The safe house stood in a quiet residential neighborhood where identical townhouses faced a narrow park. Nothing about the building suggested police protection. That was the point.
Victoria arrived with Captain Morris shortly before dawn.
The front door was open.
A crime-scene technician photographed the lock.
“No forced entry,” Morris said.
Victoria looked at the frame.
“Someone had access.”
“Or Sarah opened it.”
They stepped inside.
The living room appeared undisturbed. A blanket lay folded over the couch. A mug stood on the coffee table beside a paperback novel. The television was off.
Victoria touched the mug carefully.
Cold.
“How long?”
“Officer Nash checked in at 1:12 a.m.,” Morris said. “At 2:06, dispatch couldn’t reach him. Patrol arrived at 2:19.”
“Where was he found?”
“Kitchen.”
They moved down the hall.
Officer Peter Nash sat awake now on a chair while paramedics examined him. A bandage covered the back of his head. He looked embarrassed more than injured.
Victoria crouched in front of him.
“What do you remember?”
“Someone knocked.”
“Front door?”
“Back.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t see at first.”
“What did they say?”
“Nothing.”
Victoria waited.
Nash rubbed his temple.
“I checked the camera.”
“And?”
“A woman.”
Morris and Victoria exchanged a glance.
“Describe her.”
“Maybe fifties. Gray coat. Dark hair.”
“Did you recognize her?”
“No.”
“Why open the door?”
Nash looked uncomfortable.
“She had credentials.”
“What credentials?”
“State prosecutor’s office.”
Morris’s face tightened.
“Name?”
Nash closed his eyes, trying to remember.
“Marianne… something.”
Victoria felt a flicker of recognition.
“Vale?”
His eyes opened.
“Yes.”
Captain Morris stared at Victoria.
“You know her?”
Victoria did.
Everyone in serious internal investigations knew Marianne Vale.
She was the state’s senior deputy attorney general for public integrity.
A prosecutor whose career had been built on corruption cases.
A woman Victoria had trusted sensitive evidence to twice.
“That’s impossible,” Morris said.
Victoria did not answer.
Nash continued.
“She said there was an immediate transfer order. Claimed the safe house was compromised.”
“Did she show documentation?”
“On a tablet.”
“You read it?”
“I saw the header and authorization code.”
“Did you verify it?”
Nash looked down.
“No.”
Morris exhaled sharply.
Victoria held up a hand.
“What happened next?”
“I let her in. She asked where Sarah was.”
“You told her?”
“I took her down the hall.”
“Then?”
“She said she needed to speak with Sarah alone.”
Victoria’s voice became quieter.
“You left them together?”
“For maybe a minute.”
“And?”
“I heard something fall in the kitchen. When I went back, somebody hit me.”
“Did you see who?”
“No.”
Victoria stood.
“Where is the second officer?”
“Still missing,” Morris said.
Victoria walked toward the bedroom.
The bed was empty.
A small overnight bag sat open on the floor. Sarah’s clothes remained inside.
“She didn’t leave willingly,” Morris said.
“Probably not.”
Victoria opened the closet.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a strip of white paper protruding from beneath the nightstand.
She crouched.
The paper was folded tightly.
With gloves, she opened it.
Two words.
ASK DANIEL.
Morris read over her shoulder.
“Sarah wrote that?”
Victoria examined the paper.
“Maybe.”
“You think it was planted?”
“I think everything in this house could have been planted.”
Morris stood.
“What would Daniel know?”
Victoria folded the note into an evidence sleeve.
“Something he hasn’t told us.”
They returned to the clinic.
Daniel was no longer in the examination room.
Victoria stopped in the doorway.
The bed was empty.
Morris swore.
A nurse approached.
“Where is he?”
“He said you told him he could leave.”
Victoria’s voice sharpened.
“I said no such thing.”
The nurse’s face paled.
“He showed me a message.”
“From what number?”
“I don’t know.”
Victoria turned to Morris.
“They’re moving everyone.”
“Voss?”
“Maybe.”
Victoria checked her phone.
No message from Daniel.
Then she saw something on the examination tray.
A torn piece of gauze.
A phone number had been written across it.
Victoria dialed.
Daniel answered on the second ring.
“Don’t hang up.”
“Where are you?”
“Moving.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Sarah is gone.”
“I know.”
Victoria stopped.
“How?”
“She called me.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“What did she say?”
“Three words.”
Victoria waited.
“Northstar found me.”
Morris heard through the speaker.
Victoria moved into the corridor.
“Daniel, come back.”
“No.”
“You’re injured.”
“She’ll die.”
“You don’t know where she is.”
“I know where she’d go.”
Victoria’s attention sharpened.
“Where?”
Daniel was silent.
“Ask Daniel,” Victoria said.
He stopped breathing for a beat.
“How did you—”
“Sarah left a note.”
“No.”
Victoria frowned.
“What?”
“She wouldn’t leave that.”
“Why?”
“Because she knows what it means.”
“Then tell me.”
Daniel’s voice changed.
“You need to get out of the clinic.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
Victoria looked toward Morris.
“Daniel—”
The line went dead.
A fire alarm began screaming.
Victoria froze.
Morris drew her weapon.
“Evacuate.”
Nurses opened doors. Patients emerged in confusion.
Victoria moved toward the stairwell instead of the main exit.
Smoke seeped beneath the door.
“Real fire,” Morris said.
A deep boom shook the building.
Lights flickered.
Victoria grabbed the rail.
“Records room.”
“What?”
“The explosion came from below.”
They descended one flight.
Smoke thickened.
Morris pulled her sleeve over her mouth.
At the lower landing, flames crawled along the corridor leading toward administrative offices.
A security guard staggered toward them.
“Back!”
Victoria caught him.
“What happened?”
“Storage room.”
“What storage?”
“Patient records.”
Victoria looked at Morris.
Daniel’s records.
Any medical documentation proving he had been found alive.
Any chain connecting him to tonight’s events.
Someone was erasing evidence.
Again.
They retreated upstairs as firefighters entered.
Outside, Victoria stood beneath emergency lights while smoke poured from a lower window.
Her phone rang.
Marianne Vale.
Victoria stared at the name.
Morris saw it.
“Answer.”
Victoria did.
“Marianne.”
The prosecutor sounded breathless.
“Victoria, where are you?”
“Why?”
“Because someone is using my credentials.”
Victoria said nothing.
Vale continued.
“I just received notice that my authorization was used to remove a protected witness.”
“When did you learn?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Where are you?”
“My office.”
“Prove it.”
Silence.
Then Vale said, “Check the building security system. I entered at 11:42 p.m. and haven’t left.”
Victoria looked at Morris.
“Stay there.”
“Victoria, listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“I think this is connected to Adrian Voss.”
“You think?”
“I’ve been investigating him.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed.
“For how long?”
“Seven months.”
That was longer than Victoria’s own investigation.
“And you never told Internal Oversight.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because your unit was compromised.”
Victoria felt the ground shift beneath her again.
“By whom?”
Vale hesitated.
“Your director.”
Victoria said nothing.
Her director was James Rourke.
The man who had assigned Victoria to the complaint review.
The man who had encouraged her to follow every lead.
The man who knew where she went, what records she requested and which witnesses she interviewed.
Victoria looked toward the burning clinic.
“James Rourke?”
“Yes.”
“What evidence?”
“I’ll show you.”
“Tell me now.”
“I can’t safely do that over the phone.”
“Convenient.”
“Victoria.”
Her voice became urgent.
“Do not contact Rourke.”
The line clicked.
Another call was coming in.
James Rourke.
Victoria stared at the screen.
Morris whispered, “That timing is not good.”
Victoria switched calls.
“Rourke.”
His voice was calm.
“Victoria, where are you?”
She looked at the flames.
“Why?”
“Because Marianne Vale just abducted Sarah Bennett.”
Victoria’s face became still.
Rourke continued.
“She’s compromised.”
Victoria looked at Morris.
Two senior officials.
Each accusing the other.
Each calling within seconds.
“Who told you?”
“I have evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“I’ll show you in person.”
Victoria almost laughed.
Same wording.
“Where?”
“My office.”
“Stay there.”
“Victoria, don’t contact Vale.”
She ended the call.
Morris looked at her.
“Well?”
Victoria slid the phone into her pocket.
“Everybody wants me to meet privately.”
“That sounds healthy.”
Victoria looked toward the road.
A dark sedan had stopped across from the clinic.
Its headlights were off.
The driver’s door opened.
Daniel stepped out.
He was limping badly.
Victoria walked toward him.
“You left against my order.”
“You’re not my doctor.”
“You’re also terrible at disappearing.”
Daniel came closer.
“I found something.”
“What?”
He held out an old photograph.
Victoria took it.
Five people stood outside a charity banquet roughly fifteen years earlier.
Adrian Voss.
James Rourke.
Marianne Vale.
Martin Shaw.
And a woman Victoria did not recognize.
Daniel pointed to the unknown woman.
“That’s Eleanor Kessler.”
“Who is she?”
Daniel looked toward the burning clinic.
“Sarah’s mother.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: An Old Photograph Connected Every Powerful Name in the Case, but Sarah’s Mother Had Supposedly Been Dead for Twelve Years
The Officers Chose a Woman Driving Alone, Never Realizing She Had Spent Months Studying Their Unit
Part 7 of 28
