Devil's Whisper Chapter 21: A Moment of Truth

Jason’s office was a fortress of paperwork. Case files, photographs, and scribbled notes covered every surface, a testament to the hours he’d spent poring over the details of the Somerton Beach murder. At the center of it all lay the English translation of the Rubaiyat, its verses haunting and cryptic.

“What on earth is this?” Jason muttered, his frustration bubbling over. He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Why would the killer leave a page from a poetry book? What’s the message here? And what do these damn symbols mean?”

The symbols—serpents, daggers, and intersecting triangles—haunted him. They were carved into the victim’s skin, etched into the page, and now, it seemed, into his mind.

Before he could spiral further, the door burst open. Sergeant Anna Shawn stood in the doorway, her chest rising and falling as if she’d run all the way from her desk.

“Sir, you need to come outside,” she said, her voice urgent.

Jason frowned, his irritation momentarily forgotten. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a woman in my office. She claims to be the sister of the deceased found at Somerton Beach.”

Jason’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood, his exhaustion replaced by a surge of adrenaline. “That’s fantastic,” he said, grabbing his jacket.

Just two days ago, they’d released the victim’s photo to the media, flooding news outlets and social media with the hope that someone, somewhere, would recognize him. Now, it seemed their gamble had paid off.

Moments later, a woman in a knee-length pastel pink gown entered Jason's office, accompanied by Sergeant Anna. She was in her mid-thirties, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. When Jason entered, she looked up, her gaze locking onto his with a mixture of hope and despair.

"Please, have a seat," Jason said to Anna, gesturing toward the visitor. "Could you tell us your name?" he inquired politely, studying the woman with her hair neatly tied in a bun.

The woman's hands fidgeted in her lap. "I'm Nicole Smith," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter her composure.

Jason nodded and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk between them. "How did you find out about the body discovered at Somerton Beach?"

Nicole's shoulders tensed visibly, and when she spoke, her voice carried the weight of someone forced to voice their worst fears.

"I saw my brother, Ryder Smith's photo on the news bulletin, along with details about him." Her words caught slightly on his name, as if saying it aloud made the situation more real.

"So, you're certain the deceased is your brother?" Jason kept his tone professional, watching as Nicole's careful composure began to crack. She nodded, and this time the tears spilled over, leaving dark spots on her navy blouse.

"Yes, he's my brother... I'm sure," she affirmed, her voice breaking. Her fingers clutched at a tissue she'd pulled from her purse. "He was my only sibling... just the two of us. Our parents passed away long ago."

Jason shifted in his chair, the leather creaking softly. "Ms. Smith, do you have any idea who might have killed your brother and left his body on the beach?"

Nicole's head shook slowly, her bun now completely loosened. "No, I don't know... Ryder didn't have any enemies. He was warm and vibrant, with plenty of friends," she insisted, confusion and grief warring in her voice.

Jason's brow furrowed as he contemplated the situation, the familiar crease of concentration forming between his eyes. "Then who could have killed him?"

She drew a shaky breath, her fingers now gripping the edge of the desk. "I don't know... all I know is that a week ago, Ryder came to my house. We had lunch, and during our meal, he mentioned that he was considering marrying his girlfriend, Mia." A ghost of a smile flickered across her face at the memory. "We even made plans for the wedding... he was so happy," her voice trailed off, the smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. "After lunch, Ryder left, and I never saw him again."

"When did you realize Ryder was missing? Did you file a complaint?" Jason asked with caution.

Nicole's sigh seemed to deflate her entire frame. "Ryder mentioned he'd come to my house with Mia the next day to discuss their marriage. But when he didn't show up..." She paused, swallowing hard. "Mia called me. She asked if Ryder had stayed with me the previous night. I told her he'd left after lunch, as planned. Mia then revealed that Ryder hadn't returned home and had been waiting for him all night."

"And what steps did you take then?" Jason pressed, his pen poised above his notepad, the fluorescent lights catching the metal clip.

Nicole's words tumbled out faster now, as if speaking quickly might somehow change the outcome. "Mia came over, and together we reached out to all of Ryder's friends and business contacts, but no one knew where he was." Her hands made helpless gestures in the air. "As the day wore on, our hopes began to fade. When more than 24 hours had passed without any sign of Ryder, we decided to file a report at the North Adelaide police station..." She reached into her handbag—a worn leather piece that had seen better days—and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it carefully across her lap. "Here's a copy of the FIR."

Jason took the paper, the soft rustle echoing in the quiet room. His eyes scanned the document before passing it to Oliver, who stood silently in the corner.

"What did the police say after their initial investigation into Ryder's disappearance?" Jason's question hung in the air as Nicole drew in a deep breath with the effort of maintaining composure.

"The police informed me that Ryder's car was found parked outside Café Brunelli, undamaged. They also mentioned that CCTV footage from the café showed Ryder arriving alone at 6:00 PM." She paused, her fingers twisting that gold ring again. "Then, just 35 minutes later, at 6:35 PM, he was spotted leaving the café. Instead of heading toward the parking lot, he hailed a cab and left."

Jason's brow furrowed. "Why would he take a cab when he had his car?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know," Nicole replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

The questioning continued, each response adding another piece to the puzzle while simultaneously raising more questions. When Nicole mentioned finding the paper in Ryder's bedside table, she reached into her bag again, this time producing a small torn piece of paper that seemed to tremble in her unsteady hands.

Jason studied the mysterious note, the black ink stark against the pale paper. The symbols seemed to mock him with their cryptic message: "Mad-man" written beneath them, followed by the ominous words "Unleashed power. Killer of Jonathan and Pauline."

"What do these words mean?" Jason asked, voice measured.

"I don't know."

"Why didn't you give this to the police officer at the North Adelaide station?" Jason pressed, leaning forward. The metal desk between them caught the harsh fluorescent light.

Nicole's fingers twisted in her lap. "I didn't think it was important, and I knew Ryder enjoyed reading detective novels...Initially, I assumed he had jotted down these words while reading. But when I saw Ryder's dead body yesterday, it triggered my memory of this note, and I thought it might be a clue."

Her composure cracked suddenly. "Have you found out who killed Ryder?" The question burst from her, raw with anguish.

Jason's expression softened slightly. "No, but we're actively working on the case. I promise you, the person responsible for your brother's death will be brought to justice." Nicole nodded, though the tension remained in her shoulders.

"I want to see Ryder," she whispered, fresh tears welling up.

"We'll take you to the morgue for official confirmation that the deceased is indeed Ryder Smith," Jason replied, his tone gentling further.

Nicole's hands clutched at the edge of the desk. "Who could have done such a brutal thing to my brother?" Her voice broke. "He was such a sweet and gentle soul... Even in his childhood, he never harmed anyone. How could someone take his life and leave me without my only blood relative?" The words dissolved into choked sobs that echoed in the small room.

"We'll apprehend the killer soon, and they'll have to answer for why they took Ryder's life," Jason assured her, sliding a box of tissues across the desk. After a moment, he shifted topics. "Ms. Smith, do you have any photos of your brother?"

Nicole wiped her eyes and reached for her phone, the screen's blue glow illuminating her tear-stained face. "Ryder was a handsome man with photogenic features... Look here," she said, displaying a photo of a man standing in a lush green garden, his black jeans and brown polo shirt crisp against the verdant backdrop.

Jason swiped to the next image, where a woman stood with Nicole and Ryder. "Who is she?"

"She's Mia... Ryder's girlfriend."

Jason studied the woman in the photo. She cut a fashionable figure in a black short dress and high heels, her highlighted straight hair and studded ears speaking of careful attention to appearance.

"Hmm... do you suspect Mia could be involved in Ryder's murder?" he asked carefully, watching Nicole's reaction.

"No, I don't think so..." Nicole shook her head emphatically. "Mia loved Ryder wholeheartedly and was very happy with him. Why would she want to harm him?"

Jason nodded and continued scrolling. Suddenly, he stilled. In one photo, Ryder stood on a driveway with another man, both caught mid-conversation, unaware of the camera. The stranger's face was hidden by both angle and the hood of his blue jacket, but what caught Jason's attention was the book in the man's hand—its cover marked with symbols identical to those on the torn page of the Rubaiyat.

"Who is this man?" The sharpness in Jason's voice cut through the room's heavy atmosphere.

"I don't know," Nicole replied, uncertainty clouding her features. "Mia sent me a few photos of her and Ryder from when they visited an art exhibition. She must have taken some random photos too, and this one could be among them."

"Send me those photos of Ryder and this one as well," Jason instructed, his mind already racing ahead. Turning to Nicole, he softened his tone once more. "You go with Anna and wait for a few minutes. We'll take you to the morgue." With a silent nod to Anna, he watched as his colleague gently guided the grieving sister from the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Jason turned to Oliver, his expression intensifying as he held up the phone. The screen's glow cast sharp shadows across his face as he pointed to the mysterious symbol on the book cover.

"This symbol," he began tautly, "it's one of the symbols from the torn page of the Rubaiyat." His finger traced the intricate pattern.

Oliver leaned in closer. "It means this man could be the killer. From this photo, it's evident Ryder had some acquaintance with him."

"We need to find out more about this book... it could lead us to the killer."

"Understood, sir. I'll get on it," Oliver responded crisply, his fingers already working to transfer the photo to his mobile device. The soft electronic chirp of the transfer seemed oddly loud in the tension-filled room.

Jason's mind was racing ahead, connecting invisible dots. "And who are Jonathan and Pauline?" The question seemed to echo off the bare walls.

"They could be characters from a detective novel," Oliver offered, though his tone suggested he didn't quite believe it himself.

Jason's eyes narrowed as he considered a darker possibility. "Or perhaps they're two individuals who were also killed by the same person who murdered Ryder."

"This is possible," Oliver agreed, his normally stoic expression showing a flicker of concern.

Jason began rapid-fire instructions, his voice clipped and precise. "Match the handwriting on this page with Ryder's and confirm if it's his. Then, find out about Jonathan and Pauline. If they were murdered, there should be a case registered under their names."

"Understood, sir," Oliver acknowledged, already reaching for his notepad.

"You focus on these tasks. I'll take Nicole to the morgue with Anna," Jason said, grabbing his mobile phone.

As he moved toward the door, his gaze was drawn once more to the photo on the screen. Though taken from the side, the image of the hooded figure seemed to taunt them with its deliberate obscurity. The symbols of life, death, and continuity adorning the man's jacket stood out in stark relief—ancient patterns that now seemed to hold modern menace.