Chapter 3 - The Wrong QuestionsGraham had been investigating the motorcycle robberies for eleven weeks.
Officially.
Unofficially, longer.
The first case that bothered him involved a twenty-six-year-old mechanic named Elias Dunn.
Elias disappeared after leaving his shop on a customized Triumph.
His mother reported him missing.
Two days later, police found him at a roadside motel in Massachusetts.
Alive.
Terrified.
He claimed he did not remember much.
Graham never believed that.
Not because Elias lied badly.
Because he was too specific about what he supposedly forgot.
“I don’t remember faces.”
“I don’t remember the road.”
“I don’t remember where they took the motorcycle.”
But when Graham asked whether the thieves used his phone—
Elias’s breathing changed.
Later, alone, Elias admitted they forced him to unlock a crypto wallet.
Forty-three thousand dollars disappeared.
“Why didn’t you tell responding officers?”
Elias looked ashamed.
“They said they knew where my mother lived.”
That changed the case.
Random thieves stole objects.
Organized crews collected leverage.
Then two more victims reported similar threats.
Someone already knew family names.
Workplaces.
Vehicles.
Travel patterns.
Graham started asking where the information came from.
DMV?
Insurance companies?
Repair shops?
Social media?
Police databases?
That last possibility made supervisors uncomfortable.
Graham kept asking anyway.
Now someone had tried to rob him.
Or scare him.
Maybe kill the investigation.
Keene stood beside the map.
“Who knew you were using the Ducati?”
“Eight people.”
“Name them.”
Graham did.
Keene.
Lieutenant Nolan Price.
Evidence custodian Rick Harmon.
Task-force analyst Simone Bell.
Two surveillance officers.
Assistant State’s Attorney Joel March.
And Commander Evelyn Ross.
Eight.
Too many.
But manageable.
“Who knew the exact departure time?”
“Price.”
“Ross.”
“Maybe Simone if she checked operation logs.”
“And me.”
Graham nodded.
Keene leaned against the table.
“You understand what this means.”
“Yes.”
“We investigate our own.”
“Yes.”
“And we tell almost nobody.”
Graham looked toward the interview wing.
“Not even Veda?”
“Especially not Veda.”
He disagreed.
“Eventually we need her.”
Keene raised an eyebrow.
“She just tried to take your motorcycle with four men.”
“She knows Shepherd.”
“She knows a screen name.”
“She knows how jobs arrive.”
“Enough.”
Keene watched him.
“You want to flip her.”
“I want to understand why Shepherd left her exposed.”
“What makes you think he did?”
“The arrest alert leaked seven minutes early.”
“Maybe she didn’t see it.”
“No.”
Graham shook his head.
“Toby said she checked her phone right before I arrived.”
Keene looked toward interview room.
“If a warning went out…”
“And Veda didn’t get it.”
“Someone wanted the crew arrested.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Cleanup.”
The word hung there.
If the ring had grown dangerous to whoever leaked police information, sacrificing one crew could protect the larger structure.
Maybe Shepherd intentionally sent Veda toward Graham knowing the task force would catch them.
Maybe the operation itself was manipulated.
Keene said:
“Then why target you?”
“To make it look organic.”
“Or to send a message.”
“Yes.”
They reviewed Graham’s recent inquiries.
Three weeks ago, he requested access logs for searches involving robbery victims.
Denied.
Reason: insufficient nexus.
Two weeks ago, he discovered three victims had been searched inside a state law-enforcement intelligence system before their robberies.
Different credentials.
Different departments.
Same pattern.
Someone looked them up within forty-eight hours of attack.
Graham wrote a confidential memo.
Only four people received it.
Keene.
Price.
Ross.
March.
Then, yesterday, Graham requested historical audit data covering Lieutenant Price’s unit.
Keene stared.
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I was going to.”
“Why Price?”
“Two searches originated from terminals assigned to his command area.”
“That is not him.”
“I know.”
“But you asked.”
“Yes.”
“And today Shepherd targeted you.”
Graham looked at her.
The timing was ugly.
Keene said:
“We still don’t accuse Price.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
Then Simone Bell entered.
Task-force analyst.
Thirty-four.
Brilliant.
Blunt.
She carried three tablets.
“I have the burner-phone extraction.”
“Already?”
“Veda’s lock was weak.”
Graham almost smiled.
Simone put the screen on table.
No contact saved as Shepherd.
Instead, one encrypted messaging app.
Account name:
SHEPHERD_11.
Recent message:
TARGET: DUCATI V4.
LOCATION WINDOW ATTACHED.
RIDER: G. MERCER.
Keene swore.
Graham stared.
His full surname.
No ambiguity.
Then another line:
DO NOT DAMAGE RIDER UNLESS NECESSARY.
That was interesting.
They did not want him dead.
At least not initially.
Another:
OBTAIN PHONE.
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: DEVICE.
Graham’s pulse changed.
“The motorcycle was secondary.”
Simone nodded.
“They wanted your phone.”
Why?
His phone contained task-force messages.
Case notes.
Contacts.
But sensitive files were protected.
Unless someone wanted to know what Graham had uncovered.
Keene asked:
“Any metadata?”
“App strips most.”
“IP?”
“Relay.”
“Payment?”
Simone opened another screen.
Every crew received crypto after successful jobs.
Wallets traced through tumblers.
But one transfer route touched an exchange account with U.S. identity verification.
Name:
Caleb Wren.
Graham frowned.
“Who?”
Simone smiled without humor.
“That’s what I asked.”
She pulled a driver-license photograph.
Male.
Fifty-one.
Former Hartford police officer.
Retired twelve years ago.
Graham stared.
He knew the face.
Not personally.
From old department photographs.
Caleb Wren had been Nolan Price’s training officer.
The room went silent.
Then Simone said:
“There’s more.”
Wren died eighteen months ago.
Graham looked at her.
“So someone is using a dead cop’s identity.”
“Yes.”
“Who had access to his documents?”
“Family.”
“Department archives.”
“Pension systems.”
“Old personnel files.”
Keene looked at Graham.
The trail pointed toward police again.
But perhaps too neatly.
Graham had learned one thing in twenty years.
Evidence that looked eager to be found deserved suspicion.
Then his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THE NIGHT OFF.
Graham stared.
Second message.
THE GIRL IS EXPENDABLE.
Keene leaned closer.
Third.
YOU ARE NOT.
Then:
STOP DIGGING INTO PRICE.
Graham looked at Keene.
May you like
Someone knew exactly what they were investigating in that room.
Right now.
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