Chapter 16 - THE NIGHT THE RECORDS BURNED
The fire looked enormous on television.
In reality, investigators later said the flames were contained to one records room and part of a corridor.
No one was seriously injured.
Two evidence technicians were treated for smoke exposure.
The sprinkler system saved most of the building.
But the room containing the newly recovered North Pier files suffered heavy damage.
I stood behind a police barrier with Rachel, watching firefighters carry blackened archive boxes through the loading bay.
Dad arrived in his own car because he was still on leave.
No uniform.
No official authority.
He stopped beside me.
"Camille knew."
"Or she knew someone planned something."
"Same difference."
Dad shook his head.
"Not in court."
Even now.
Even with smoke rising behind him.
He refused to say more than evidence allowed.
Nina Patel walked toward us wearing a yellow scene vest.
"The fire marshal believes the ignition was deliberate."
"What did we lose?"
Dad asked.
"Too early to say."
"The Finch declaration?"
"Digital certified copies exist in multiple systems."
"The old Pike file?"
"The carbon ledger is safe elsewhere."
I exhaled.
"Then why burn this room?"
Patel looked toward the building.
"Maybe the person who set it did not know what had already been copied."
"Or they were looking for something specific,"
Dad said.
Patel nodded.
That possibility became more important thirty minutes later.
A technician found an empty evidence shelf inside the damaged room.
The shelf had held one recently recovered box from the municipal archives.
It was labeled GREER, THOMAS - NORTH PIER INSPECTION.
The missing city inspector.
The box was gone before the fire reached the shelf.
"Someone took it,"
I said.
Patel did not disagree.
"We are checking access logs."
The facility used temporary badges issued only to authorized state staff, fire inspectors, and two police liaisons.
One badge entered at 8:47 p.m.
It belonged to Camille Price.
She had no reason to be there.
Camera footage showed a woman in a hooded coat entering through the side door.
The image quality was poor.
Her height and build matched Camille.
At 9:03, the same figure left carrying a document box.
At 9:11, smoke alarms activated.
"Find her,"
Dad said.
Patel looked at him.
"We are."
"She may be in danger."
I turned toward him.
"After this?"
"Especially after this."
He looked at me.
"People who help Preston do not become safer when they stop being useful."
I remembered Rosa.
Maya.
Claire.
Finch.
Dad was right.
At midnight, Camille's husband received a text from her phone.
I AM SORRY.
The phone then went dark near the marina district.
By 1:00 a.m., officers were searching parking structures and waterfront lots.
At 1:26, Camille walked into a twenty-four-hour urgent care clinic three miles inland.
Her left hand was burned.
She asked a nurse to call Nina Patel.
By 2:15, Camille was in a secure interview room with an attorney.
Camille asked to speak to Dad for less than a minute before the formal interview began.
Patel refused at first.
Dad supported the refusal.
Then Camille's attorney requested that she be allowed to make a non-investigative personal statement with everyone present.
Patel agreed.
Camille stood on the other side of the hallway glass.
Her burned hand was wrapped in white gauze.
She looked nothing like the efficient woman who had organized Dad's schedule.
"Chief, I'm sorry."
Dad did not answer immediately.
"Why?"
Camille began crying.
"My husband owed money."
"Pike said Vale could keep his company alive."
"And you sold my schedule."
"At first, yes."
"Then device access."
She nodded.
"He said it was political intelligence."
Dad's voice stayed level.
"You knew that was wrong."
"Yes."
"Did you know Emma's fake report existed?"
Camille shook her head quickly.
"No."
"Did you know Rosa was being watched?"
"No."
"Did you know the hotel cameras would be disabled?"
She looked down.
"I knew Pike asked whether the chief would be at the gala."
Dad's face changed.
"What did you tell him?"
"That you had declined the invitation."
The room went cold.
Preston had known Dad was not expected at Crystal Harbor.
That made the eight-minute blind spot even more deliberate.
Dad had entered only because I called.
Camille wiped her face with her good hand.
"Pike said nobody was supposed to get hurt."
Dad's answer was quiet.
"People who sell access do not get to choose what the buyer does with it."
Camille flinched.
So did I.
It was harsh.
It was also true.
She did not deny taking the Greer box.
She did not deny entering the evidence facility.
She denied setting the fire.
Most importantly, she asked for protection.
I was not allowed inside the interview.
Dad was not allowed inside either.
We waited in a hallway while Patel questioned the woman who had managed Dad's most confidential schedule.
At 4:10, Patel emerged.
Her expression was exhausted.
"She is cooperating."
Dad stood.
"Was she working for Pike?"
"Yes."
The word hurt him visibly.
"How long?"
"At least a year."
"Why?"
"Her husband's consulting company was failing."
"Pike introduced him to Vale contractors and paid their debts."
"In exchange for information."
"At first, calendars and meeting topics."
Patel looked at me.
"Later, device access."
The eighteen-thousand-dollar entry.
"Did she install the profile on Bell's phone?"
"She authorized an executive support ticket that allowed a compromised technician to do it."
"Was the technician working for Pike too?"
"We are locating him now."
Dad sat down slowly.
"Why take the Greer box?"
Patel opened a notebook.
"Pike told her there was one page inside that could destroy several people."
"What page?"
"An inspection photograph from twenty-one years ago."
My skin prickled.
"Of what?"
"She says she did not look closely."
"Where is the box?"
Patel's jaw tightened.
"She gave it to a man in the marina parking lot."
"Who?"
"She never saw his face."
"Pike?"
"She thinks it was one of Pike's security contacts."
"And the fire?"
"According to Camille, she smelled smoke as she was leaving."
Dad looked skeptical.
"Convenient."
"Yes."
"Do you believe her?"
Patel gave him a familiar look.
"Belief is not evidence."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Dad had finally infected everyone.
Patel continued.
"Camille gave us something else."
"What?"
"A list of dead drops and meeting locations Pike used."
"Anything current?"
"One."
She looked at me.
"Crystal Harbor Hotel."
My stomach tightened.
"Where?"
"Wine vault."
"Locker 314."
The empty locker.
The silver key.
"What was in the metal case?"
"Camille says Pike stored what he called insurance there."
"Against Preston?"
"Against everyone."
"Where did Reed take it?"
Patel paused.
"Camille says Reed never took the case."
I stared at her.
"Maya saw him take the key."
"The key was not for opening the locker."
"Then what was it for?"
"A marina lockbox attached to Pike's boat slip."
The hotel locker number and the marina box number were the same.
A simple misdirection.
Patel had already secured a warrant.
At dawn, investigators opened the marina lockbox.
Inside were three storage keys, an old encrypted phone, and a handwritten notebook.
The notebook contained dates and initials spanning more than twenty years.
One page was marked GREER.
Another was marked LEAH.
Another was marked CARTER.
And near the back, one page was marked EMMA.
My name.
Patel would not let me read the notebook immediately.
It had to be processed.
By afternoon, she returned with a summary.
"Pike tracked incidents for leverage."
"What does my page say?"
Patel hesitated.
"It begins seven years ago."
The year I met Preston.
"Read it."
"Emma Carter employed at Benton Ridge Investments."
My chest tightened.
"Next."
"P.V. contact successful."
I closed my eyes.
Contact successful.
That was how my first date looked in their records.
Not love.
Not luck.
Contact.
"Keep going."
"Target trusts father."
"Isolate gradually."
Rachel cursed under her breath.
My stomach turned.
"Next."
Patel's voice softened.
"Marriage completed."
"North Pier access pending."
For several seconds, I heard nothing.
The entire first year of my marriage compressed into four words.
North Pier access pending.
"He planned all of it."
"The notes strongly suggest Pike was tracking Preston's efforts."
"Preston knew?"
"We need more evidence before saying who wrote each instruction."
I stared at her.
"Is there anything about Leah?"
Patel became very still.
"Yes."
"What?"
"The Leah page has one line dated the night she disappeared."
"Read it."
Patel looked at Dad.
Then at me.
"L.M. removed from vessel before Coast Guard call."
Claire stood so quickly her chair fell backward.
She had joined us for the notebook review.
"Removed?"
Her face lost all color.
"What does removed mean?"
Patel shook her head.
"We do not know."
Claire gripped the table.
"Does it say body?"
"Hospital?"
"Anything?"
"No."
"Then she might not have gone into the water."
No one answered.
Claire began to cry.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
She covered her mouth and stared at the page summary.
For nine years, she had believed Leah disappeared into the Pacific Ocean.
Now Warren Pike's own notebook suggested someone took Leah off the boat before anyone reported her missing.
May you like
The greatest secret in the case might not be how Leah died.
It might be that she never died at all.
