I stepped onto the fourth floor of the company, where the HR manager was seated behind a desk, deeply engrossed in his work. His fingers moved steadily across the keyboard, each keystroke purposeful and efficient, as though he had done this a thousand times before. There was a calm energy about him, the kind that came with experience and focus, and it was immediately apparent that he was no stranger to multitasking under pressure.
"Hello, young man," I said, my voice breaking the rhythmic tapping of keys. He looked up, his attention shifting from the screen to me. I noticed that the young man at the desk looked up from his work, his fingers no longer tapping away at the keyboard. He looked in his thirties, much younger than me, a mere forty-one. There was a sharpness to his gaze, as though he was seeing right through me, but his smooth movements and confident expression gave away his relative youth.
He locked his gaze onto me with a composed confidence, his thick, black-rimmed glasses magnifying eyes that seemed sharp and calculating. His features were striking, almost statuesque, with a clean-shaven jawline and a piercing intensity that hinted at someone who took their job seriously. Unlike the receptionist downstairs, who had been dismissive and uninterested, this man projected competence and reliability.
There was a stark contrast between the two. Where the receptionist had seemed indifferent, almost as though her role was a burden, he embodied professionalism. His appearance alone suggested he understood the weight of his responsibilities, and his focused demeanor made him seem like someone who truly valued the company's operations. In his presence, it was easy to sense that this was someone who could be trusted to get things done.
"Yes, sir. I was called by one of the receptionists," he said, his tone polite but slightly uncertain. "Yes, Detective, how may I help you?"
He stood up from his desk, his movements deliberate as he leaned against it, folding his arms in a posture that seemed to blend curiosity with caution.
"I'm a head detective from the homicide bureau," I replied, my voice low and steady, hoping the weight of my words would sink in. I needed him to understand the gravity of the situation—that one of his employees hadn't just disappeared into thin air but had been brutally murdered.
"Homicide Bureau?" His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he adjusted the frame of his glasses, the movement betraying a hint of skepticism. There was something almost bookish about him, reminding me of a character from Harry Potter, or one of those overly academic types I'd encountered back in my criminology major—someone who had likely never ventured far from his books and research, someone who needed a nudge to step outside the safe confines of theory.
"Yes, Noah Dawson," I continued, my gaze steady on him. "If you have any details about him, it would be helpful."
He seemed to weigh my words carefully, his eyes flickering with a mixture of uncertainty and intrigue. For a moment, he said nothing, as if processing the information or perhaps debating whether he should say more. His fingers lightly tapped the edge of his desk, a nervous tic that contradicted the professional image he had tried to maintain.
"Noah Dawson..." he repeated, his voice trailing off. "I don't recall the name off the top of my head." He paused, clearly searching his memory. "But if he worked here, I would have access to his records."
He motioned toward his computer, the screen glowing in the dim light of the office. "I'll check his file," he added, as if the process were as routine as checking the weather.
I nodded, trying to remain patient, but inside, I could feel the tension mounting. This wasn't just another case—it was personal, and I needed to find something, anything, that would point me in the right direction.
He fumbled around with his computer, his fingers tapping away at the keys with increasing intensity, his brow furrowed in concentration. I stood there, observing, the soft hum of the office around us the only sound. I couldn't help but admire his work ethic. Despite his earlier skepticism, he seemed genuinely committed to doing his job well.
"You can sit, if you'd like. It may take some time," he said, his voice a little softer now.
I nodded and pulled out a chair, sitting across from him at the table. His office was private and spacious, with sleek furniture and a modern design that reflected his role in the company. There were few personal touches—just a few framed certificates on the walls, a potted plant on the corner of the desk—but it was clear he valued order and professionalism.
He didn't glance up from the screen, his fingers still typing as he spoke. "Noah Dawson was our best employee," he said, his tone a little more reflective. "He was on track for a promotion—was the one everyone expected to rise through the ranks. But he disappeared five months ago, without notice. After that, the position was temporarily filled by someone else."
He paused, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—a mix of regret and concern—as he continued scrolling through the file.
"The position was important," he added, "so we couldn't afford to leave it vacant for long. But Dawson… he had the potential to do more. He was bound for something bigger here."
"Do you have anyone in mind? Whom do you think was close to him? Any collegue?," I asked.
"Sir, I have known Noah professionally. Additionally, he was from a very different department. I cannot tell you much about him. But he had been a company gossip for a lot of years. Atleast those were the rumours.," he said.
"What was the gossip? Can you say?," I asked.
"Plain ones... actually I am not the type to indulge myself in something as unproductive as gossips.," he replied.
His voice trailed off, but his determination was palpable. He wasn't just reciting facts; there was a deep investment in what he was saying. His focus was sharp, his concentration unwavering, as if everything he was doing right now had a deeper purpose. It wasn't just about the file—it was about finding the truth, and maybe, just maybe, solving a mystery that had haunted the company for months.
He printed out the sheet and had given to me which highlighted the details and records about Noah Dawson. He even gave me all the details about the division where Noah was working, - software development, specifically, buisness analyst.
"Sir, these are the list of the employees in Software development division. Most of them had gone for Christmas celebration.," he said., "it'd be better if you come after new year celebration. "
"Detective, I have seen you in TV quite a few times. Your works are admirable. You had been a star in recent months.," he added.
"Me? A star?," I laughed, I was unaware about my recent popularity.
"Well, do I have a Hoffman fan club, now?," I asked. My nose swelling up with pride.
"I don't know, sir.," he smirked, [after some time]"However, I don't have much information about our team leader Noah.. I met him sometimes very occasionally on buisness parties and whenever I met it was formal. He comes out to me as a promising man whom I admire."
I walked out of the room, his hand rested on the desk and he looked at me as I trailed out of the room. The quiet intensity in his eyes lingered, as if he, too, was waiting for the mystery surrounding Noah Dawson to unfold.