We sat in the car, enveloped in a heavy silence as we drove to investigate another disappearance. The tension was palpable, an unspoken barrier that had formed since Karl had abandoned me the night before. I found myself staring out the window, lost in thought, deliberately avoiding any conversation with Karl. The familiar landscape blurred past, but my mind was elsewhere, still grappling with the events and emotions of the previous night.

As we pulled up to our destination, my attention was momentarily drawn away from my internal turmoil. The house was a large colonial on the outskirts of town, impressive in its stature. My eyes were immediately drawn to the four columns that supported the large balcony overhead. Their renaissance-inspired architectural design was striking, lending an air of elegance and timelessness to the building. The columns flowed harmoniously into the spacious entrance, creating an inviting yet imposing facade.

"This way please, detectives," Mrs. Pafistis's voice broke through my reverie. She appeared at the ample doorway, her presence commanding yet welcoming. As we followed her into her home, I couldn't help but admire the interior.

We walked across large, square marble tiles that felt smooth underfoot. The path led us past a glamorous kitchen that seemed to be right out of a high-end design magazine. Stone benchtops paired with stainless steel appliances gave the kitchen a modern, luxurious feel. It was clear that no expense had been spared in the design and outfitting of this home.

As we continued into the main living area, the sheer scale of the house became even more apparent. The room was spacious, with high ceilings and large windows that allowed natural light to flood the space. The decor was tasteful, a perfect blend of comfort and style. It was the kind of house that spoke of wealth and sophistication, a stark contrast to the grim reason for our visit.

"Your house is exquisite," the words tumbled out of my mouth almost involuntarily as I entered the room, a genuine reaction to the opulence that surrounded us. The grandeur of the house was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the stark functionality of my own small home.

"Thank you," Mrs. Pafistis responded, her voice tinged with a hint of pride. She accepted the compliment with a grace that seemed as refined as the surroundings. "Much of this is my husband's handiwork." Her words added another layer to my impression of the house. It wasn't just a display of wealth; it was also a testament to personal effort and creativity.

"Impressive," I replied, finding it easy to appreciate the craftsmanship that had gone into creating such a space. Karl, who had been quietly observant beside me, nodded in agreement.

Mrs. Pafistis then gestured towards a gargantuan, Italian leather sofa, inviting us to take a seat. The sofa was as luxurious as the rest of the house, its material soft and inviting to the touch. It felt somewhat surreal to be sitting on such an expensive piece of furniture, considering the usual spartan nature of our fieldwork.

She took a seat of her own across from us, maintaining a poised and elegant demeanour. As she settled in, I couldn't help but take in the entire scene. The room was tastefully decorated, with artworks that likely were as expensive as they were beautiful adorning the walls. The contrast between the high-end surroundings and the gritty reality of our detective work was striking. It was a reminder of the diverse worlds our job often brought us into contact with.

As Karl leaned forward, his demeanour shifted into professional mode, a subtle but unmistakable transformation. "Your full name for the record, please," he requested, his voice carrying the official tone of our inquiry. In his hands, he held a small notebook and pen, tools of our trade that seemed almost out of place in the luxurious setting of Mrs. Pafistis's home.

"Sharon Pafistis," she answered, her voice calm and even. There was a composure about her that spoke of someone accustomed to handling situations delicately.

While Karl continued with his questions, diligently scribbling down notes in his book, I took the opportunity to observe Sharon more closely. She presented a picture of both fragility and grace. Her frame was thin, yet there was a refined quality about her, a sense of poise that permeated her being.

My eyes were drawn to her face, which was a study in delicate features. Her nose was pointy yet well-shaped, creating a sense of symmetry and balance. It was framed perfectly by her large green eyes, which held a depth and intensity that was captivating. Beneath those eyes, her wide, luscious lips were coated in a finely applied flesh-coloured lipstick, adding a touch of sophistication to her overall appearance.

As I continued to observe her, I couldn't help but feel a certain admiration for the way she held herself. Despite the gravity of our visit, she maintained a dignified air, a testament to her character. Her facial expressions and body language were controlled, yet there was an underlying strength that became more apparent with each passing moment.

Her presence in the room was like a piece of art in itself, fitting seamlessly into the elegant surroundings of her home. However, beneath the surface of this refined exterior, I wondered what stories she held, what truths lay behind those expressive eyes. In our line of work, appearances often concealed more than they revealed, and as the questioning continued, I knew that our job was to uncover the reality behind the façade, no matter how well crafted it might be.

"And you say your husband has gone missing?" Karl's voice was steady, embodying the calm professionalism we always strived for in these situations. His pen hovered over the notebook, ready to capture every detail.

"Yes," Sharon confirmed with a nod, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and disbelief. "Adrian."

"When was the last time you had any contact with him?" Karl continued, his manner encouraging Sharon to open up.

"I last saw him yesterday morning. He said he was going out to meet with a client about a new potential job," Sharon explained, her words deliberate, as if she was trying to recall every last detail of their last interaction.

"What time was that?" Karl's questions were methodical, designed to piece together the timeline of Adrian's disappearance.

"I'm not entirely sure. It would have been before nine."

As the questioning continued, I found myself standing up from the luxurious sofa and slowly making my way around the room. This wasn't just a physical movement; it was part of my process, my way of engaging with the environment to get a better sense of the person we were speaking to. Each step I took was measured, my eyes scanning the room, taking in every detail – the family photos that adorned the walls, the expensive decor, the personal touches that turned this house into a home.

"Have you heard from him since? Any phone calls or text messages?" My question was direct, cutting through the thickening atmosphere of concern and uncertainty.

"No, nothing at all," Sharon's reply came, and I could hear the strain in her voice. The composure she had maintained since our arrival was beginning to show cracks, the weight of her husband's disappearance starting to take its toll.

Observing Sharon, I noticed the subtle changes in her demeanour – a slight tremble in her hand, the way her eyes momentarily lost focus, as if lost in thought or overcome by emotion. It was clear that the reality of her situation was beginning to sink in, the facade of control giving way to the human reality of fear and uncertainty.

In these moments, our role as detectives transcended mere questioning; it became about understanding the human element, the stories and emotions that lay beneath the surface. As I continued to move around the room, my mind was not just on the facts of the case, but also on the emotional undercurrents that would inevitably play a role in unraveling the mystery of Adrian's disappearance.

"Did you know the person he was going to meet with?" Karl's question was direct, seeking to uncover any connections that might give us a lead. He maintained eye contact with Sharon, encouraging her to reveal more.

"No. I've never met them before," Sharon replied, her voice steady but with a hint of uncertainty.

"But you've heard of them?" Karl pressed on, his tone shifting to a more optimistic note. He looked up from his notebook, catching Sharon's gaze with his own, encouraging her to think deeper.

"Yes. I think Adrian had done a few renovation quotes for him before," Sharon said.

The mention of renovation quotes suggested a professional relationship, but I knew that even the most innocent connections could lead to unexpected revelations. I observed Sharon closely, watching for any flicker of recognition or hidden concern that might suggest there was more to her story. The way she held herself, the slight pause before answering, and her gaze that sometimes seemed to drift off into the distance – all these subtleties were crucial in understanding the situation we were delving into.

As I listened, I continued to move slowly around the room, my eyes absorbing every detail. The elegant furnishings and tasteful art hinted at a life of comfort and taste.

"Is this your husband?" I interrupted, my curiosity getting the better of me as I picked up a small photo frame from a side table. The frame held a single picture of a smiling couple, captured in a moment of joy on a beautiful beach. The image was picturesque, almost idyllic, the kind of photo that speaks volumes about the people in it. As I held the frame, I was acutely aware of Karl's glare directed at me. He had warned me on several occasions about the etiquette of not touching belongings in someone's home, especially personal items like photos. However, this morning, there was a part of me that didn't mind pushing his buttons, perhaps still lingering resentment from the night before.

Besides, I rationalised, it wouldn't hurt for us to hear a little bit more about the couple’s relationship. In cases like this, subtleties in how someone speaks about their partner can often reveal more than the most direct questioning. It's the nuances in their tone, the fleeting expressions that cross their face, that can sometimes give us the most valuable insights.

"Yes. That was taken last year. We were on holiday in Bali. We managed to escape for a week without the kids," Sharon answered, her voice taking on a nostalgic tone as she looked at the photo. It was a response that conveyed more than just the facts; it hinted at a life shared, at memories created together.

"You both look very happy," I commented, making it a point to glance over at Karl, ensuring he was paying attention to this exchange. It was a subtle reminder that our methods might differ, but our goal was the same.

"Yes. We were," Sharon replied, a hint of past tense in her voice that she quickly corrected. "I mean we are," she amended, a touch of defensiveness creeping into her tone. "We've always had a happy marriage.”

Her correction had piqued my interest. It's often these small slips, the brief hesitations, that can unravel a larger truth. As Sharon spoke of their supposedly happy marriage, I kept my gaze fixed on her, searching for any subtle cues, any flicker of emotion that might betray the true nature of their relationship.

Meanwhile, I was acutely aware of Karl's growing frustration with my approach. He was sending clear signals for me to back off and let him handle the interrogation. But I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to be uncovered, and sometimes that meant straying from the conventional path.

"You have children, then?" I asked, deliberately steering the conversation towards her family life. It was a question that might seem innocuous, but it was part of painting a fuller picture of Sharon's world.

"We have two daughters, Sarah and Brooke," Sharon replied, and for the first time since we arrived, her face lit up with genuine pride. It was a stark contrast to the tension and concern that had marked her features up to this point.

"Are they home?" I continued, following this new thread of conversation.

"No. They're at my sister's. I didn't want them to be here while I spoke with you," Sharon explained. Her decision to keep her daughters away during our visit was understandable, but it also opened up another avenue for our investigation.

"We may need to speak with them too," I said, planting the seed that our inquiry might extend beyond this initial conversation. It was crucial to prepare her for the possibility that we would need more information.

Just then, my phone began vibrating in my pocket, breaking the flow of our conversation. "Excuse me a moment," I said, excusing myself to take the call. As I walked into the adjoining room, I felt a mix of relief and tension. The call was a brief respite from the intensity of the questioning, but it was also a reminder of the many threads we were juggling in our case.

In the adjoining room, I took a deep breath, steadying myself for whatever the call might bring. It was moments like these, away from the watchful eyes of those we were questioning, that allowed me to gather my thoughts and prepare for the next phase of the investigation. Every piece of information, every interaction, was a step closer to understanding the full picture, and it was my job to piece it all together.

"Shit!" The word escaped my lips louder than I intended as I skimmed through the two emails the text messages had directed me to check. The content of the emails sent a jolt of urgency through me, shifting the dynamic of our investigation. I quickly composed myself and walked back into the living room, where Karl and Sharon were still seated.

"Karl," I called out, my voice carrying a weight of concern that was hard to mask. My face must have mirrored my inner turmoil, etched with a seriousness that was impossible to hide. This new information was critical, and it needed Karl's immediate attention.

Karl, sensing the urgency in my tone, turned to look at Sharon. "Excuse me a moment," he said, his tone polite but firm. He rose from the sofa with a sense of purpose, aware that something significant had come up.

As Karl joined me in the room, I could see the questions in his eyes. He was ready to dive into whatever information I had just received, his mind already shifting gears to assess the situation. It was moments like these that defined our partnership – the ability to seamlessly transition into addressing new challenges, relying on each other's strengths to navigate the complexities of our job.

"I've just received Nial Triffett's phone records," I blurted out quickly, the words rushing out in a torrent as I relayed the information to Karl. The urgency of the situation was pressing, and every second felt critical.

"And?" Karl's response was prompt, his expression a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

"Ignoring all the missed calls from his wife, check out the one near the end," I urged, handing the smartphone over to him.

Karl squinted slightly to read the small font on the screen. He began reading the last few names listed out loud, "Steve Lang, Jane, Brian." His voice was methodical, but as he reached the end of the list, he paused, a hint of surprise in his tone. “There’s a call from Luke Smith."

"I know," I said, my voice laced with concern. The name 'Luke Smith' reverberated in the room, heavy with implications.

"Fuck, this is bad," Karl murmured, the realisation of the situation dawning on him.

"Yeah," I agreed, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach. "But that—" I started to say.

Karl cut me off abruptly, "Sharon was just telling me that she is pretty sure the client who her husband went to see yesterday morning was Luke Smith." His words hit me like a physical blow, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with a clarity that was as shocking as it was revealing.

Glaring at Karl, I felt a surge of determination, a resolve to make sure my point was heard without interruption. The urgency of the situation lent an edge to my voice. "But that's not all," I said firmly, shoving another image right under his nose. I needed him to understand the full extent of what we were dealing with.

"What's this?" Karl's tone shifted to one of curiosity as he examined the image I presented.

"It's the security footage from the ATM where the withdrawals from Jamie’s account took place," I explained, watching his reaction closely.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, bringing the image closer to his face in scrutiny. "But that doesn't look like Jamie."

"It's not," I confirmed, my voice steady. "It's Luke Smith."

As Karl absorbed this information, I watched his countenance change at the mention of Jamie’s name. There was a shift in his expression, a flicker of something that went beyond professional concern. What had gone on between them? The question hung in the air, unspoken yet palpable. What isn't he telling me? I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Karl's reaction, a hidden layer that he wasn't sharing.

In that moment, standing in the adjoining room with Karl, surrounded by the unseen threads of our case, I felt a mix of frustration and curiosity. It was clear that the situation was more complex than we had initially thought, and Karl's reactions added another layer of mystery. As detectives, we were trained to look for the truth, to uncover the hidden connections and secrets. But in this case, it seemed that some of those secrets might be closer to home than I had realised.

The name Luke Smith, now linked to multiple aspects of our investigation, was like a key piece in a puzzle. I knew that we needed to delve deeper, to understand his role in this intricate web. As I stood there with Karl, the image of Luke Smith at the ATM in my hand, I was acutely aware that we were on the cusp of a significant breakthrough, one that could potentially unravel the entire case.

"You take over Sharon’s interview. I'll come and get you when we've got permission to obtain a warrant for Luke's arrest," Karl promised with a sense of urgency in his voice. His words were decisive, leaving no room for debate.

"Karl, wait!" I called after him, a hint of desperation in my voice as he made his way out the front door and to the car. I felt a sudden pang of unease at the thought of being left alone to handle this. But Karl, driven by the need to act swiftly on our newfound information, didn't stop. Standing there, I watched with a sense of disappointment as he reversed out of the driveway and disappeared down the road. His departure left me feeling somewhat abandoned, a lone figure in the midst of unfolding events.

"I'll put a pot of tea on," Sharon’s voice called out from down the hall, bringing me back to the task at hand. Her offer was a small gesture of hospitality in a situation that was anything but ordinary.

Slowly, I closed the front door, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet of the house. I turned and walked back to the kitchen, my steps measured, my mind racing with the next steps of the interview. "Thank you, Mrs Pafistis," I replied, my voice carrying a note of gratitude. Despite the tumultuous undercurrents of our visit, her offer of tea was a welcome semblance of normalcy.

As I entered the kitchen, I braced myself to continue the interview with Sharon. The warmth of the room, the sound of the kettle boiling, and the rich aroma of brewing tea created a stark contrast to the cold, hard facts of the case. I knew I had to maintain focus, to keep probing for information while navigating the delicate balance of being an investigator in someone's personal space. With each question, I hoped to peel back another layer of this complex situation, aware that every detail mattered. In the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder about Karl's next steps and the impending warrant for Luke's arrest.

I placed the teacup back onto the saucer with a small, delicate clink, the sound punctuating the silence of the room. Rubbing at my brow, I realised this was already my second cup of tea. The warm liquid had done little to ease the tension that knotted my muscles, a physical manifestation of the mental strain I was under.

"I'm sure your partner won’t be too much longer," Sharon said, her voice attempting to offer comfort, perhaps sensing the unease that I was trying so hard to mask.

I managed a forced smile, the gesture feeling stiff and unnatural. "Just doing his job," I replied, trying to sound reassuring, both to Sharon and to myself. My response was as much about convincing her as it was about maintaining my own composure in the midst of uncertainty.

The phone on the table then sounded a short jingle, breaking the strained atmosphere. I quickly grabbed it, hoping for good news. "Oh, for fuck's sake," I blurted out involuntarily as I read Karl's text. The frustration I felt was immediate and intense, a reaction to the unexpected setback. For a moment, I forgot the decorum required in someone else's home.

15:09 Karl: Claiborne has refused request to obtain either an arrest warrant or search warrant. Glen is on his way to collect you. KJ.

The message hit me like a wave of cold water. Claiborne's refusal to grant the warrants was a significant blow to our investigation. It felt like we were so close to a breakthrough, only to be hindered by bureaucratic red tape. The mention of Glen coming to collect me only added to the sense of frustration and helplessness.

I took a deep breath, trying to collect myself. My momentary lapse of professionalism was a rare slip, but it spoke volumes about the stress of the situation. I glanced at Sharon, hoping my outburst hadn’t alarmed her too much. The complexities of our job often required balancing emotional responses with professional duties, and in that moment, I was acutely aware of the challenge this posed.

"Thank you, Glen," I murmured with a small nod of gratitude as we arrived back at the station. The car journey with Glen had been uncomfortable, filled with a tense silence that reflected my growing frustration. After an hour of waiting and enduring a seemingly endless stream of "I'll be there soon" messages, the relief of finally reaching the station was palpable. Karl was definitely in for an earful when I found him. His delays and lack of clear communication had only added to the day's stresses.

With a sense of purpose, I stormed through the back door of the police station, my steps echoing down the corridor. My mind was already formulating what I would say to Karl when I abruptly stopped mid-stride, feeling my phone vibrating in my pocket.

"Hello, Virginia," I answered, trying to keep my voice steady despite the turmoil of emotions inside me.

"Hi, Sarah. Look, I'm so sorry to bother you but I think you had better come down here. Your grandmother is very distressed," Virginia's voice came through the line, her tone laced with concern.

"I'll be there in ten," I responded quickly, the urgency of the situation clear. Hanging up the phone, I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. My grandmother's wellbeing was a priority, and hearing she was distressed added a new layer of urgency to an already challenging day.

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I did a reluctant one-eighty and stormed straight back out the way I had come. My steps were quick, driven by a mix of concern for my grandmother and frustration at the day's events. Thankfully, the nursing home was only a short drive from the station, a small mercy in the midst of the day's chaos.

As I headed to my car, my thoughts were a whirlwind. Concern for my grandmother mingled with the frustration of the case and the irritation with Karl. It was moments like these that tested the balance between personal responsibilities and professional duties, a balance that was often precarious in the life of a detective. I braced myself for what awaited at the nursing home, mentally shifting gears to face the next challenge.