Chapter 3 - The Bikes That Vanished TwiceBy sunrise, investigators connected Brooke’s crew to at least six motorcycle robberies around central Ohio.
Possibly nine.
The pattern was simple.
A young woman stranded.
A request for help.
A darker stretch of road.
Two or three men.
Bike taken.
Victim left behind.
Sometimes assaulted.
The motorcycles usually disappeared within hours.
But something bothered Caleb.
Three recovered motorcycles had been found stripped.
The other six?
Gone completely.
No parts online.
No salvage auctions.
No VIN hits.
No border record.
Nothing.
Detective Lena Ortiz joined him in the task-force room.
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She dropped a folder beside him.
“Tyler finally gave us his phone.”
“Voluntarily?”
“He discovered jail breakfast.”
Caleb opened the extraction report.
Tyler had deleted most messages.
Technicians recovered several.
One number appeared repeatedly.
UNKNOWN: 2022 Street Glide. Black. $8,000 if clean.
Another:
UNKNOWN: White Indian Challenger. Thursday. Route 33.
Another:
UNKNOWN: Tonight. Black touring bike. Flag. $12,000.
Caleb stared.
Twelve thousand.
Higher than the others.
Lena noticed.
“Your bike was worth more to somebody.”
“Not twelve grand to thieves.”
“Maybe because it was specific.”
Caleb nodded.
The buyer wasn’t asking for a general model.
They wanted his motorcycle.
“Trace the number?”
“Burner activated yesterday.”
“Location?”
“Tower data. East side.”
“Useful.”
“Not yet.”
Caleb enlarged another recovered message.
DO NOT DAMAGE STORAGE COMPARTMENTS.
He stopped.
Lena leaned over.
“That’s weird.”
“Very.”
Most thieves cared about engine, frame, accessories.
Storage compartments were irrelevant.
Unless someone believed something was inside.
Caleb thought about his saddlebags.
Rain gear.
Tool kit.
First-aid kit.
Nothing else.
Then he remembered.
Three nights earlier, he had carried evidence home.
Not intentionally.
A flash drive from an old case had remained in his jacket pocket.
He caught the mistake the next morning and returned it.
But nobody should know.
Lena saw his expression.
“What?”
Caleb shook his head.
“Probably nothing.”
She stared.
“Whenever you say that, it’s something.”
Caleb lowered his voice.
“I had a drive from the Mercer case in my jacket three nights ago.”
Lena stopped joking.
“The Mercer homicide?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Copied interview files. I forgot it was in the inside pocket.”
“That’s not like you.”
“I know.”
“Was it ever on the bike?”
“My jacket was in the saddlebag when I stopped for dinner.”
Lena’s face tightened.
“Where?”
“Bennett’s Grill.”
“Public parking?”
“Yes.”
“Cameras?”
“Probably.”
Caleb stood.
The Mercer case had been cold for eleven months.
A local accountant, Samuel Mercer, found dead inside his garage.
Apparent robbery.
Except almost nothing was stolen.
Caleb had never believed robbery was the motive.
Mercer handled books for several transportation and construction companies.
Before his death, he had called police claiming he had evidence of money laundering.
He died before turning it over.
The flash drive Caleb carried contained copies of recently recovered files from Mercer’s old laptop.
Mostly encrypted.
Investigators still didn’t know what was inside.
Lena said quietly, “You think somebody thought the drive was still on your bike.”
“I think somebody knew I had it.”
“How?”
Caleb didn’t answer.
That was the dangerous question.
Only five people on the task force knew about the drive.
Caleb.
Lena.
Lieutenant Ellison.
A digital forensic analyst.
And Assistant Prosecutor James Rawlings.
One of them could have talked.
Or someone was watching Caleb independently.
Lena read another recovered message.
RIDER MAY BE ARMED. DO NOT ESCALATE UNLESS NECESSARY.
She stared at Caleb.
“They knew more than your motorcycle.”
Caleb nodded.
The next message was worse.
IF HE IDENTIFIES AS POLICE, LEAVE. DO NOT ENGAGE.
Lena looked up.
“They knew exactly who you were.”
Caleb felt his stomach tighten.
Brooke had been right.
She wasn’t the target.
Tyler wasn’t even the plan.
Someone had hired amateurs to take Caleb’s motorcycle without harming him.
That meant the buyer wanted something hidden on the bike.
And did not want the death of a detective attracting attention.
Lena said, “Where’s the drive now?”
“Evidence vault.”
“Check.”
Caleb called immediately.
A clerk answered.
Caleb gave the evidence number.
Typing.
Then silence.
“Detective Morgan?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a problem.”
His grip tightened.
“What problem?”
“The envelope is here.”
“And?”
May you like
A longer pause.
“The flash drive isn’t.”
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