"I cannot believe it was all an act," Cynthia said, lying on Sandy's bed. She propped her head up with her hands, looking at Sandy, who was seated on the bed with her legs curled together, and her eyes glued to her father's phone.

"I thought I was good at this stuff," said Sandy.

"Knowing when you're being played?" Cynthia asked.

"Yes, that," Sandy confirmed.

"Honestly, it sounds like something out of a movie. The cops setting up a trap for a criminal, some innocent characters being the decoy, things turning out ugly, and boom...there's collateral damage. But I guess it was to be expected," Cynthia said.

Preston had informed Sandy that the burglary at her place had been staged. He claimed he wasn't involved in the plot and had only recently found out about it. It was all Michael and his partner, Officer Rita Angari, who had planned to play along with Mr Gary Wako's request to search the house for a drive that had been at her father's disposal. No one was supposed to get hurt, not her mother or herself. But Sandy could remember that her mother had been hit in the head and blacked out for almost an hour, unaware of the intruders in the house.

Sandy wondered to what extent the police were willing to go to seek answers. What if something worse had happened to her mother? Would the Department have taken full responsibility and owned up to the situation?

"Did they find the drive?" asked Cynthia.

Sandy shook her head and replied, "No, they didn't find anything."

"You do realize if this had happened to a wealthy family, there would have been legal consequences. It's the kind of thing that would make front-page news," Cynthia remarked.

"Isn't the legal system all cooped up in the same web of corruption?" Sandy asked.

"Well, yes. But if you're from the affluent suburbs of Karen, then you can get out of anything," Cynthia replied.

"Huh, look at you, making sense. This is new," Sandy teased.

Cynthia playfully hit Sandy with a pillow. "Say that again."

"Smart ass-" Sandy was interrupted by another hit from the pillow, causing her to fall back on the bed. They both laughed, and Cynthia continued to hit her with the pillow.

"You little twat," Cynthia said, enjoying the moment.

"Oh look, we have nice verbs now," Sandy joked.

"That's it," Cynthia lunged at her and began to poke at the skin just above the hip. Sandy laughed harder and wiggled herself out of Cynthia's hold.

Minutes later, they both lay next to each other, backs against the bed, staring at the ceiling. Cynthia broke the silence and asked, "What were you searching for on your father's phone?"

Sandy replied, "I was looking for something that could be worth investigating further. Mom mentioned to me that on the day he left, he received a call. She thought it was job-related because he said he was going to meet someone."

Cynthia remarked, "But then he ended up in an accident. You think it's suspicious?"

Sandy replied, "At first, I didn't think much about it being suspicious until they told me that there was a high possibility that the accident may not have been an accident after all. That's when I started to believe that maybe Dad leaving the house and getting to the car was all part of a trap. What if the truck that hit him had been lying silently along the road waiting for him?" Sandy lowered her voice to a whisper. She was afraid that her breath would catch in her throat.

Despite Preston and Michael's belief that Gary Wako was not a suspect in the case, Sandy couldn't help but wonder if he had any involvement in the accident. She speculated that her father may have come across something that incriminated Gary, or that the flash drive itself could potentially implicate him.

Cynthia asked, "So, what did you find on the phone?"

Sandy replied, "Nothing. All the recent calls and messages have been wiped out. It seems like someone went through the phone and deleted everything."

Cynthia suggested, "Could it be your mom?"

Sandy replied, "No, she said she hasn't touched his phone since the accident. She just kept it safe inside her bedside drawer."

Cynthia asked, "Have you checked the gallery?"

"Right, of course. Just a minute." Sandy reached for the phone and angled it over their faces so that Cynthia could also have a look. She swiped the screen open and headed straight for the gallery icon. Cynthia had been right. There were still photos in the gallery. Not one or two, but plenty. Sandy noted that all the photos were taken between December last year and January, nothing recent to the time of his accident except for one particular photo.

"Where's that sarcastic tone again?"

"Getting hit by the pillow happened," Sandy pulled a wide smile to her lips.

Sandy clicked on the photo. It was of a man, seated on a bar stool, gazing at a glass of alcohol on the table next to him. He was wearing a blue baseball cap with a fish logo on the front panel. His eyes and facial features were hidden behind the long visor. He had on a yellow jumper, and blue jeans peeked out from where he was sitting. There was a glint of something on his hand. Sandy zoomed in. It was a ring - a thick silver ring with a black, rock-like shape on top of it. The picture had been taken at night. The backdrop was a pub bar, with full bar tables, beer mugs, empty shot glasses, and a neon sign that read 'The Hijos.'

"What's the date on the photo?" Cynthia asked.

Sandy looked at the bottom of the photo and replied, "April 17th." Then she realized, "Two days before his death."

"Why was he taking a photo of the guy?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think it could be related to the case?"

"Most likely."

"I know that place. It's located along Mombasa Road, opposite Delta Petrol station, next to the recently opened Bata Outlet."

"Is there any place you don't know?"

"Well, there are many, but when it comes to a bar, you know I won't miss it."

Sandy nearly rolled her eyes, "So? Do you want to take me there, have a look at the place? Maybe we can find a guy wearing an ugly baseball cap." She checked the time on her phone. It was only 7 PM. "Now?"

"If I said no, would that stop you?"

"You know me better than that."

Sandy got up from the bed and took out a red tweed sweater from her cabinet. She put it on and changed her grey sweatpants to a black pair of jeans.

"Right. Of course. Well, you're buying me something for the trouble, and I'll need something warm too."

Sandy threw her a black hoodie.

They took an Uber, and it was reasonably priced, only a twenty-minute ride.

As they pulled up to the carport of the Hijos Pub, the first thing Sandy noticed was a large mural painting in shades of white and brown, of a bearded man smoking a joint against the concrete facade.

"I thought weed was illegal."

"Well, technically it is, but not in this place. Have you seen the cars parked out here?"
As they approached, they noticed a tall man with broad shoulders dressed in all black standing at the entrance. His arms were in front of him, and Sandy suspected he might be hiding a gun under his trousers, perhaps to deter any troublemakers or because something shady was going on inside.

"IDs?" he demanded gruffly, holding out his hand.

Sandy and Cynthia both presented their IDs, and the man stepped aside. As soon as they entered, they were assaulted by the deafening music. It was a dancehall track with summery beats, and the volume was almost unbearable. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol - a potent combination. The same rainbow lights that Sandy had seen in the photo were now flashing everywhere, illuminating the dance floor and bar area. The place was teeming with people of all ages.

Sandy searched the crowd for a baseball cap, but she couldn't spot anyone wearing one.

Suddenly, Cynthia held her hand and led her towards a corner, saying, "Let's sit down over there. It's not crowded, offers a nice view, and is less noisy."

As they walked into the cant of the pub, they both grabbed a pair of empty bar stools and placed them next to an unoccupied table. A waiter with bright brown skin, mascara eyes, and red lipstick, approached them. She wore a gold tag that glinted against her raised cleavage. The name was Liz.

"Anything for you ladies?" she asked.

Sandy replied, "We'll have a bottle of ice-cold vodka and a packet of Del Monte mango."

Cynthia gave Sandy a quick side-eye before nodding in agreement.

When the waiter disappeared back to the bar counter, Cynthia turned to Sandy and asked, "Why did you even order anything?"

"Didn't you say you wanted something to drink?" Sandy replied.

"Well, yes, but I didn't mean it. We could have just been watching out for the guy."

"If we want to fit in here, we have to have something on our table. That way, we won't look like a bunch of psychos waiting to spike people's drinks," Sandy explained.

The waiter came back with a full tray and put the empty glasses on the table. Sandy then showed her a photo on her father's phone and asked, "Do you know this man?"

The waiter looked at the photo briefly with pursed lips before answering, "No."

Sandy thought the response was too fast and asked, "Have you ever seen him around here?"

The waiter replied, "I serve a lot of people here. I can barely recall all the faces that usually come through that door," before leaving with an empty tray.

Cynthia said, "I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but I can tell you that lady was lying through her teeth."

"You're right. The question is why? Want to switch sides and come be the sidekick at the Police Department?" Sandy joked.

Cynthia declined, saying, "No thank you. I have a phobia of guns."

"In that case, you should know the man at the door had one holstered inside his pants," Sandy pointed out.

"How could you tell?" Cynthia asked.

"He had his arms out to his torso like he was hiding something."

"I already hate the sound of that. Think maybe we can give ourselves thirty minutes, and if we don't find the ugly cap, we leave?" Cynthia suggested.

Sandy took a sip of her mango juice and savoured its cool, fruity, and sweet taste. "Fine by me," she agreed.

A man approached them. He was tall and wiry with darker skin. He wore a white polo shirt paired with brown slacks and appeared to be about the age of thirty to thirty-five.

"Hey, ladies. I heard you're looking for me," he said.

Sandy noticed the familiar glint of a ring on his right hand.