At 9:43 p.m., Lestari's landline rang for the third time.
The woman didn't pick it up right away. Since her husband had been declared dead four years earlier, the landline had almost never rung. Her children had suggested that she change the number, but Lestari always refused. Too many memories were stored in that number, including Yusuf's voice, which used to call almost every night just to ask whether the front door had been locked.
That night, when the fourth ring sounded, Lestari finally picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
There was no answer.
Only the sound of breathing.
Slow.
Steady.
Lestari tightened her grip on the receiver.
"Who is this?"
Several seconds passed.
Then a man's voice came from the other end.
"Ma'am."
Lestari froze.
The voice hadn't changed much. A little deeper, a little raspier, but the intonation was the same.
A voice that for years had existed only in her memory.
"Sorry I'm late coming home."
The receiver slipped from Lestari's hand and fell to the floor.
She didn't scream.
She didn't cry.
She simply stood in the middle of the living room, her body trembling, while the faint sound of the still-open phone connection came from the floor.
Then the connection went dead.
Outside the house, a vehicle slowly pulled away from the alley.
And inside that vehicle, someone slipped a phone into the pocket of his jacket.
A single photo was still displayed on the phone's screen.
A photo of Yusuf.
Four years after his death.
Raka arrived at Lestari's house at 10:18 p.m.
Naya arrived a few minutes later.
Dimas didn't come. After discovering the recording from Camera 6, Raka had deliberately asked Dimas to stay at the hospital and guard Surya. He wasn't ready to draw any conclusions about Dimas's involvement, but too many parts of the old case were beginning to touch the people around him.
Lestari opened the door with a pale face. She looked like someone who had just watched the past walk back out of the grave.
"He called," she said before Raka could ask.
"Yusuf?"
Lestari nodded.
Raka went in and sat in the living room. He asked Lestari to recount the conversation in as much detail as possible. Not a single word was considered too insignificant. In an investigation, one word dismissed as unimportant could be the missing piece of a puzzle that had been incomplete all along.
"That's all he said?" Raka asked.
"Yes."
"Exactly?"
Lestari nodded.
"Sorry I'm late coming home."
"Are you sure that was Yusuf's voice?"
Lestari looked at Raka with tears in her eyes.
"If you're asking whether I'm sure, I don't know how to answer. I knew my husband’s voice for twenty years. I knew how he drew breath before speaking. I knew what his voice sounded like when he was tired. I knew how he always paused briefly before saying my name."
She wiped away her tears.
"If that wasn't Yusuf, then that person studied my husband better than I did."
Raka didn't answer right away.
He understood one important thing.
Voice recognition by someone close to the speaker could be highly convincing, but it wasn't proof of identity on its own. Human memory could change, especially when mixed with loss, hope, and fear. That was why Raka didn't want to treat Lestari's testimony as certainty.
"Did he say your name?"
"No."
"Your children's names?"
"No."
"A place only the family would know?"
"No."
"Was there any vehicle noise?"
Lestari thought about it.
"It sounded like an engine."
"A car?"
"Maybe."
"Any other sounds?"
"There was a train."
Raka raised his head.
"A train?"
Lestari nodded.
"Like a train passing in the distance."
Raka turned to Naya.
Naya already understood what he meant.
They lived in a part of the city fairly far from the train tracks.
If a train really had been audible over the phone, the caller might have been near the tracks.
But there was another possibility.
The sound might have come from a recording.
Raka made a note of it.
He didn't want to put too much faith in a clue that looked interesting too soon.
At 10:47 p.m., Raka asked permission to examine the landline.
He didn't touch the receiver until after putting on gloves.
Naya raised an eyebrow.
"Looking for fingerprints?"
"If the perpetrator called from this location, maybe."
"Why not?"
"Because the call didn't originate here."
Raka examined the device.
The caller's number hadn't been recorded.
The landline still used an old system.
He asked Naya to check the call log with the provider.
It didn't take long for Naya to find something.
"The call isn't showing up as a regular number."
"A hidden number?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Naya showed him the screen.
"The call came from an internet phone service."
Raka nodded.
"VoIP."
The term referred to Voice over Internet Protocol, a technology that allowed voice conversations to take place over the internet rather than a conventional telephone network.
Naya looked at him.
"So it can be spoofed?"
"Caller ID can be manipulated more easily than with a regular phone. But don't jump to conclusions."
Raka stood.
"There's only one thing we know so far."
"What?"
"The caller doesn't want us to know where he called from."
Naya looked at the phone.
"Then why use Yusuf's voice?"
Raka answered quietly.
"Because he wants us to know who he's talking about."
At 11:16 p.m., Raka reopened Yusuf's death file.
He had brought copies of the documents from the police.
The date of death.
The hospital report.
The death certificate.
The identification form.
Everything looked complete.
Too complete.
Raka read through the pages one by one.
Then he stopped at the section on identifying the body.
Identification was performed by the family.
There was no name for the person who had performed the identification.
Only a signature.
Raka stared at the signature.
"Lestari?"
He showed it to her.
Lestari came closer.
"That's not my signature."
Raka looked at Naya.
"Are you sure?"
"I never went to the hospital that night."
Raka turned the page.
"Who told you Yusuf had died?"
"The police."
"Who?"
Lestari fell silent.
"I don't remember."
"Did you see the body?"
Lestari shook her head.
"They said the condition of the body made it impossible."
Raka felt something harden in his chest.
"So you never saw your husband's face?"
"No."
"You didn't see his body?"
"No."
"You only received the death documents?"
Lestari nodded.
Raka closed the file.
"Ma'am, I need to ask you something that may be painful."
Lestari looked at him.
"Go ahead."
"Did Yusuf have any distinctive marks on his body?"
Lestari answered immediately.
"A scar on his right shoulder."
"What kind?"
"A surgical scar."
"From what?"
"When he was young, he was in a motorcycle accident."
Raka made a note.
"Anything else?"
Lestari thought.
"A small tattoo."
"Where?"
"Inside his left arm."
"What did it look like?"
"Numbers."
"Which numbers?"
Lestari looked at Raka.
"17."
Raka and Naya exchanged a look.
The number 17 had appeared again.
The warehouse.
The hotel.
The rooms.
A date.
And now Yusuf's body.
Too many appearances to call it a coincidence.
At 12:07 a.m., Raka returned to the car.
Rain had begun to fall.
Not heavily.
The drops tapped against the windshield in an almost soothing rhythm.
Naya sat beside him.
"If Yusuf is still alive, why has he been silent for four years?"
Raka stared at the road.
"The more important question is why someone wants us to believe he's dead."
"To protect him?"
"Maybe."
"Or silence him."
Raka nodded.
"Also possible."
Naya was silent for a few moments.
"Do you believe that was really Yusuf's voice?"
Raka shook his head.
"I believe someone wants us to believe it was Yusuf."
"That's different."
"Very different."
Raka started the engine.
They headed for the hospital.
At 12:36 a.m., the hospital corridor was much quieter.
Raka found Dimas sitting in a chair outside the ICU.
He looked exhausted.
"Surya?" Raka asked.
"Still conscious."
"How is he?"
"The doctor says he's stable enough to talk for a few minutes."
Raka approached.
"I need to talk to him."
Dimas shook his head.
"He can't stay awake too long."
"A few minutes is enough."
Dimas stood.
"Raka."
"What?"
"Don't kill him with your questions."
Raka looked at him.
"If he knows who the third person is, we may not have much time."
Dimas didn't argue.
They went inside.
Surya opened his eyes when he saw Raka.
This time, his gaze was sharper.
"You're back."
"I have a question."
Surya smiled faintly.
"You always have questions."
"Is Yusuf still alive?"
Surya's smile vanished.
For the first time, fear showed on the old man's face.
Raka saw the change.
"Answer me."
Surya closed his eyes.
"Who told you that?"
"His wife received a call."
"Don't believe it."
"Why not?"
"Because if Yusuf is still alive..."
Surya stopped.
"...then someone made a mistake."
"What mistake?"
Surya looked at Raka.
"Letting you find that recording."
Raka moved closer.
"Camera 6?"
Surya didn't answer.
"Who deleted it?"
Surya drew a breath.
"I did."
Dimas, standing behind Raka, immediately tensed.
"You?"
Surya nodded weakly.
"On whose orders?"
Surya closed his eyes.
"Someone higher up."
"Who?"
Surya didn't answer.
Raka repeated the question.
"Who?"
Surya opened his eyes.
"If I say his name, you won't solve this case."
"Why?"
"Because you'll become part of the case."
Raka stared at him.
"I've been part of this case since seven years ago."
Surya fell silent.
Then he said:
"Not yet."
Raka frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Only now."
The heart monitor began beeping faster.
Surya looked at Raka.
"The case didn't begin when Bastian was killed."
Raka held his breath.
"Then when?"
"Long before that."
"How long before?"
Surya laboriously raised a hand.
He pointed at Raka.
"Since someone chose you."
Raka didn't move.
"Chose me for what?"
Surya closed his eyes.
"To be its investigator."
The monitor beeped.
A doctor came in.
Raka stepped back.
Surya lost consciousness again.
At 1:14 a.m., Raka left the ICU.
Dimas was waiting.
"You heard all of that?"
"Yes."
"Surya said someone chose me."
Dimas nodded.
Raka looked at him.
"Do you know who?"
Dimas was silent for too long.
Raka noticed.
"You know."
"I only have a theory."
"Don't lie."
Dimas sighed.
"In 2019, before the Cakrawala case began, there was an internal investigation."
"About what?"
"Companies moving money through several accounts."
"Arman?"
"Arman was one of them."
"Who else?"
Dimas named several people.
Raka recognized two of them.
One was already dead.
The other had disappeared.
"Yusuf?"
"He wasn't part of the initial investigation."
"Then how did he get involved?"
Dimas looked at Raka.
"Because he found something in the warehouse."
"What?"
"A shipping manifest."
Raka frowned.
"Shipping what?"
"Goods."
"Ordinary goods?"
"According to the documents, yes."
"And in reality?"
Dimas shook his head.
"No one knows."
Raka looked at him.
"And Bastian?"
"He owned the warehouse."
"Arman?"
"An investor."
Raka felt the entire case beginning to form a pattern.
But one piece was still missing.
"The third person?"
Dimas answered quietly:
"Not someone who worked at the warehouse."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Raka stared at him.
"You know more than you're saying."
Dimas didn't deny it.
At 2:02 a.m., a car stopped in front of Lestari's house.
A man got out.
He didn't go straight to the door.
He stood in the rain.
Watching the house.
Then he took out his phone.
He called someone.
"He's already here."
The voice on the other end asked:
"Raka?"
"Yes."
"How did he react?"
"He believes Yusuf is still alive."
Silence.
Then the voice answered:
"Good."
The man stared at the window of Lestari's house.
"Should I go in?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because we're not finished."
The man was silent.
"Then what should I do?"
"Let Raka find Yusuf."
"What if he finds Yusuf?"
A quiet laugh came from the other end of the phone.
"He won't find Yusuf."
"Why not?"
"Because Yusuf was never the person we're looking for."
The call ended.
The man put his phone in his pocket.
He looked at the house one more time.
Then he left.
At 2:31 a.m., Raka returned to his house.
He didn't sleep.
All the documents were spread across the table.
Arman's photo.
Kirana's photo.
The Camera 6 recording.
Yusuf's notes.
The death certificate.
The hotel card.
Number 17.
Room 217.
218.
219.
He drew lines connecting them.
Then he stopped.
There was one thing he hadn't checked yet.
The evidence identifying Yusuf's body.
He enlarged the photo of the document.
The signature.
The hospital stamp.
The medical-record number.
Raka opened the old data.
The medical-record number didn't match Yusuf's patient number.
He checked again.
It was true.
The number was different.
Raka stood.
"The body wasn't Yusuf."
The sentence sounded strange when spoken aloud.
Yet all the clues were beginning to point in that direction.
He immediately called Dimas.
No answer.
He called again.
No answer.
Raka grabbed his jacket.
Then his phone rang.
It wasn't Dimas.
An unknown number.
A message came in.
YOU'VE FOUND THE FIRST MISTAKE.
Raka read it.
The next message appeared.
BUT DON'T LOOK FOR YUSUF.
Then a third message.
FIND THE PERSON WHO IDENTIFIED THE BODY.
Raka fell silent.
He looked at the document again.
Identification was performed by the family.
But Lestari said she had never gone there.
That meant someone had used her name.
Someone with access to the documents.
Someone who knew the hospital system.
Someone who knew Yusuf.
And perhaps—
someone who also knew Raka.
Raka reopened the identification file.
At the very bottom was a small code.
ID-17/CR/19.
Raka stared at the number.
17.
Cakrawala.
2019.
He understood now.
The number 17 wasn't just a date.
It wasn't a room number.
It wasn't a tattoo.
It was an internal code.
A code connecting every case.
Raka immediately opened the police archives and searched for the code.
The search results appeared.
Only one document.
Its title:
PROJECT 17.
Status:
CLOSED — CLASSIFIED.
Closing date:
November 16, 2019.
One day before the Cakrawala Warehouse fire.
Raka stared at the screen.
His chest felt heavy.
Because if Project 17 had been closed one day before Bastian died, then the fire wasn't the end of an investigation.
The fire may have been the very means of erasing something discovered the day before.
And now someone was forcing Raka to reopen it.
At 3:07 a.m., Raka received one final message.
"Tomorrow, come to Arcapura Station alone."
Below it was a photo.
A man stood on a platform.
His back was to the camera.
In his right hand was a silver ring with black stripes.
The caption beneath the photo read:
YUSUF IS WAITING FOR YOU.
Raka stared at the photo for a long time.
Then he enlarged the bottom of the image.
There was a reflection in the glass behind the man.
Someone's face was visible in it.
Raka recognized him immediately.
Not Yusuf.
Not Surya.
Not Dimas.
But a man Raka had believed had been dead for seven years.
Bastian Rahardjo.
Raka dropped his phone.
And for the first time, he truly didn't know which was more terrifying:
that Yusuf might still be alive,
or that Bastian might never have died.
END OF CHAPTER 6
Next in Chapter 7 — THE MAN ON THE PLATFORM
Raka arrived at Arcapura Station before sunrise.
He was sure he would meet Yusuf.
But the man waiting for him on the platform didn't introduce himself as Yusuf.
He simply handed over an envelope and said:
"If you want to know who died at the Cakrawala Warehouse that night, don't look for the body. Find the person who received money after his death."
Inside the envelope was a list of bank transactions.
The name of the final recipient left Raka stunned.
Raka Adhyatma.