Chapter 4 - Somebody Inside the BuildingThe evidence vault had no obvious breach.
No forced entry.
No broken seal on the outer storage box.
Yet the drive was gone.
Caleb stood behind the security desk while internal-affairs personnel pulled access records.
Lieutenant Ellison looked furious.
“This building has cameras everywhere.”
“Except inside the evidence aisles.”
“Chain-of-custody logs?”
“Being pulled.”
Lena arrived.
“Brooke asked for Caleb.”
Ellison glanced over.
“Why?”
“Says she recognizes a name.”
“What name?”
“She won’t tell me.”
Caleb turned.
“I’ll go.”
Ellison grabbed his arm.
“You’re potentially part of an internal compromise now.”
Caleb stared.
“You think I took it?”
“No.”
“Then let go.”
Ellison released him.
Brooke sat in the interview room with untouched coffee.
“You wanted me.”
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
“Tyler said the buyer had a nickname.”
Caleb waited.
“Preacher.”
Caleb felt nothing immediately.
“Means anything?”
“No.”
Brooke looked disappointed.
“He said everybody who deals with Preacher gets one rule.”
“What rule?”
“Never meet him twice in the same place.”
Caleb sat.
“How long has Tyler worked for him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said Tyler usually calls when he has a buyer.”
“Yes.”
“Preacher?”
“Sometimes.”
“What happens to the bikes?”
“No idea.”
“Think.”
Brooke frowned.
“Tyler once said they weren’t really selling motorcycles.”
Caleb leaned forward.
“What did he mean?”
“I thought he was drunk.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said bikes were envelopes.”
Caleb stared.
“Envelopes?”
“Something goes in. Something goes out.”
The missing flash drive.
Caleb’s pulse quickened.
“What businesses does Tyler use?”
“Garages.”
“Which?”
“He doesn’t tell me.”
“You know something.”
Brooke looked away.
“Brooke.”
“There’s a place in Grove City.”
“Name.”
“Franklin Cycle Storage.”
Caleb knew it.
A warehouse complex near the interstate.
Private motorcycle storage.
Winterization.
Transport services.
The kind of business where dozens of motorcycles could enter and leave without suspicion.
“Owner?”
“Don’t know.”
Caleb stood.
Brooke said, “I helped you.”
“Yes.”
“So help me.”
He looked back.
“With what?”
“Don’t put me back with Tyler.”
“Why?”
Her face changed.
“He’ll kill me.”
“Tyler?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Brooke swallowed.
“Preacher.”
Caleb sat again.
“You’ve met him.”
“No.”
“Then why would he care?”
“Because I saw something.”
Caleb waited.
“Two months ago Tyler made me drive a stolen bike to Franklin Cycle.”
“What bike?”
“Red Harley.”
“What happened?”
“Nobody was supposed to be there.”
“But?”
“A van arrived.”
“What kind?”
“White cargo van.”
“Plate?”
“Didn’t see.”
“People?”
“Two men.”
“Preacher?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they do?”
Brooke’s fingers tightened.
“They opened the motorcycle’s saddlebag.”
Caleb leaned forward.
“And?”
“They removed a folder.”
“What kind?”
“Manila.”
“Then?”
“They put another envelope inside.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“What?”
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“I only saw one page.”
“Describe it.”
She hesitated.
“It had names. Company names.”
Caleb’s thoughts returned to Samuel Mercer.
Companies.
Transportation.
Construction.
Money laundering.
“Any name you remember?”
Brooke closed her eyes.
“Lakefront.”
Caleb froze.
“Lakefront what?”
“I don’t know.”
He did.
Lakefront Freight Solutions.
One of Samuel Mercer’s clients.
A regional transportation company that claimed Mercer’s accusations were caused by stress.
Caleb stood.
Brooke watched his face.
“You know it.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Something you shouldn’t have seen.”
Her fear deepened.
“That’s why Tyler started acting weird afterward.”
“How?”
“He asked what I saw.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“Did he believe you?”
“No.”
“Why are you still alive?”
Brooke looked toward the mirror.
“Because Tyler likes me.”
“That won’t protect you forever.”
“I know.”
Caleb left.
Lena was waiting.
He told her.
“Franklin Cycle?”
“Yes.”
“We need a warrant.”
“Already calling Rawlings.”
Lena’s expression tightened.
Caleb noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No.”
She lowered her voice.
“James Rawlings was Samuel Mercer’s assigned prosecutor contact before Mercer died.”
Caleb knew that.
But hearing it now felt different.
Rawlings also knew about the flash drive.
Caleb said, “Could be coincidence.”
Lena stared.
“You hate coincidence.”
“Yes.”
Caleb called Rawlings anyway.
Straight to voicemail.
He called again.
Nothing.
Then his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
His motorcycle parked outside the police station.
Taken minutes earlier.
Message:
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET THEM TAKE THE BIKE.
Caleb looked at Lena.
Another message arrived.
NOW WE HAVE TO TAKE SOMETHING ELSE.
Caleb’s blood went cold.
May you like
He called his sister immediately.
No answer.
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