"Hello, who is this?"
The young, deep male voice on the other end of the line shattered Evelyn Clayton’s hopeful heart.
She almost wanted to break down in tears.
It was cut off, the only person she could contact for more clues, cut off.
Thinking about it, after all these years, that old policeman should have already changed his number, or worse, he might no longer be alive.
Evelyn couldn’t control herself, trembling as she bit down hard on her lip.
She held back her tears, afraid that opening her mouth would be the cue to cry out, even more afraid that her sobbing would scare the man on the phone. However, the next second, as she received no response for a long time, the man on the phone suddenly asked hoarsely—
"May I ask, is it Evelyn Clayton, Miss Clayton?"
Tears rolled down unknowingly; her vision clearly blurred, yet the living room lights suddenly turned exceedingly bright at that moment.
"It’s me." Evelyn could no longer suppress her sobs, crying like a child, "It’s me... Could I ask, is Officer Neil Young there? I, I want to see him."
She didn’t know how long it took before the man on the other end of the line sighed deeply, his voice slightly hoarse: "He is, but I’m afraid seeing him wouldn’t really be much help to you."
After a pause, the man said in a deep voice: "My father, he has Alzheimer’s, and he’s in Jadenhill Sanatorium."
That night, Evelyn could barely remember when she hung up the phone.
She only remembered when her thoughts cleared again, it was already broad daylight outside.
She glanced at her phone; it was already ten in the morning.
She had long missed work hours; Yara Reagan had called her a dozen times, as well as Rhys Jacobs, filling her phone’s pending interface.
Among countless messy messages, a friend request made Evelyn’s eyes widen.
The person applying for friendship had the WeChat name "Yang," which was Young’s initial, and the application message tentatively read: ’Miss Clayton?’
Evelyn tremblingly pressed accept.
Messages quickly came through from that side.
"Hello Miss Clayton, this is Gene Young."
Trembling, Evelyn replied with a hello. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novel-fire.ɴet
The call quickly connected, and unlike the hoarseness of the previous night, Gene Young’s voice was much clearer.
"Miss Clayton, are you okay?" Gene Young’s inquiry was faint, with a certain businesslike attitude.
Evelyn’s voice was slightly hoarse: "I’m fine, thank you for your concern. Mr. Young, I wonder if you’re free later on; I would like to meet with you."
The other end was quiet for a moment, seemingly pondering, and after a while, a voice came through.
"Sure. I finish work at 11:30 and have a two-and-a-half-hour break at noon. If it’s convenient, you can wait for me at the café across from the Vernal Street Police Station. I’ll arrive at 11:40 sharp."
Evelyn eagerly agreed in one breath.
After hanging up Gene Young’s call, Evelyn sent messages to Yara Reagan and Rhys Jacobs, telling them she was fine, and explained that she wasn’t going to the company today.
But she said she would attend Harrison Grant’s birthday party that evening on time and asked Yara to be prepared as well.
After completing all this, Evelyn freshened up and changed into a low-key outfit. She wore a baseball cap and a gray trench coat and quickly drove out of her apartment complex.
Arriving at Vernal Street Police Station, Evelyn found the café. At this time, there were still five minutes left until her meeting with Gene Young.
She took out her phone to prepare to message Gene Young, considering her words, when a slender hand appeared on the glass table before her, knuckles slightly white, tapping twice lightly.
Startled, Evelyn looked up and met a pair of calm but indifferent eyes of a man.
The man was dressed in the uniform of a Vernal Street Police Station officer, with a dark blue shirt, and his badge neatly fastened. His overly pale skin almost reflected light, emanating a sense of coldness that was not easy to approach.
"Hello, are you Miss Clayton?"