Gerald Pike’s public life looked immaculate.
That was the first thing Harris said after investigators began pulling records.
Retired insurance executive.
Charity board member.
Hospital donor.
Widower.
Two adult daughters.
Photographs at fundraising dinners.
Awards for civic service.
Nothing about him suggested a man who had once stood beside a body at Red Creek and proposed using an eight-year-old child as cover.
Bentley studied one newspaper photograph.
“He looks normal.”
“So did Travis from across the street,” I said.
That answer seemed to satisfy him more than reassurance would have.
Chicago authorities visited Pike’s listed residence.
Nobody home.
Housekeeper said he had left three days earlier.
Destination unknown.
Of course.
Another disappearing man.
But Pike had one disadvantage Raymond and Voss had not.
He did not yet know investigators possessed Samuel’s recording.
At least we hoped he didn’t.
Harris kept the discovery restricted.
No press.
No broad departmental circulation.
Only state investigators, federal contacts, and a small trusted group.
Sheriff Brenner remained missing.
His connection made every information channel suspect.
Amber was told about Pike.
Her face changed the moment she saw his photograph.
“I’ve seen him.”
“When?” Harris asked.
“Once.”
“Where?”
“Travis’s office.”
“How long ago?”
“Six years.”
“Did Travis introduce him?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Pike came in while I was doing invoices.”
“Did he recognize you?”
Amber thought.
“He stared.”
“Did he speak?”
“He asked Travis my maiden name.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did Travis say?”
“Collins.”
“And Pike?”
“He dropped his coffee.”
That detail mattered.
Pike knew the Collins name because Samuel had been the child used in the Red Creek cover-up.
Perhaps he realized Amber was Raymond’s daughter.
Perhaps he wondered how much she knew.
“Did you ask Travis about him later?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“Old insurance guy.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Raymond?”
“No.”
Amber frowned at the photograph.
“I didn’t know then.”
Harris asked, “Did Pike ever contact you?”
Amber’s expression changed.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“There were emails.”
“What emails?”
“When I first started copying records, somebody sent messages telling me to stop.”
“Anonymous?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“Things about Bentley.”
Bentley looked up sharply.
Amber immediately regretted saying it in front of him.
Too late.
“What things?”
He asked.
“Nothing specific.”
“Mom.”
Amber exhaled.
“One said, ‘Children need mothers who know when to stop asking questions.’”
Bentley stared at the table.
“How old was I?”
“Four.”
The threat had begun years earlier.
Before the duplex.
Before Maddie.
Before Travis rediscovered Amber’s address.
“Did you save the emails?” Harris asked.
“Some.”
“Where?”
“Old account.”
Federal technicians began recovering them.
The messages originated through anonymizing services.
But one contained an attached document.
A scanned insurance memorandum.
Author metadata survived.
GPIKE.
Not proof by itself.
Combined with Samuel’s recording, it became meaningful.
Pike had likely been threatening Amber years before she knew his history.
Bentley opened his blue notebook.
Under WHAT PEOPLE SAID he wrote:
TRAVIS WAS THE ONE AFTER MOM.
Under WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED:
MORE THAN ONE PERSON WAS AFTER HER.
He underlined it twice.
By afternoon, investigators found Samuel’s movements six months earlier.
A rental car under an alias.
Indianapolis hotel.
Gas purchase near Muncie.
One traffic camera image.
Samuel driving east.
“He came back here,” Bentley said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Harris looked toward the garage.
“Probably the recording.”
But the recording had already been hidden there years earlier.
So why return?
Samuel’s flash drive answered.
A journal entry dated six months ago:
RAY CALLED ME BEFORE HE DIED.
My heart stopped.
“Ray called Samuel?”
Harris nodded.
“What did it say?”
Another entry.
RAY SAYS SOMEONE HAS BEEN ASKING ABOUT THE OLD MAIL AGAIN.
Date.
Three years earlier.
Weeks before Ray’s death.
I sat down.
Ray had never told me.
“Did he know Samuel’s number?”
“Apparently.”
Another line:
HE THINKS NORTHLINE PUT SOMETHING ON THE PROPERTY.
The listening device.
Ray suspected surveillance before he died.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
Doug looked at me.
“Maybe he was trying to protect you.”
I stared at him.
Bentley said quietly, “That word again.”
Nobody argued.
Samuel wrote that he returned after Ray’s death because contact had gone silent and he feared the evidence was exposed.
He checked the garage.
The ammunition box remained untouched.
Then he discovered the landline transmitter.
He did not remove it.
“He left it?” Doug asked.
Harris nodded.
“Why?”
Samuel explained:
IF I REMOVE IT, THEY KNOW I FOUND IT.
I WANT THEM TO THINK RAY DIED WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE.
A chilling sentence followed:
ARLENE DOESN’T KNOW. KEEP IT THAT WAY UNTIL I KNOW WHO IS LISTENING.
I felt anger before gratitude.
Samuel had made decisions about my safety without me.
Another man choosing ignorance for me because he believed it protective.
Bentley watched my face.
“You can be mad.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
We had learned that rule together.
Samuel’s journal continued.
He came to the duplex at night twice.
Observed Amber living next door.
Recognized her.
Did not approach.
Why?
Because he knew Amber was Raymond’s daughter.
His niece.
Or rather his younger sister.
Wait—Samuel is Amber's brother. Right.
He saw his sister after decades.
And stayed hidden.
The entry said:
AMBER HAS CHILDREN. SHE LOOKS TIRED. SHE LOOKS LIKE ELAINE.
I STOOD ACROSS THE STREET FOR TWENTY MINUTES AND COULDN’T WALK OVER.
Bentley read it.
“He saw us?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he come?”
Another line answered.
IF SHE THINKS I’M DEAD, MY RETURN COULD BRING EVERYONE BACK TO HER.
Bentley shook his head.
“He was scared too.”
“Yes.”
Samuel later tracked a Northline vehicle.
It led not to Voss.
To Gerald Pike.
That was when Samuel realized the surveillance network predated Amber and continued independently of Voss’s current operation.
Pike had preserved his own cleanup mechanism.
Mercer worked for Voss.
But some Northline contracts were funded through Pike-controlled entities.
Different clients using overlapping people.
That explained why even Voss told Amber he was not the one watching her house.
He had been telling the truth.
At least about that.
Samuel followed Pike.
Pike noticed.
They met.
“He offered money first,” I remembered.
Harris nodded.
Samuel’s journal described the meeting.
Pike offered two million dollars.
Samuel refused.
Then Pike offered a warning.
“Which was?”
Harris read it.
MICHAEL HAS A LIFE. ELAINE HAS A LIFE. AMBER HAS CHILDREN. YOU CAN DESTROY ALL OF THAT BY TRYING TO FIX WHAT CANNOT BE FIXED.
Bentley’s face hardened.
“He threatened everybody.”
“Yes.”
“What did Samuel do?”
“He told Pike he had copies.”
“Good.”
Harris almost smiled.
Samuel then sent Michael a message saying he had found the final piece.
The Red Creek audio.
But Samuel had already possessed it.
“What final piece?” Doug asked.
“That bothered us too.”
Technicians examined the ammunition box again.
Three cassette tapes.
Only one digitized so far.
The second tape contained ordinary conversations from Red Creek.
Financial discussions.
Names.
Dates.
The third contained something unexpected.
Raymond and Pike.
Years after Garner’s death.
Raymond said, “Samuel is alive. That means you leave Elaine alone.”
Pike replied, “That was never the deal.”
Raymond: “It is now.”
Pike: “You don’t make deals.”
Raymond: “I made your entire accounting structure.”
Pike laughed.
Then said:
“Frederick thinks he runs this. Let him.”
Harris paused the tape.
Everybody stared.
Pike was not simply helping Voss.
He considered Voss useful cover.
The fraud organization had layers.
Voss handled companies.
Raymond built accounting structures.
Brenner protected locally.
Pike connected insurance money and higher-level approvals.
When schemes failed, Voss attracted attention.
Pike stayed respectable.
“Samuel’s final piece,” Harris said, “may have been proving Pike remained above Voss.”
That changed the criminal hierarchy.
Bentley wrote another line.
PEOPLE SAID VOSS WAS THE TOP.
ACTUALLY PIKE USED VOSS TOO.
The tape continued.
Raymond asked Pike, “What happens when Frederick becomes inconvenient?”
Pike answered:
“The same thing that happens to everyone inconvenient.”
Garner.
Samuel.
Michael.
Witnesses.
Maybe eventually Voss.
This recording was made fifteen years ago.
Pike’s method had remained consistent.
Harris received a call.
Chicago investigators found financial activity.
Pike used a card that morning.
Indiana.
Gas station near Lafayette.
He was coming back.
Or had never gone far.
“Why?” Doug asked.
Harris looked toward the garage.
“The evidence.”
Bentley shook his head.
“He doesn’t know we found it.”
“Maybe he suspects.”
“What else does he want?”
That question led us back to Samuel.
If Pike knew Samuel returned six months earlier, and Samuel then disappeared, Pike might believe Samuel left something else in Indiana.
Something beyond the recordings.
Samuel’s journal contained one final encrypted file.
Technicians opened it near evening.
A short note.
PIKE DOES NOT KNOW I FOUND GARNER.
Harris frowned.
“Garner?”
“Lewis Garner is dead.”
“Body,” Martinez said through the speaker.
Everyone looked at him.
“The body was never found.”
The original contractor.
The murder victim.
Pike and Voss had hidden his remains.
No body meant the murder case had always been difficult to prove even if witnesses emerged.
Samuel’s note continued:
RAYMOND TOLD ME THE BODY WAS MOVED TWICE.
FIRST FROM RED CREEK.
SECOND IN 2009.
PIKE THINKS ONLY BRENNER KNOWS THE FINAL LOCATION.
HE’S WRONG.
I KNOW.
Harris looked up.
There it was.
The final piece.
Not another financial ledger.
Not another recording.
A body.
Physical proof that Lewis Garner was murdered.
“Where?” I asked.
Samuel’s file contained only a phrase.
WHERE WATER STOPPED BUT THE MILL KEPT TURNING.
Bentley whispered, “Another clue.”
Doug looked exhausted.
“Can’t anyone in this family write an address?”
I thought of old mills.
Water stopped.
Mill kept turning.
Industrial conversion.
Martinez said, “Voss owned an old hydro mill.”
“Where?”
“White River.”
“Still operating?”
“Converted to electric power years ago.”
Harris stood.
“Address?”
Martinez gave it.
Then Bentley looked at the photograph of Gerald Pike.
“Why is Pike coming back now?”
No one answered.
He pointed toward Samuel’s note.
“Maybe he knows Brenner ran.”
That made sense.
Brenner had been the only person Pike believed knew the body’s final location.
Now Brenner was missing.
Pike might fear the secret would surface.
Or he might be trying to reach the body first.
Harris’s phone rang again.
State police.
A vehicle registered to Pike had been captured by a highway camera.
Direction east.
Toward Muncie.
Toward us.
And toward the old White River mill.
Click here to continue reading: PART 23: Police Reached the White River Mill Before Pike, but What They Found Beneath the Turbine Room Proved Someone Had Been There First
Every Morning at 7:10, Bentley Knocked on My Door With the Same Polite Request and a Different Excuse
Part 22 of 40
