Real Estate Agent Who Hears Murdered Ghosts のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 8

When the tenant, Henry Johnson, rushed over, he knocked over a plastic chair in his way. His fingers brushed the edge of my phone, but I stepped back just in time.His voice rose to a deafening pitch, and droplets of spit flew onto my face as he shouted, "What the hell is wrong with you? My daughter has been missing for a month! A whole month! And you just walk in here and declare her dead? Who do you think you are?"His wife, Isabel Martin, was curled up by the coffee table. Her face was buried in her hands. Sobs filtered through her fingers in uneven gasps. "Stop it… Please, just stop… Lea's coming back… She has to come back…"My client, Eleanor Wilson, panicked. She grabbed my arm and tried to drag me out. "Devan, are you insane? You don't just say things like that! Apologize to them right now—""Apologize?"Henry stepped into my space. His finger nearly poked my eye. "Getting down on his knees wouldn't be enough! You're just terrified we'll break the lease, and you'll lose you

Detective Wyatt's team moved fast.Two officers stepped into the bedroom. The lead cop pulled a spray bottle from his kit, misted a circle around the center of the floor, and flipped the light switch.A sliver of gray light filtered through the gap in the curtains, cutting across the floorboards.When the UV light clicked on, the bedroom plunged into a purplish darkness, casting a cold glow over everyone's faces.The floor began to luminesce. A few scattered, irregular specks of light glowed a faint blue.Isabel's crying cut off instantly. She was crouching by the doorway with her mouth still open, but no sound came out.Henry's Adam's apple bobbed twice. His hands clenched tightly against his thighs, and his knuckles turned white.Detective Wyatt turned to look at them.The bedroom stayed dead silent for about ten seconds.Then, Isabel spoke. Her voice was raspy but unnaturally steady. "It's cat blood."She let go of the doorframe and stood up. Her knees seemed to buckle for

When the tech team pried open the third block of concrete, the forensic examiner's breath caught.The beam of the flashlight probed into the breach, scanning the narrow cavity inside the wall.Where the light stopped, a small, curled-up silhouette emerged.Her head was pressed against her knees, and her arms were wrapped tightly around herself. She lay curled against the curve of the inner wall, looking almost as though she were asleep.Everyone fell silent at once.Even the rustling murmurs from the far end of the hallway were instantly choked off.The forensic examiner crouched there, keeping the flashlight trained on the spot. His other hand fumbled through his kit for a long while before finally finding a mask.He put on his gloves slowly, and his knuckles were strained tight.Detective Wyatt stood just outside the bedroom door. His gaze cut over the examiner's shoulder to land on the edge of the breach. He pressed his lips into a hard line."Based on the initial assessmen

Detective Wyatt stood at the far end of the hallway with his back to me. He held those two DNA reports in his hand.Someone reached out and handed him a pen. He scribbled a few words in the blank space of one of the sheets and passed it back.The next morning, he pushed open the door to the office I was sitting in and tossed a stack of photocopies onto the desk."Ten years," he said, sitting on the edge of the table. His voice was laced with the scent of cigarette smoke. "At least five kids across four states."I looked down at the photocopies. They were yellowed newspaper clippings, blurry surveillance stills, and the police report from the neighboring state three years ago.The columns for the reporters' names read "Harren Johnson" and "Irene Martin". Attached was a one-inch photo of a child with two small braids, grinning at the camera.However, right after the date of the report, there was a handwritten note. "Case withdrawn. Missing child returned home on her own.""He with