Part 6: Digging Up Trouble
The city was dressed in shadows as I made my way to the old railway bridge, its iron framework looming like the skeleton of a long-forgotten beast. It was the kind of place you went to disappear—a place where the city’s noise faded into the rush of the river below, dark and churning. This was where Millie had told me to meet her, where the stakes felt as high as the drop beneath our feet.
She was already there when I arrived, standing at the edge of the bridge, the wind whipping her coat around like the wings of a fallen angel. The city lights flickered behind her, reflected in the dark waters below. She turned as I approached, her face a mix of defiance and something softer—maybe fear?—hidden beneath the mask.
“Clawson,” she said, her voice barely audible above the wind and the distant clatter of trains. “You came.”
“Yeah,” I said, stopping a few feet away, the old metal groaning under my weight. “I figured we had some unfinished business.”
The river roared beneath us, the sound drowning out the city, and for a moment, it was just the two of us suspended between past mistakes and whatever came next. She looked like she belonged here, caught between light and shadow, danger and desperation.
I pulled the velvet pouch from my pocket and tossed it onto the iron railing. The jewels spilled out, catching the faint glow of the bridge lights in a way that made them look both beautiful and dangerous.
Just like her.
“You got into the safe,” she said, her voice trembling as she stared at the jewels glinting in the light of the streetlamp.
“Yeah,” I said, stepping closer. “And a few things I didn’t expect.”
Her eyes flicked to me, something dark and dangerous lurking in them. "Such as?"
"A pistol." I didn't waste any words. "Answers."
Her eyes widened, just for a second, before her poker face slipped back into place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play coy, Millie.” I stepped closer. “You didn’t drag me into this mess because of some map in a safety deposit box. You were trying to cover up a crime—a crime you committed. Ten years ago, down in that basement, you murdered your uncle.”
"It wasn't me. It was Rusty." She didn’t flinch, but I could see her gears turning, calculating her next move.
"If it was Rusty, why would he have called the tip hotline?" I'd spent the majority of my day digging up that little tidbit, but it had been worth it. It was all the proof I needed.
Sure enough, her expression darkened. I had her cornered.
“You don’t have proof.”
“I’ve got plenty.” I leaned against the railing of the old bridge. “The body buried in the basement, the gun with your name engraved on it and a smear of blood on the barrel, the jewels you stashed away like insurance. Not to mention Rusty's witness statement. And the fact your uncle has been missing for ten years. It all points back to you.”
She gave a hollow, bitter laugh that echoed in the darkness. “So what, Clawson? You think you’ve got me figured out? You’re no better than the rest of them. You wanted a piece of the pie just like everyone else.”
“Maybe I did,” I admitted. “But not like this. You used me, Millie. Tried to make me your fall guy while you cleaned up your dirty little past. And now you’ve got nowhere left to run.”
She kneeled and reached for the jewels, fingers trembling as she scooped them up. “You don’t understand, Clawson. This... this was my only way out. The only way to put it all behind me.”
I saw the desperation in her eyes, the kind that drives a badger to dig themselves into a hole so deep they can’t climb out. She clutched the jewels like they were her last lifeline, but we both knew they weren’t going to save her. Not this time.
“You’re right,” I said, stepping back. “I don’t understand. But I know one thing—you can’t bury the past forever. It has a way of clawing its way back up.”
She looked at me, her mask finally cracking, and for a moment I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
But then she straightened, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“So what now, detective? Are you going to turn me in? Cash in your find and walk away?”
“No, Millie. I’m walking out of here, and you’re going to take a good, long look at those jewels and figure out what they’re really worth. Because from where I’m standing, they’ve cost you everything.”
A siren screamed in the distance. The cops would be here any minute to arrest Malinae Brock and solve one of the oldest cold cases in town.
I turned and headed back toward town, the weight of it all sinking in. She’d tried to dig up her past, but all she’d done was bury herself deeper.
As I stepped off the bridge, I heard her call after me, her voice cracking. “Clawson...”
I paused but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”
She didn’t answer right away. I could hear the faint clink of jewels being dropped back into the pouch, her last desperate grip on what little she had left. “You were never just a pawn.”
I nodded, tipping my hat. “Neither were you, Millie. But you played the wrong game.”
I left her there, alone with the jewels—all but the one diamond I'd taken as payment—and the weight of her choices. The rain had started up again, light but steady, washing the city clean—or at least giving it the illusion of something pure. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees as I pulled my collar up, ready to disappear into the night.
I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but I’d survived one more day in a city that chewed up badgers and spit them out without a second thought. And that, for now, was enough.
