The Rivkep case was supposed to remain another closed file. The killer was found, the reports were signed, and the archive was filled with yet another folder.
But people keep disappearing. Someone made a mistake. Or someone really wanted it to look like a mistake.
Locals look away before you can ask a question.
SIGNUP INTERRUPTED
Christopher is calm, reserved, almost benevolent. He listens attentively and responds softly, as if trying to guess what I want to hear. Nobody notices how he studies people.
Richard Dirn suggested meeting in the evening. It seems he genuinely wants to help. For the first time since his arrival, there is a feeling that the investigation has finally gained momentum.
The Dirn family home looks somewhat neglected, but considering the elder Dirn’s fondness for alcohol and the younger one’s busy work schedule, it’s understandable why the house is in that condition.
Behind the faded wallpaper lies more history than in police reports.
CONFIDENTIAL MATERIALS
Richard speaks with conviction, his eyes never wavering—as if he’s constantly assessing how much I’ve grasped already. It seems he knows more than he lets on. Maybe he knows everything.
I realize now: some mistakes are made in a single moment of trust.
Half of my life I spent among the archives and photographs from crime scenes. It feels strange to be on the other side of a case file.
The longer you stay here, the harder it becomes to distinguish real threats from imagined ones.
Traces remain even when they are tried to be erased.