"Sarah!" Karl whispered sharply, drawing my attention as he stood in the living room.

I glanced over my shoulder at him while I wandered around the space, absorbing every detail of the room. The atmosphere felt tense, like a scene waiting to reveal its secrets.

"Don't touch," he mouthed clearly, his eyes scanning the room with trained precision.

Gladys had insisted we wait in the living room that shared an open space with the spacious kitchen and dining room, while she supposedly went to find Jamie. Yet, I had barely waited ten seconds before succumbing to my instinctive urge to explore, to touch. It was a quality I knew I needed to control better, a habit I was sure I would eventually outgrow.

"I don't see any dinner preparations," I whispered back to Karl, my voice low but laced with skepticism. The lack of any signs of a meal being prepared struck me as odd, considering what Gladys had said about Luke cooking dinner.

"No," Karl agreed, his gaze sharp and searching. "And I don't think that's the only thing Gladys is being untruthful about, either."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows, intrigued by Karl’s implication. His instincts were usually spot-on, and if he suspected Gladys was hiding something, then there was likely more to this visit than met the eye.

The room felt still, almost too quiet, as if holding its breath. I scanned the living room, noting the absence of any personal items that might suggest someone actually lived here. The lack of dinner preparations, the strange calmness of the house – it all added to the growing suspicion that Gladys was not being entirely forthright.

"Jamie doesn't appear to be here," Gladys announced, sounding genuinely surprised as she re-entered the living room. She had been calling out for him in various parts of the house, her voice echoing through the large, almost too quiet spaces.

"Does Jamie live alone?" Karl asked, his voice laced with a carefully crafted curiosity. He was playing the part of an uninformed visitor, a tactic I'd seen him use effectively in the past.

"Um, no," Gladys responded, a hint of hesitation in her voice. "He has a partner."

"Oh," Karl said, feigning surprise. "Is she about?"

At Karl's question, Gladys' face turned a deep shade of red. The reaction was curious and didn't go unnoticed. It was a tell, a small crack in her facade that hinted at something more beneath the surface.

"I'm sorry if I’ve embarrassed you," Karl quickly added, his tone softening in an attempt to put her at ease. He was adept at navigating these delicate conversations, always finding the right balance between inquiry and empathy.

Gladys offered a small, somewhat forced smile. "His name is Luke," she corrected Karl. "But they have been having a few personal troubles lately, and Luke has gone to Melbourne for a few weeks to think things through."

"Oh, I see," Karl responded calmly.

"May I use the bathroom, please?" Karl then asked, a request that seemed casual but I knew was part of his strategy to further assess the house.

"Sure," Gladys replied, her voice still carrying a trace of unease. "It's just down the end of the hallway on the left.”

As Karl disappeared down the hallway, I remained in the living room, my gaze sweeping across the space. The house's pristine orderliness struck me as unnatural, almost as if it were a façade meticulously maintained to conceal deeper truths. My detective instincts were on high alert.

I turned my attention to Gladys, who now seemed to have regained some composure, though a trace of nervous energy still clung to her. There was something about her demeanour that didn't quite add up.

"So, what was it you said that Jamie was cooking again?" I asked, probing for more information. My eyes drifted toward the kitchen, where the benches were conspicuously bare. Not a single utensil or ingredient in sight – it was as if the kitchen hadn't been used at all.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Gladys offered, quickly diverting the conversation. She turned away, perhaps to hide her flushed face, and reached for a wine glass from a high cupboard. The glass was large and ornately decorated, a stark contrast to the blandness of the kitchen.

I frowned slightly, sensing her evasion. "No," I responded simply, declining her offer. My focus was on unravelling the situation, not on social niceties.

Gladys merely shrugged in response, pouring herself a glass of wine.

What an odd woman, I mused internally, watching her closely. My concern for Gladys – and for what she might be hiding or protecting – was growing. There was a story here, hidden beneath the surface of her calm exterior and the too-perfect setting of the house.

"You still haven't answered my question," I pressed, my tone firm as I focused my gaze intently on Gladys.

"Oh, haven't I? I’m sorry. What was your question again?" Gladys responded, a touch of feigned confusion in her voice. She raised her wine glass to her lips, taking a large gulp as if to fortify herself against the questions she seemed reluctant to answer.

"What is Jamie—" I began to rephrase my question, hoping for a straight answer this time.

"Did you hear that?" Gladys suddenly interrupted, her head turning sharply as if she’d caught a sound. She didn’t wait for my response, instead hurriedly rushing out of the room and into the hallway.

Irritated by her evasion and now alerted by her sudden reaction, I quickly followed.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing in there!" Gladys's voice ricocheted down the hallway, her tone thick with accusation.

As I rounded the corner, my eyes landed on Karl, who stood frozen in front of one of the bedroom doors, his hand still resting on its handle. The look of blatant guilt on his face was illuminated starkly by the harsh glare of the hallway light. I couldn't help but wonder, What the hell does he think he’s doing, snooping into their bedrooms? Did he really think he wouldn't get caught? A mix of incredulity and frustration swirled within me.

"I think you better leave," Gladys snarled, her face now a canvas of anger, the flush of irritation painting her cheeks a deeper shade of red.

Karl, seemingly jarred back to reality by Gladys's sharp words, stepped back into the hallway. At that moment, the lights above flickered ominously, casting unsettling shadows across his face. His radio crackled loudly, piercing the tension-filled air. A sudden, inexplicable chill coursed through me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off, something more than just the awkwardness of Karl being caught snooping. The atmosphere in the house had shifted; it felt charged, almost electric.

"You bastard!" Karl's voice erupted with a fury I had never seen in him before. In one swift, determined movement, he hurled himself at the bedroom door, sending it crashing into the wall behind it with a thunderous slam.

"Karl!" I cried out, my voice a mix of shock and concern. "What the hell are you doing!?" My mind was reeling, trying to make sense of his sudden, explosive action.

"He's here!" Karl shouted back, his voice laced with urgency. "Luke is here!"

Instinctively, I drew my gun, adrenaline surging through me. I pushed past Karl, storming into the room with a sense of desperation. My heart was pounding as I turned to face the door, my back to the large, broken window. The glass lay shattered, a testament to the force of the door's impact on the small room.

"Go, I've got you covered," I called out to Karl, my voice steady despite the chaos. I was ready for anything, prepared to protect both of us if necessary.

Karl didn’t hesitate. He stepped back quickly, yanking the door handle with force, slamming the door shut just as Gladys’ face appeared in the doorway, her expression a mix of shock and anger.

"What the—" I started, my words trailing off as I took in the scene before me. There was no sign of Luke, no hint of anyone hiding. All that stood before me was a blank wall, its only feature a fresh, large hole from where the door had been violently pushed into it.

I stood in utter astonishment as Karl, gripped by a sudden and intense fervour, reached for the nearest garbage bag. It was one of many that littered the room, a strange sight in itself. With a swift, forceful motion, he ripped a great hole in its side. The contents spilled out, emitting a rancid smell that quickly filled the air.

Unsatisfied with the first bag, Karl moved to the next, tearing several large holes through it, sending rubbish scattering across the carpeted floor. It was a scene of chaos and desperation.

"Karl!" I yelled, my mind struggling to comprehend the scene unfolding before me. What the hell is Karl doing? He’s acting like a frenzied madman! The Karl I knew was composed, methodical. This frantic, chaotic version of him was completely foreign.

"I know he's here!" Karl shouted back, his voice filled with a raw, almost wild determination as he continued his frenetic search through the bags.

"Karl!" I yelled again, louder this time, as I reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. His behaviour scared me; it was so out of character. It made me question what deep-seated emotions or past experiences with Jamie were driving this unbridled outburst.

No sooner had my hand touched Karl's shoulder than he reacted with an unexpected and violent force. His arm lashed out, striking me squarely in the chest. I lost my balance, stumbling over the debris littering the floor. My head struck the wall with a sickening crack, the pain radiating sharply through my skull. As I fell, my firearm slipped from my grasp, clattering dangerously onto the floor near the bedroom door. A cry of pain escaped my lips as I slid down the wall, my left hand catching a shard of broken window glass. I winced, feeling the sting of the cut.

I looked up at Karl, my eyes wide with disbelief. How could he have lashed out at me like that? I knew Karl could be temperamental and easily frustrated, but this level of emotional display was unprecedented.

Karl turned slowly to face me, his expression one of dawning horror. A myriad of emotions played across his features – shock, regret, pain. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. I could see the regret etched into his face, the realisation of what he had just done sinking in.

But my trust had been shaken. This wasn't something that could be easily forgiven or forgotten. My gaze remained locked with his, a mix of hurt and defiance in my eyes. A thick, heavy silence enveloped the room, a tangible tension that seemed to press down on us, testing our resolve.

Eventually, Karl broke the silence. He looked down, unable to meet my gaze any longer, and stormed out of the room. I sat there on the floor, alone, pressing my sleeve against the fresh wound on my palm. I didn't move, didn't attempt to get up until I heard the front door slam shut, signalling Karl's departure.

In that moment, sitting alone in the chaotic aftermath, I felt a complex mix of emotions. There was pain from my injuries, shock at Karl's outburst, and a deep sense of betrayal. The events had unfolded so quickly, spiralling out of control in a way I had never anticipated.

Gladys cautiously entered the room, her eyes widening slightly at the disarray and my crumpled form against the wall. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. In her hand, she still held her glass of wine, which she now extended towards me.

I hesitated for a moment, my mind still reeling from the shock and the sharp pain in my hand. Then, almost instinctively, I accepted the glass and took a grateful sip. The wine was smooth and momentarily soothing, offering a brief respite from the pulsing ache in my hand.

"I think I'll have that glass of wine now," I said, trying to muster a semblance of composure as I handed Gladys back her glass.

"Sure. I'll go and get it for you," Gladys responded with a smile, seemingly relieved to have a task. "Oh, and I'll meet you in the bathroom. It's just off the hall down there," she added, pointing down the hallway.

I nodded, taking a moment longer to gather myself amidst the whirlwind of emotions and physical discomfort. The sharp pain in my hand was a constant reminder of the physical altercation with Karl, while the sting of his betrayal cut even deeper. As I slowly stood up, using the wall for support, a mix of physical pain and emotional turmoil washed over me. Karl's unexpected and uncharacteristic behaviour had left me feeling vulnerable, a sensation I wasn't used to.

"Hey, Gladys?" I called out, my voice steady despite the chaos of thoughts in my head. Gladys paused at the doorway, turning to face me with a look of inquiry.

"Yes?" she responded, her voice reflecting a hint of apprehension.

"What happened to the window in here?" I asked, my curiosity piqued by the broken glass that littered the floor. The realisation had just hit me - the door being slammed into the wall on the opposite side of the room couldn't have caused the window to break. The pieces didn't fit.

Gladys shrugged, a look of genuine confusion crossing her face. "I'm not really sure. It was like that when Luke and I arrived earlier today," she said.

"You mean you and Jamie?" I asked her gently. The slip of the tongue was peculiar and raised more questions than it answered.

"Oh, yes. I meant Jamie. Me and Jamie," Gladys corrected herself quickly, but her response did little to ease my suspicions. Something was off, and Gladys seemed to be at the centre of it.

I watched as Gladys hurried out of the room, her departure leaving me alone with my thoughts. The inconsistency in her story, the broken window, and Karl's explosive reaction – everything was tangled in a web of half-truths and hidden motives. As I stood there, the pain in my hand a dull throb, I knew that unravelling this mystery was going to be more complicated than I had imagined.

Slowly, I made my way down the narrow hallway, each step a careful negotiation with the pain in my hand and the emotional turmoil swirling within. The house felt eerily silent, the walls almost echoing the tumult of the afternoon. Reaching the bathroom, I gently eased myself down onto the edge of the bathtub, cradling my injured hand in my lap, my gaze drifting around the unfamiliar space.

The moment Gladys entered and flicked on the light, the bathroom was bathed in a bright, revealing illumination. She held out a glass of deep, red shiraz towards me. "Here," she said, her voice oddly calm.

"Sorry about the blood," I apologised, accepting the wine with my good hand. It was only then that I noticed the small trail of blood I had inadvertently left behind me in the hallway. It was a grim contrast to the pristine cleanliness of the rest of the house.

"That’s okay," Gladys replied, taking another sip from her own glass of wine. Her tone was sympathetic, albeit a bit distant. "It wasn't your fault." She then set her glass atop the vanity unit and began rummaging through the drawers and cupboards, searching for medical supplies.

As I watched her, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disconnect. Gladys's actions and demeanour were a puzzle, her responses and behaviour not quite adding up. The mystery surrounding her, Jamie, and now the broken window loomed large in my mind.

Holding the glass of shiraz, I felt a strange blend of gratitude and suspicion. The wine was a small comfort, but it couldn't numb the nagging questions that danced at the edge of my consciousness. What was Gladys's true connection to all this? Was she merely a bystander caught up in events beyond her control, or was there more to her story?

Getting to my feet, I approached the vanity, my movements cautious due to the pain and uncertainty of the afternoon. I turned the taps on, letting the water flow until it warmed to a comforting temperature. My fingers, tentative at first, tested the water before I began to carefully wash away the blood that had oozed from the cut on my palm and streaked down my arm. The sensation of the water was both soothing and jarring as it seeped into the wound, eliciting involuntary winces from me.

I was so focused on cleaning the wound that I almost forgot about Gladys' presence in the room. Holding out my injured hand towards her, I took another sip of the shiraz.

Gladys, with a gentle touch, dabbed my palm dry, her movements deft and careful. She then applied several butterfly bandages across the cut. There was a practiced ease to her actions, suggesting she was no stranger to caring for injuries.

"Thanks," I said, offering her a grateful nod. Despite the oddities surrounding Gladys and her involvement in the afternoon’s events, there was an undeniable likability about her. She had a certain warmth, a kind of understated kindness that was hard to ignore. Or maybe that is just the wine talking, I mused silently, taking another sip. The wine, with its deep flavour, seemed to add a layer of complexity to my thoughts, blurring the lines between suspicion and gratitude.

Gladys gestured for me to follow her back into the living room. We each found a spot on the sleek black, leather couch, settling into the opposite ends. The room felt starkly different from the chaos of just moments ago, now filled with an uneasy calm.

"So…" I started, choosing my words carefully, "What do you know about Jamie and Karl?"

"Karl? Nothing," Gladys responded with a blunt tone, her words quick and to the point. She shifted slightly, her posture open yet guarded. "But Jamie and I have been close friends for many years."

"Really? Karl seemed like he knew rather a lot about Louise yesterday," I countered gently, probing further.

"Jamie's sister, Louise?" Gladys asked, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Yes," I confirmed, maintaining a steady gaze on her. "She came into the station to report Jamie as a missing person. She reckons she hasn't seen Jamie or her son Kain for several days." I observed Gladys intently as I spoke, looking for any subtle change in her expression or posture. It was crucial not to let Karl's earlier outburst overshadow the importance of this conversation.

"Well, that's a bit odd. I haven't seen Kain recently, but Jamie is definitely safe and well," Gladys replied, her voice steady but with an undertone that suggested she was holding something back.

I mulled over her words, trying to piece together the puzzle. The disparity in Gladys' story and what we had learned from Louise was striking. It was clear there were missing pieces in this narrative, gaps that needed filling.

"And Luke?" I ventured cautiously, my toes involuntarily curling inside my shoes as I braced for her response. I hoped my question wouldn't push Gladys to retreat behind a wall of silence. Although it wouldn't be the first line crossed in this house, I mused, glancing down at my hands – one bandaged from the cut, and the other cradling the wine glass. Shit!

A sudden shiver ran through me as the hairs on my arms stood on end, a response to the odd sensation that had been nagging at me since Karl's departure. The living room lights flickered overhead, casting strange shadows around us. "You better have an electrician look into that," I remarked, eyeing the ceiling light with concern.

Gladys offered a warm, albeit somewhat forced, smile. "Luke is definitely safe," she said with an air of confidence.

I eyed Gladys curiously, her assurance about Luke sending an unnerving chill down my spine. "Well, cheers to that," I said, leaning across the couch and extending my glass towards her in a gesture of camaraderie.

"Cheers," Gladys replied, her glass meeting mine with a soft clink.

I finished the wine in three big gulps, the rich liquid a stark contrast to the complexity of the situation. "I had better be off then," I announced, standing up. "I'm not supposed to be drinking while on duty."

"My lips are sealed," Gladys responded, her fingers playfully mimicking the action of zipping her lips shut.

I chuckled softly to myself as I made my way out of the house. Despite the day’s strange events, Gladys' cooperation, whether fully sincere or not, might prove beneficial in the long run. Perhaps Gladys will be of some use, after all, I contemplated, stepping back into the cooling late afternoon air and heading towards the car. As I walked, my mind worked overtime, piecing together the snippets of information, the odd behaviours, and the tangible sense of secrets just beneath the surface. This investigation was far from over, and I felt a renewed determination to uncover the truth, no matter how deep I had to dig.

As I drove down the street, my eyes caught a familiar figure. Karl, walking at a brisk pace, his posture rigid with tension. The sight of him stirred a whirlwind of emotions within me. Despite the calming effect of the glass of wine I had shared with Gladys, anger still simmered beneath the surface. The betrayal and shock of his earlier actions lingered, making it impossible for me to simply brush aside what had happened.

I slowed down momentarily, contemplating whether to stop and confront him. Part of me wanted to yell, to demand answers for his irrational behaviour back at the house. But the stronger part, the part still reeling from his physical outburst, decided against it. The wound on my hand throbbed as a physical reminder of his actions.

So, I didn’t stop. I kept driving, leaving Karl to his own turbulent thoughts. The decision felt both empowering and unsettling. On one hand, it was a stand against his unacceptable behaviour; on the other, it was an acknowledgment of a rift that had formed between us, a partnership strained to its limits.