Forever.
Entry 2.
Police questioned two individuals.
One – a rideshare driver she met online.
The other – an ex-lover. Four calls, 17 seconds each.
Both are clean – formally.
But their voices…
The first – trembling.
The second – ice-cold.
Forensics confirmed: blood in the trunk was hers.
A critical amount.
But without a body – this is not legally murder. Not yet.
Entry 3.
I signed the orders:
Expand the search perimeter.
Check every quarry, cesspool, landfill, dacha.
Request cell tower geolocation data.
Reschedule interrogations for morning. No more soft tone.
Sometimes I hate myself —
that my life is not poetry,
but fragments of tragedy, bound by procedural deadlines.
Entry 4.
I met the girl's mother.
She came in, unsure of what to do.
Her scarf was thin, scented with smoke and grief.
She sat on the edge of the chair and said:
“If she’s dead, just tell me. Don’t lie.
I know how to bury.
Just not into emptiness.”
I said:
“We’re searching. Until the end.”
Entry 5.
Late at night, I walked home.
Leaves rustled underfoot.
And only one thought stayed with me:
Where are you, girl?
Where did they hide you so no one could find you?
And how is he – the one who did this – so silent?
I’m a prosecutor.
I’m not supposed to feel.
But I prayed:
that by morning, we’d at least be one step closer to the truth.
The Prosecutor’s Inner Journal
Kuwait Alim
Chapter 2: Interrogation. “I just gave her a ride.”
Date: October 5
Time: 10:05 AM
Location: Prosecutor’s Office, Interrogation Room
Subject: Azamat N., 29 years old. Driver. Met the girl via app.
Status: Not detained. Invited for questioning.
Entry 6.
He showed up in a black hoodie that read: “Nothing to regret.”
Sat down calmly.
Eyes – cloudy.
Hands – dry, fingers twitching slightly.
I let the silence do the work.
“You know why we asked you in?”
“Yeah… I guess. That girl?”
“Which one?”
“You know… the one I drove.”
He already knew.
He was pretending not to.
Entry 7.
“You were with her on October 3. Confirm that?”
“Yeah. Picked her up near the mall.”
“Where were you headed?”
“She said she just wanted to drive. Talk.”
He paused. Waiting for me to nod.
I didn’t.
“Cameras show you drove out of the city. Explain.”
“She asked to. Herself.”
“Footage shows your car stopped for 28 minutes on the highway.”
“I… don’t remember. Maybe a bathroom break.”
“Twenty-eight minutes is long for a ‘bathroom break.’”