The next morning, investigator Paul Reyes strode through the entrance of Ana's Market with his two associates, scanning the modest bodega for signs of life. A few regulars milled about the aisles while an elderly woman presided over the front register.
"Remember, we need to handle this delicately," Paul reminded his team in a low tone. "No names or legal accusations that could make the employees clam up. Just present ourselves as new customers inquiring about that evening."
His associates, Greg and Yolanda, gave affirmative nods as they fanned out nonchalantly and began browsing the shelves filled with basic grocery items and sundries. It didn't take long before a portly man in his fifties emerged from the back room, eyeing them with mild curiosity.
"Morning, can I help you folks find anything?" he asked in a brusque Hispanic accent.
Paul stepped forward with an ingratiating smile. "Just doing a little shopping, thanks. Got a couple quick questions for you, if you don't mind?"
The man's gaze sharpened slightly, but he maintained a neutral expression. "Depends on the questions, I suppose."
"It's nothing too heavy," Paul assured him affably. "We were just hoping to satisfy a small disagreement among friends about what time you folks close up at night. My buddy here insisted you stay open pretty late."
The portly man's demeanor relaxed a fraction as he shrugged one shoulder. "Eight o'clock during the week, nine on Friday and Saturday nights."
Paul's smile widened as he produced a small notepad from his jacket pocket, giving it a glance. "Ah, wonderful. That's just what I told him - my memory isn't what it used to be at my age. And you'd remember if a younger guy, about six feet with glasses, came through around 7:45 last Tuesday evening?"
The question clearly piqued the bodega owner's attention as his brow furrowed speculatively. "You got a description like that? I see a lot of faces, but...hold up." His gaze drifted toward the magazine rack near Greg, who was skimming an auto publication with practiced nonchalance. "You know what? Yeah, I do remember that guy."
Reyes kept his outward expression neutral, but inwardly pumped his fist in victory. "No kidding? You're sure it was last Tuesday around 7:45 or so?"
"Yeah, yeah," the owner said with a gradual nod, rotating a toothpick between his teeth. "Came in dressed like he just left the gym, carrying one of those meal-prep cooler bags. Grabbed a couple items from the cold section and checked out around that time. I remember someone like him in particular because he had to be attended to quickly. He said he was sick or something and he actually did look sick"
His two associates shared a sober look before giving terse nods of assent. Yolanda spoke up first. "Copy that, Paul. I'll start mining public records to get a line on the nephew's current whereabouts while Greg archives the owner's statement."
"Already on it," Greg affirmed. "We're not letting this slip through our fingers. One way or another, we nail down that verification."
As the three investigators climbed into their nondescript sedan, Paul felt the determination solidify within him. In his line of work, dead ends and false starts were commonplace - the profession demanded focusing on solutions rather than getting mired in setbacks.
Still, the stakes riding on verifying Blake Shelton's whereabouts during this narrow window weighed heavily upon him. A man's freedom, perhaps his very life, could hang in the balance based on the evidence they did or didn't uncover.
As Paul pulled the sedan away from the curb, his jaw set grimly. There was no room for failure or half-measures on this assignment. They would chase every lead, exhaust every resource, and beg, borrow, or threatened until they captured definitive proof, one way or another.
Because if they faltered in accomplishing this pivotal objective...Paul shuddered to consider the devastating consequences that could befall their falsely accused client.
No, they could not entertain that possibility. Failure was not an option they could allow for Blake Shelton's sake - not after glimpsing the glimmers of hope in Rose's eyes when she'd outlined this critical new strategy.
As Paul navigated the city streets toward their offices, his grip tightened on the steering wheel. They would obtain the answers they sought, whatever hurdles had to be vaulted along the way.
Blake Shelton's future - and the steadfast woman championing his cause - depended on successfully executing this mission. Excuses or uncertainties would not be acceptable.
Only results would suffice to keep that fragile hope alive and burning bright.
And Paul swore to himself that he would move heaven and earth to deliver those results, no matter how arduous or improbable the path ahead appeared.
Because in that moment, as the gravity of their task coalesced within him...
He knew there was no other choice.