Life Story
Chief Williams was tapping a rhythm on his desk with a heavy silver pen when Kyson and Sisko walked in. He looked up, his expression uncharacteristically soft.
“I’ve got a sensitive one for you, Kyson,” the Chief said. “Ever hear of Elena Sterling? In the seventies and eighties, she was on every cover from New York to Paris. She lives up on Crestview Hill now. Someone broke in last night and stole her diary. It’s not just a notebook—it’s her entire life story, intended for a memoir she’s been writing for a decade.”
Kyson nodded. “Sounds like it has more than just sentimental value. Any leads?”
See what Sisko can find
“Officer Davies is already on-site securing the perimeter. He’s the one who took the initial call. Get up there and see what Sisko can find. Miss Sterling is… understandably distraught.”
The Sterling estate was a sprawling mid-century modern masterpiece, filled with floor-to-ceiling windows and black-and-white portraits of a woman whose beauty had once defined an era. Elena Sterling met them at the door, her elegance still striking despite her tear-streaked face.
“It’s gone, Officer,” she said, her voice trembling. “A lifetime of secrets, of struggles, of the truth behind the glamour. It’s irreplaceable.”
“We’ll do everything we can, Miss Sterling,” Kyson assured her. He looked down at Sisko. “Sisko, work.”
Sisko began her sweep of the study. The room smelled of expensive jasmine perfume, old paper, and something sharp—something metallic and chemically. She bypassed the desk and headed straight for the French doors that led to the garden. There, snagged on a rose bush, was a small scrap of navy blue nylon.
Sisko gave a low woof and sat by the bush, her eyes fixed on the fabric.
“Good girl,” Kyson said, bagging the evidence. He looked out toward the street just as a patrol car pulled up. Officer Davies stepped out, looking sharp and holding a tablet.
“Hunter! Glad you’re here,” Davies called out. “I’ve been canvassing the neighbors’ security feeds. I caught a glimpse of a blue sedan speeding away about twenty minutes after the reported break-in. I ran the partial plate through the system, and it matches a rental car checked out to a Mr. Julian Vane.”
He was my researcher
“Vane?” Elena gasped from the doorway. “He was my researcher. I let him go last month because he was becoming… obsessive about the details of my early career.”
“Davies, did you get a GPS ping on the rental?” Kyson asked.
“Better,” Davies replied, tapping his tablet. “The car has an integrated tracking system for the rental agency. It’s currently parked at a trailhead three miles from here. It looks like he’s trying to lay low in the park.”
“Let’s move,” Kyson said.
They arrived at the trailhead ten minutes later. Sisko was out of the SUV before the engine had fully died. She caught the scent immediately—the same metallic, chemical smell she’d detected in the study, likely a specific type of hair gel or cologne Vane** **used.
Sisko led the way through the thick brush, her tail held high and steady. Kyson and Davies followed, navigating the rocky terrain. After a half-mile trek, Sisko slowed, her body lowering into a prowl. She stopped behind a large oak tree and looked back at Kyson, her ears pinned forward.
Just beyond the tree, sitting on a flat rock, was a man clutching a thick, leather-bound volume to his chest. He looked frantic, flipping through the pages as if searching for something hidden between the lines.
“Julian Vane?” Kyson’s voice was calm but firm.
It’s mine! I did the work!
The man jumped, nearly dropping the diary. “It’s mine! I did the work! I deserve the credit for the story!”
“It’s not your life, Julian,” Davies said, moving to the left to flank him. “Put the book down.”
Vane looked at the steep drop-off behind him, then at Sisko, who let out a warning growl that vibrated in the man’s chest. The sight of the hundred-pound German Shepherd closing the distance was enough to sap the fight right out of him. He slumped forward, holding the diary out with shaking hands.
“I just wanted people to know I helped,” Vane whispered as Davies moved in to secure the handcuffs.
Kyson carefully took the diary. He flipped it open briefly to ensure it was intact. The pages were dense with elegant handwriting and tucked-away photographs.
Back at the estate, the relief on Elena Sterling’s face was the best reward they could have asked for. She took the book back with trembling hands, clutching it like a long-lost child.
“Thank you, Officer Hunter. And you, Officer Davies,” she said, before looking down at the dog. “And most of all, thank you, Sisko. You have a very beautiful soul.”
Sisko gave a dignified wag of her tail.
“Case closed, Chief,” Kyson reported over the radio as they headed back to the station. “The life story is back where it belongs.”
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