“I didn’t time it.”
Entry 8.
Here came the first shift.
I opened the file.
Inside: trunk photos. Blood traces. Lab reports. DNA match.
I didn’t give him time to breathe.
“Do you understand that this girl’s blood was found in your trunk?”
“I… I don’t know how…”
“Do you think she climbed in there and bled out by herself?”
He said nothing.
Eyes darted.
Breathing quickened.
“I only gave her a ride, I swear. She got out.”
“Where?”
“I… I don’t remember. Somewhere on the highway.”
“Name the girl.”
“Well…”
“You don’t even know who you ‘just gave a ride to’?”
He didn’t break immediately.
He lied by reflex.
But truth was already rotting under his tongue.
Entry 9.
I stood up.
Got closer.
Laid the photo in front of him – the one from the elevator. 11:14 PM.
Her eyes. Her smile.
Not knowing she was walking into nothing.
I said quietly:
“That was her last smile.
You were the next person she saw.
Now tell me what happened after.”
He looked at the picture.
Then dropped his head.
And whispered:
“I didn’t mean to. It just… happened.”
Entry 10.
The confession was incomplete.
He spoke of a “fight,” of “panic,” of “being scared.”
He didn’t name the place.
Didn’t say whether she was alive or dead.
But I knew – lying was pointless now.
We had forensics.
Soon we’d have cell geolocation.
Then – a warrant to search private properties.
I stepped out.
Sat down.
Drank some water.
Jeanne had texted:
“You’re silent. That means it’s heavy.
Don’t let this case devour you.
Come home not as a prosecutor – but as my person.”
I closed my eyes.
Sometimes, truth is a blade.
But someone has to hold it right.
The Prosecutor’s Inner Journal
Kuwait Alim
Chapter 3: When the Earth Speaks
Date: October 7
Status: Warrant issued.
Location: Plot outside the city, near the railway line.
Basis: Partial confession + soil analysis from car trunk + geolocation.
Team: Prosecutor’s office, forensics, medical examiner, police.
Entry 11.
The morning was gray.
Low clouds. Damp air.
We drove out at 6:40 AM in a black SUV.
On site: an old shed, a rusty trailer, a ditch overgrown with weeds.
The silence was so deep,
you could hear the shovels breaking into the earth.
Cold clay.
Prosecutor’s shoes sinking.
Kuwait stood a little off to the side – not interfering.
But every minute – a blow to the chest.
“We’ll find something. Or we won’t.”
“If not – silence again. If yes – hell begins.”