THE QUEEN OF LIES

coffee. But Charlie Bateman's office was allergic to expectation. The air inside felt thick with a strange kind of stillness, like the kind you find in abandoned p

y movement came from the lazy swing of half-open bl

ued, messy and indifferent, but up on the sixth floor, in a worn-out building with fading numbers on the door, time stood still. Charlie Bateman, hands shoved in his pockets and his tren

ined was hidden beyond it. The Ontario skyline loomed in soft grays, rain clouds threatening but holding back. It wasn't the weather that made everything feel distant-it was Charlie. He stood t

e windowpane reflected a ghost of himself-gaunt cheeks, dark circles, and the ever-familiar weariness in his eyes. He raised the cup to his lips and murmured, "Maybe this i

nd. Charlie had handled dozens like it before: follow the husband, take a few blurry pictures, hand over the truth like a neatly wrapped gift, and cash the check. But this time, the box was

His client, a woman with desperation behind her smile, wasn't who she claimed to be either. She wasn't a killer, but she wasn't innocent. She was scared, t

f her body hitting the wet rooftop, her red dress spreading around her like a blooming flower. He'd been close-so damn close-but it wasn't enough. Blood mixed with r

lt than belongings. Charlie didn't sleep for a week after. He didn't work for longer. Sometimes, he'd reach for the phone

gency that referred the case went dark, and the client, well-she was six feet under. That's when he learned the lesson he'd never forget:

now. What's left is a man who checks his phone for clients that never come, who wakes up every day hoping someone needs a mystery solved, only to find that mystery

rize. His office was more of a mausoleum now. The fake leather chair had a tear in it, stu

fee, and leaned back, letting the silence fold around him like a blanket. He let his mind drift to better times-back when a ringing phone meant a new

d, mug pressed to his lips. Then he chuckled bitterly. "Now wher

. He jolted, sloshing coffee onto his coat. The bitter warmth

the sleeve of his coat, eyes darting to the door as if expect

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