergei is visible in the crowd, engaged in conversation with someone whose body extends mostly outside the frame.
The second photo captures a beautifully presented dish with slices of perfectly seared duck breast atop a bed of creamy risotto, each grain glistening with rich flavors. This photo is taken from the side, with a blurry figure of Sergei seated across from the person holding the phone.
“The timestamps are on the back,” Daniel adds as Aurora flips the photos, spotting 22:14 and 21:32 written in black ink. “There’s a forty-minute gap between those two photos. He could theoretically have slipped out, killed her, then returned.”
Aurora nods, processing the information. “Where’s the event? Did people remember seeing him between those times?”
Daniel pulls out a printed map from another folder, marked with a bold red circle. He sips his coffee, then says, “People at these events are either drunk, high, senile, or some unfortunate combination of those. I wouldn’t trust anything any of them say.”
Aurora studies the map and glances over the photos again. “Wait a second.” She grabs one of the printed photos, bringing it close to her face.
“What is it?” Daniel leans forward with interest.
“No. Freaking. Way,” Aurora says.
Thirty minutes later, Layla, Aurora’s best friend, walks into the diner. She’s dressed in dark jeans and an oversized green jacket, her auburn hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Concern is written all over her face, and it doesn’t dissipate even when she spots Aurora.