Chapter 14 - LOCKER 731
Detective Ruiz refused to let me go to Union Station.
I went anyway.
Her compromise was that I traveled in an unmarked police vehicle with two detectives and no one told Evelyn, Victor, my board, or the press where we were going.
Martin came with me.
Linda stayed at the hotel under protection with Toby.
I hated leaving him, but Ruiz was right that bringing a three-year-old to a potentially compromised locker would be reckless even by the standards of the day.
The city looked offensively normal outside the car window.
People walked dogs.
Couples carried shopping bags.
A man ate a hot dog at a corner stand.
My life had become a conspiracy while everyone else was having Saturday afternoon.
Ruiz received a call from digital forensics during the drive.
The device beside my hotel bed was designed to facilitate data access between connected devices.
She refused to speculate beyond that until specialists completed examination.
The prescription bottle would be analyzed as well.
"Can you tell me if someone tampered with my medication?"
"Not yet."
"I took my pills this morning."
"How do you feel?"
"Angry."
Martin said, "That predates the pills."
I almost smiled.
Ruiz asked whether I had dizziness, unusual sleepiness, confusion, or other symptoms.
I did not.
"Then a doctor still checks you today," she said.
"After the locker."
"Before if I decide so."
"You and my sister would get along."
"I already like her."
Union Station was crowded.
Ruiz coordinated with transit police before we entered the locker area.
Locker 731 sat near the far end of an older bank of metal doors.
It was closed.
No visible damage.
No one waited nearby.
Ruiz photographed it.
Then she looked at me.
"We do not have the key."
"Correct."
"Which means we need lawful access from station management."
"Correct."
"Which takes time."
"Then take it."
Martin stared at me.
"You are being unusually reasonable."
"Do not become attached to it."
Management arrived with records.
Locker 731 had been rented six weeks earlier under the name David Morris.
The payment card was prepaid.
Security footage around the rental terminal had already expired under routine retention.
The manager used a master procedure to open the compartment under police supervision.
The door swung outward.
Empty.
I stared into the dark metal box.
Nothing.
No server.
No documents.
No note.
Not even dust disturbed enough to tell us what had been there.
Victor had the key.
He had beaten us.
Martin swore under his breath.
Ruiz inspected the interior.
"Do not assume the key was used."
"The locker is empty."
"Maybe it was always empty."
"Then why hide the key?"
"Maybe 731 means something else."
I thought of Toby.
Mommy said key has number.
He had not said locker.
Linda had assumed locker because 731 meant something to her.
"Why did Linda recognize it?"
Ruiz called her.
Linda answered immediately.
"Locker 731 was ours."
"Ours how?" I asked.
"David and I used it years ago when we were afraid Victor was searching our apartment."
"Did you rent it again?"
"No."
"Then how did David know it was available?"
"I don't know."
Ruiz asked, "What did you store in it years ago?"
Linda hesitated.
"Copies of foundation records."
"What happened to them?"
"Gone when we checked after Rachel supposedly died."
I stared at the empty locker.
Same number.
Same place.
A circle repeating six years later.
"David wanted someone to come here," I said.
Martin frowned.
"Why?"
I looked around.
"Not for what is inside."
Ruiz followed my gaze.
"For what can be seen from here."
Across the corridor stood a row of advertisement panels.
A coffee kiosk.
A map.
A bank of security cameras.
Nothing obvious.
Then I saw a brass plaque mounted above the old lockers.
Renovation funded by the Caroline Vance Foundation.
My throat tightened.
Caroline had funded the station's family assistance renovation seven years earlier.
I had attended the dedication.
She had insisted on preserving the old locker wall because it had historical value.
"This was Caroline's project."
Martin looked at the plaque.
"So?"
"She knew this place."
I examined locker 731 more carefully.
The interior back wall had scratches around one screw.
Ruiz stopped me before I touched it.
A transit maintenance employee removed the panel under supervision.
Behind it was a shallow cavity.
Inside lay a small waterproof envelope.
Victor had opened the locker but had not found the hidden compartment.
Or he had never reached it.
Ruiz removed the envelope with gloves.
Inside were two items.
A memory card.
And a handwritten note.
The note was from David Marlowe.
Thomas,
If you are reading this, Genevieve trusted the right person.
The card is not the evidence.
It is a map to the evidence.
Do not put it in a networked computer.
Ask Frank what "Northlight" means.
If Frank is missing, ask Caroline.
D.M.
I read the final sentence twice.
"Ask Caroline?"
Martin looked at me.
"A dead woman is becoming annoyingly central to your weekend."
"She always did like organizing people."
Ruiz bagged the card.
"No one uses this until forensics makes a copy."
"Agreed."
"That was too easy."
I looked at her.
"You want me to argue?"
"I am concerned you are learning restraint."
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
One photograph.
Frank Dalton sat tied to a chair in a windowless room.
A newspaper from that morning lay on his lap.
Text beneath the image read:
YOU FOUND THE WRONG LOCKER.
A second message arrived.
BRING THE USB TO THE LIBRARY AT 5:30.
COME ALONE OR FRANK STOPS TALKING FOREVER.
Ruiz read it.
"You are not going alone."
"Obviously."
"And you are not bringing the original USB."
"Obviously."
Martin stared at both of us.
"I preferred it when you disagreed."
Then a third message appeared.
This one was different.
It contained a photograph of Genevieve asleep in her hospital bed.
Taken from inside the room.
The secure room no visitor was supposed to enter.
Under the photograph were four words.
May you like
WE ARE ALREADY INSIDE.
