THE PINK FILES: Case 001 — The Witness (Chapter Four)

Chapter Four — Some people see everything. Others only tell you what they want you to know.

Nia had always believed there were two sides to every story.

Hers and the truth.

But lately, it seemed everybody had a version of the truth, and none of them came with supporting documentation.

Marcus had a meeting.

Simone had a migraine.

Andre had a completely different recollection of Marcus's evening.

And somebody had sent Nia a photograph that placed her best friend inside the very apartment building her husband had been secretly paying for.

Apartment 417.

Seven payments. Three hundred twenty-five dollars each.

Twenty-two hundred seventy-five dollars worth of questions.

Nia stared at the latest anonymous message on her phone.

You keep asking the wrong people.

She read it twice.

Then a third time, because apparently her life had become the kind of situation where strangers felt comfortable assigning homework.

She typed:

Nia: Then tell me who I should be asking.

The reply came almost immediately.

Unknown: The person who opened the door.

Nia sat up straighter.

Nia: What door?

Unknown: 417.

Her stomach tightened.

Nia: Who are you?

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Unknown: Someone who was there.

Nia stared at the screen.

Finally.

An actual witness.

Or a very committed liar.

At this point, she was willing to entertain both possibilities.

Nia: Then let's talk.

Unknown: Tomorrow. 6:30 p.m. Bellamy's Café. Come alone.

Nia glanced toward the bedroom, where Marcus was getting ready for bed as though he hadn't spent the last several days starring in his own personal scandal.

Nia: How will I know it's you?

Unknown: I'll know you.

That wasn't comforting.

Not even a little bit.

THE MEETING

At 6:17 the following evening, Nia pulled into the parking lot of Bellamy's Café.

She had arrived early for three reasons.

First, she wanted to choose her own seat.

Second, she wanted to see who came in.

Third, she had watched enough crime shows to know that meeting an anonymous stranger without telling anyone where you were was a spectacularly stupid idea.

So she'd sent her cousin Danielle the location, the time, and a message that read:

If I don't call you by seven, come looking for me. And don't come empty-handed.

Danielle responded with eleven question marks.

Nia ignored them.

Some explanations were better delivered after survival had been confirmed.

Inside, the café smelled like cinnamon, espresso, and expensive decisions.

Nia ordered a caramel latte, chose a table facing the entrance, and waited.

At exactly 6:30, a woman walked in.

Mid-forties, maybe. Sleek bob. Navy scrubs beneath a long cardigan. A handbag that looked like it cost more than Nia's car payment.

The woman looked around once.

Then walked directly toward her.

"Nia?"

Nia didn't stand.

"Depends who's asking."

The woman gave a small smile.

"Fair enough."

She sat down.

"My name is Renee."

Nia folded her arms.

"Renee what?"

"Renee Carter."

"And how do you know me?"

Renee looked toward the counter before answering.

"I used to work at Parkview Residences."

Nia felt her pulse pick up.

"Used to?"

"I resigned three weeks ago."

"Convenient."

Renee nodded slowly.

"I figured you'd say that."

"Then you already know we're off to a questionable start."

For the first time, Renee smiled like she genuinely meant it.

"You sound exactly like I expected."

Nia leaned forward.

"Let's skip the part where you pretend we know each other. You contacted me. You said you were there. So talk."

Renee reached into her handbag.

And placed a small envelope on the table.

Nia didn't touch it.

"What's that?"

"Something I think you need to see."

"Why?"

"Because you're about to confront the wrong person."

Nia's expression hardened.

"If you're here to tell me my husband isn't lying—"

"I'm not."

"Or that Simone just happened to be at Parkview for a perfectly innocent reason—"

"I'm not telling you that either."

"Then what exactly are you telling me?"

Renee held her gaze.

"I'm telling you that your husband and your best friend aren't the only people involved."

Silence settled between them.

Nia looked at the envelope.

Then back at Renee.

"Open it," Renee said.

Nia did.

Inside was a printed photograph.

A woman standing in the lobby of Parkview Residences.

Simone.

But she wasn't alone.

Standing beside her was another woman.

Tall. Dark hair. Camel-colored coat.

Her face was turned away from the camera.

Nia studied the photograph.

"Who is that?"

Renee hesitated.

"That's what you need to find out."

Nia looked up.

"Girl, I did not come all the way across town for a scavenger hunt."

Renee lowered her voice.

"Listen to me carefully. Apartment 417 wasn't rented under Marcus's name."

"I know that."

"It wasn't rented under Simone's either."

Nia went still.

"Then whose?"

Renee glanced over her shoulder.

And for the first time since sitting down, she looked genuinely frightened.

"The woman in that picture."

WHAT RENEE SAW

Nia slid the photograph closer.

"How do you know?"

"I processed the paperwork."

"You personally?"

"Yes."

"And Marcus was making payments on an apartment rented by some mystery woman?"

"That's what the payment records showed."

Nia exhaled.

"Did he ever come to the building?"

Renee nodded.

"More than once."

"With Simone?"

"Sometimes."

That word irritated Nia more than it should have.

"Sometimes?"

Renee leaned closer.

"Sometimes Marcus came alone. Sometimes Simone came alone. And sometimes they both came with her."

"The woman in the picture?"

"Yes."

Nia looked down again.

"Was she living there?"

"I don't know. But she had a key."

"Who else had a key?"

Renee didn't answer immediately.

Nia caught it.

"Renee."

"Marcus had one."

Of course he did.

"And Simone?"

Renee nodded.

Nia laughed once.

Not because anything was funny.

Because sometimes laughter was the only thing keeping a woman from flipping a perfectly respectable café table.

"So let me understand this. My husband is paying for an apartment. My best friend has a key. A mystery woman is on the lease. And all three of them are playing house in a building I didn't even know existed?"

"I didn't say they were playing house."

"Well, unless they're starting a book club, Renee, I'm struggling to find the wholesome explanation."

Renee looked down.

"There's something else."

Nia closed her eyes briefly.

Naturally.

There was always something else.

"What?"

"The night you started receiving those messages? I was working the evening shift."

Nia's fingers tightened around her cup.

"At 2:13?"

"Just before."

"What did you see?"

Renee took a breath.

"Marcus arrived a little after midnight. He went upstairs. Simone came later."

Nia swallowed.

"And the woman?"

"She was already there."

"How do you know?"

"Because I saw her enter earlier that evening."

Nia stared at her.

"Did they leave together?"

"No."

"Who left first?"

"Simone."

Nia's eyes narrowed.

"What time?"

"Just after two."

The time hit her like a slap.

2:13 a.m.

The message.

The photograph.

The beginning of everything.

"And Marcus?"

"He stayed."

Nia looked at the table.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she asked the question she'd been avoiding since this whole mess began.

"Was Marcus sleeping with Simone?"

Renee's face softened.

"I don't know, Nia."

It was the first answer that sounded completely honest.

"But I do know something happened that night. Something that scared Simone badly enough that she came downstairs crying."

Nia's head snapped up.

"Crying?"

Renee nodded.

"She was shaking. She kept checking behind her."

"What did she say?"

"Not much. She asked me whether the security cameras recorded the hallways."

Nia frowned.

"Why would she ask that?"

"I asked her the same thing."

"And?"

"She said she needed proof."

"Proof of what?"

Renee looked directly at her.

"That she had been there."

THE WARNING

Nia's phone vibrated.

A text from Marcus.

Marcus: You coming home soon?

She turned the phone facedown.

Renee noticed.

"Does he know you're here?"

"No."

"Good."

Nia raised an eyebrow.

"Why good?"

Renee hesitated.

Then reached across the table and touched the edge of the photograph.

"Because I don't think Marcus is the person you need to be most worried about."

Nia gave her a flat look.

"He's currently holding a very strong position on the list."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Renee leaned closer.

"That woman in the camel coat came back to Parkview the day after Simone was crying."

"And?"

"She asked me to delete the lobby footage."

Nia froze.

"Delete it?"

"She said it was a privacy issue."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Where is it?"

"I don't have it."

"Renee—"

"I refused. The footage was controlled by management, not me. Two days later, I was told the recording had been overwritten."

Nia looked down at the photograph.

"Then why do you have this?"

"Because I printed a still image before it disappeared."

Nia studied the mystery woman again.

The posture.

The coat.

The dark hair.

Nothing about her face was visible.

But something about the image bothered her.

Something familiar.

Renee pushed back her chair.

"I need to go."

"Wait. You still haven't told me why you contacted me."

Renee stood.

"Because I recognized your name."

"From where?"

"The woman asked about you."

Nia felt a chill move through her.

"What woman?"

Renee looked at the photograph.

"The one on the lease."

Nia stared at her.

"What did she ask?"

Renee swallowed.

"She wanted to know whether you had started asking questions."

The café suddenly felt too warm.

"How would she even know who I am?"

Renee shook her head.

"I don't know."

"Then how did she know to ask about me?"

"I don't know that either."

Nia stood.

"Renee, you cannot drop that kind of information and walk away."

Renee picked up her handbag.

"Keep the picture. And please, don't tell anyone we met."

"Not even Simone?"

Renee's expression changed.

"Especially not Simone."

Then she walked out.

Leaving Nia with a photograph, a cold latte, and approximately fourteen new reasons to distrust everybody.

THE FACE IN THE PHOTOGRAPH

Nia sat in her car for nearly twenty minutes.

She zoomed in on the photograph with her phone.

The woman in the camel coat was turned sideways.

One hand rested on Simone's arm.

The other held a small black handbag.

A thin gold bracelet circled her wrist.

Nia enlarged the image.

Then enlarged it again.

Her heart began to pound.

No.

It couldn't be.

She opened her photo gallery.

Scrolled backward.

Past birthdays.

Past vacations.

Past pictures of Marcus smiling like a man who had never once lied about a meeting.

Until she found it.

A photograph from last Christmas.

Her family gathered around the dining room table.

Simone standing near the fireplace.

Marcus holding a plate.

And in the corner—

A woman wearing a thin gold bracelet.

The same distinctive bracelet.

Three tiny diamond-shaped charms.

Nia stared at the screen.

Her mouth went dry.

She zoomed in.

The bracelet matched.

But bracelets could be bought.

Borrowed.

Gifted.

She wasn't ready to accuse somebody based on jewelry.

Then she noticed the handbag.

Black leather.

Gold clasp.

A narrow strap with a small tear near the buckle.

The same bag.

Nia stopped breathing for a moment.

Because the woman holding it in the Christmas photograph wasn't a stranger.

She was family.

Nia's phone lit up.

Unknown: Did you recognize her?

Nia stared at the message.

Her fingers moved slowly.

Nia: Who are you?

Unknown: That's not the question you should be asking.

Nia looked at the Christmas photograph again.

Then typed:

Nia: Why is my sister in that apartment?

The reply came immediately.

Unknown: Ask her what happened to your mother.

Nia's entire body went cold.

Her mother?

Her mother had been dead for eleven years.

And suddenly, Apartment 417 wasn't just about Marcus.

Or Simone.

Or an affair.

It was about something Nia thought had been buried a long time ago.

Something her own family had never told her.

Nia reached for her keys.

Then her phone rang.

Her sister's name filled the screen.

Nia answered.

Neither woman spoke.

Finally, her sister whispered:

"Nia... whatever you do, don't go home."

Click.

The call ended.

And somewhere behind her, in the darkened parking lot—

A car engine started.