Visiting The Innocent Man

Derrick Faulkner waited at a bus station that appeared to have been unclean for years. The air smelt strongly of car fumes, and a thin film of dirt stuck to the benches. Ethan saw Derrick right away. Aman leaned over a hot cup of coffee, his once-black hair streaked with grey.

Ethan took his time approaching, unsure about the direction of the conversation. Derrick was quite entitled to despise him and possibly even strike him. Ethan, however, required clarification. 

"Derrick," Ethan called out, stopping a few feet away. 

Derrick's eyes darted to Ethan, narrowing instantly. He didn't reply. 

"I just want to talk," Ethan said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

Derrick snorted. "Talk? Like the last time you 'talked' to me? That ended with me in a cell for five years, remember?" 

Ethan sighed, guilt washing over him. "I know I screwed up. And I'm not here to make excuses. But I think someone framed you, Derrick. I think there's more to this than we realized back then.

"Oh, you think there's more?" Derrick's voice rose, drawing the attention of a passerby. He leaned forward, jabbing a finger at Ethan. "I tried to tell you that five years ago! I told you I didn't kill her, but you wouldn't listen."

"You're right," Ethan admitted. "I was wrong. But I'm trying to make it right now. Whoever set you up is still out there, and they're trying to silence me… and you." 

Derrick's posture stiffened at Ethan's words. He sipped his coffee, his eyes studying Ethan for any sign of deceit. 

After a long pause, Derrick sighed. "You're not the only one they've been messing with."

Ethan's heart quickened. "What do you mean?" 

Derrick reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Ethan without a word. Ethan unfolded it and found a printed message, similar to the ones he had received: *"Stay quiet, or else."*

This came last week," Derrick said. "I've been getting them on and off since I got out. I thought it was just somebody trying to shake me, but now …" He shrugged, his head shaking.

Ethan sat down beside Derrick, holding the note tightly. "They're not just trying to scare you. They're trying to keep you from talking. What do you know, Derrick? Why would they target you?

Derrick hesitated, his eyes darting around the street as if someone might be watching. "I don't know everything," he admitted, lowering his voice. "But there was something weird about that night. Something I didn't tell you back then." 

Ethan leaned closer. "What was it?

"I was at the warehouse that night," Derrick said. "But not for what you think. I was meeting someone-an informant. They had dirt on him, but they never showed. I was waiting outside when I heard the gunshot. I panicked and ran. Next thing I know, the cops are hauling me in for murder." 

"Who was the informant?" Ethan asked.

Derrick shook his head. "I don't know their name. We were supposed to meet face-to-face for the first time. But whoever it was, they never made it out of that warehouse." 

Ethan frowned. "Why didn't you tell me this before?

Derrick gave him a pointed look. "Would you have believed me? Back then, you were so sure I was guilty. You didn't care about the truth." 

Ethan nodded, guilt clenching in his chest. "You're right. But I care now. And if there's even a chance that informant had information on Calloway, we need to find out who they were.

Derrick let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, good luck with that. Whoever they were, they are dead or too scared to say anything." 

Ethan rose to his feet; determination hardened his features. "I will find them, whether they're alive. And if they're dead, I'll find out who silenced them." 

Derrick looked up at Ethan and the hardness in his face slacked just a bit. "You really do believe you can fix this fiasco, don't you?"

"I have to try," Ethan said. 

Derrick smirked faintly. "Well, don't get yourself killed trying. The world doesn't need more blood on his hands."

That evening, Ethan sat at his desk, reviewing everything Derrick had told him. The picture was beginning to clear: Calloway was at the center of this web, and someone had gone to great lengths to cover it up.

Maria called him as he sifted through his notes. 

"Did you talk to Derrick?" she asked. 

"I did," Ethan replied. "He's been getting threats too. And he told me something I didn't know…there was an informant at the warehouse the night of the murder. Someone with dirt on Calloway." 

"Do you think they're still alive?"

"I don't know," Ethan admitted. "But I'm going to find out. Derrick said he was supposed to meet the informant face-to-face, so there has to be a trail somewhere." 

Maria sighed. "This is getting more dangerous by the second. You sure you want to keep pushing?

I don't have a choice," Ethan said. "If we stop now, Calloway wins. And we both know he doesn't deserve that." 

"Then let's figure out our next move," Maria said. 

Ethan smiled faintly. "That's what I like to hear.

The next morning, Ethan headed to the archives in City Hall, hoping that records might point out the informant. He went through piles of old police reports, building permits, and other documents; with every passing hour, he felt his frustration grow.

Finally, he found something—a list of employees who had worked security at the warehouse around the time of the murder. One name leaped out: **Paul Riggins**, a guard who had quit abruptly two days after the incident. 

Ethan jotted down the name and address listed in the file. If anyone knew what happened that night, it might be Riggins.

As he left City Hall, Ethan's phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number: *"Stop digging, or you'll end up like her."* 

Ethan's blood ran cold. Attached to the message was a photo of the murder victim, taken at the crime scene. 

His grip tightened on the phone. "Not this time," he muttered, shoving it into his pocket.

Ethan knew he was getting closer to the truth.

But with every step forward, the stakes grew higher… and the shadows around him grew darker.