Episode 3

"Cover it with the tarp! Don't let the rain damage the corpse again! Can you guys even do your jobs properly?"

Kalandra's shout was drowned out by the sound of thunder splitting the night sky. Heavy rain poured down on Tanjung Harapan Port relentlessly, as if the universe was conspiring to erase the killer's tracks.

Kalandra stood under the makeshift tent, soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his head, and his eyes burning red with anger.

He had finally returned here. To hell with the family dinner. To hell with his father's threats, who had called him ten times. Kalandra had turned his car around in the middle of the toll road to return to the corpse of this woman in red.

He couldn't enjoy a good meal while there was a victim demanding justice in the middle of a storm like this.

"Chief, it's pointless!" Doctor Rudi shouted, trying to overcome the sound of the rain. He had given up, sitting limply on a wooden crate. "The rain is too heavy. The chemical residue in the soil must have been washed away. We won't find anything tonight. Let's call it a night, Chief!"

"Easy for you to say, call it a night!" Kalandra grabbed Rudi's collar, almost throwing a punch in frustration. "If we go home, that bastard wins! Use your brain, Rud! There must be something we missed!"

"WOI! STOP!"

Raka's shout diverted their attention. From the direction of the port gate, the blinding white headlights cut through the darkness.

A luxurious black sedan—not a service car, but the kind of European car that costs as much as a year's police budget—sped in, hitting puddles and splashing everywhere.

The car didn't slow down even when Raka and two other officers waved their hands.

Screech!

The car tires screeched on the wet asphalt, stopping exactly three meters from the police line, almost hitting the patrol car.

"Crazy! Who is that?" Sinta, who was sheltering in the security post, immediately ran out, shielding her head with a plastic map. "Hey! Are you blind? Can't you see there's a police line?"

Kalandra released his grip on Rudi's collar. His hand reflexively reached for the gun on his waist. "Code one! Maybe this is the perpetrator's accomplice trying to get rid of evidence!"

All guns were pointed at the driver's door of the black sedan. The atmosphere was tense. Only the sound of rain hitting the car roof could be heard.

The driver's door opened slowly.

Kalandra narrowed his eyes, ready to shoot if there was any suspicious movement. However, what came out was not a masked man or an armed thug.

First, a slender, smooth white leg descended and stepped onto the muddy asphalt.

All eyes widened. The leg was not wearing military boots, let alone running shoes. The leg was clad in furry pink pastel-colored house slippers that were soaked in mud.

A woman got out of the car. She was wearing a long silk nightgown, the bottom of which was immediately soiled by water splashes, covered by an expensive brown trench coat that was clearly not meant to be worn in the rain at a shabby port.

Her hair was wet, sticking to her pale cheeks.

"Zoya?" Kalandra lowered his gun, his mouth agape in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

Zoya didn't answer. She closed her car door with a gentle but firm push. Her face was blank, as blank as it had been at the dining table that morning. She walked straight through the rain, past the dumbfounded Raka, towards the tent where the body was.

"Hey, hey! Wait a minute!" Sinta immediately blocked Zoya's path. The policewoman stretched out her arms, her eyes looking cynically at Zoya's 'mismatched' appearance.

"Who does this woman think she is, just barging in?" Sinta snapped, her voice shrill. "This is a crime scene, ma'am! Not a socialite gathering place! Look at your slippers, they're ruining the footprints on the ground! Go home, don't interfere with police work!"

Sinta turned to Kalandra, seeking support. "Chief, this is his wife, right? Tell her to go home. She's just making a mess. We're already stressed, and she's asking us to play house."

Zoya stopped right in front of Sinta. She looked at the policewoman from head to toe, then looked back ahead as if Sinta was just an unimportant lamppost.

"Move," Zoya said softly. Her voice was almost swallowed by the rain, but its coldness exceeded the night wind.

"Tch, why are you being rude?" Sinta became even more emotional. "I am an authorized officer—"

Without warning, Zoya bumped into Sinta's shoulder just like that, causing the policewoman to stagger to the side in shock. Zoya continued to walk, her steps strangely so stable even though she was wearing slippery slippers.

"Zoya! Go home!" Kalandra finally snapped out of his surprise and ran after his wife. His anger exploded again. "Are you crazy? Papa told me to go home, not for you to follow me here in your pajamas! Do you want to embarrass me in front of my men?"

Zoya arrived under the tent. She didn't look at Kalandra. Her eyes were locked straight on the corpse of the woman in red who was sitting stiffly on the crate.

"Zoya, I'm talking to you!" Kalandra grabbed his wife's arm roughly. "Are you even listening? This is not a playground. Go home or I'll drag you—"

Zoya's movement stopped. She reached into the pocket of her expensive coat.

Kalandra thought his wife was going to take out a handkerchief to cry, or a cell phone to call her father.

But no.

Zoya took out a pair of blue surgical latex gloves.

With quick and practiced—very practiced—movements, she put on the gloves.

Sret. Sret.

The sound of rubber being stretched taut was in stark contrast to the roar of the rain.

The woman's aura changed completely. The empty and dreamy look that Kalandra usually saw at home disappeared instantly, replaced by a sharp gaze as sharp as a razor that was dissecting a target.

Her shoulders were straight, her chin was lifted slightly.

Zoya brushed Kalandra's hand off her arm with a strong jerk. She stepped closer to the corpse, kneeling down without caring that her silk gown was submerged in a puddle of blood mixed with rainwater.

"Get your dirty hands off the victim's neck, Commander," Zoya's voice sounded clear, full of authority that made Kalandra's hair stand on end.

Kalandra gaped. "Huh?"

Zoya turned slightly, her gaze piercing Kalandra's eyes. "She was not strangled. There is cyanide residue between the fingernails of her ring finger, and this corpse's bruising was manipulated with dry ice."

Zoya pointed her index finger at the spotlight that one of the officers was holding, trembling.

"Move the light to the left. You're blocking the light," Zoya ordered coldly. "Let me show you what you've missed for the past six hours."

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