Chapter 13 - NOLAN HAD LIED ABOUT THE MISSING RECORDEREverett went back to the hospital.
Nolan looked weaker.
He also looked guilty before Everett asked a single question.
“You have Laurel’s recorder.”
Nolan closed his eyes.
“Had.”
Everett stopped beside the bed.
“You told me you didn’t know where it was.”
“I lied.”
“Where is it?”
“I gave it to someone.”
“Who?”
“No.”
Everett laughed bitterly.
“You people love that word.”
“Because if I tell you and Marcus gets to you—”
“Stop protecting me.”
Nolan flinched.
Everett continued.
“Laurel hid everything because she thought I would act without thinking.”
“She was right.”
“Yes.”
Everett swallowed.
“She was.”
Then:
“But my daughter was abused because all of you decided secrecy was safer.”
Nolan looked away.
“Tell me where the recorder is.”
He hesitated.
Then:
“Laurel gave it to me the morning she died.”
Everett froze.
“The footage showed you receiving it the night before.”
“She took it back.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t trust me.”
“Smart.”
Nolan accepted the insult.
“The next morning, she called.”
“What did she say?”
“She had identified Lantern’s controller.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
“Then?”
“We met at a coffee shop.”
“Did you follow her afterward?”
“Yes.”
Everett’s jaw tightened.
“Seraphina said that.”
“I was trying to protect her.”
“Everyone says that too.”
Nolan stared at him.
“I saw a black SUV tailing her.”
“Marcus?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why didn’t you call police?”
“Because police names were in the Lantern index.”
Everett stopped.
Corrupt law enforcement.
At least compromised officials.
Nolan continued.
“Laurel gave me the recorder.”
“She said if anything happened, don’t give it to Graham.”
“Why?”
“Because she had confirmed Graham was still using Lantern.”
Graham had admitted that.
“Then Laurel drove away.”
“You followed.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I lost the black SUV at a light.”
“And Laurel?”
“She kept going.”
“How long until the crash?”
“Seventeen minutes.”
Everett’s chest tightened.
“Did you see it happen?”
“No.”
“I arrived after emergency vehicles.”
“Did you tell police someone had followed her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was scared.”
Everett almost turned away.
Then Nolan said:
“I had the recorder in my car.”
Everything changed.
“If I told police, I thought whoever was inside law enforcement would know I had it.”
“So you stayed silent.”
“Yes.”
“And four years later?”
“I still have it.”
Everett stared.
“You just said had.”
“Because I moved it last week.”
“Where?”
Nolan looked toward the door.
“Bring Detective Ellison.”
She came.
Nolan finally disclosed it.
A bank safe-deposit box.
Not in his name.
In Laurel’s.
“How?” Everett asked.
“She opened it days before she died and gave me the access authorization.”
“Why not open it earlier?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“After the funeral.”
“And?”
“Second key required.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hadley?”
Nolan nodded.
“Probably.”
Everett closed his eyes.
Again.
A child holding the missing piece.
Nolan continued.
“The recorder was safer locked where even I couldn’t reach it.”
“What does the key look like?”
“Small silver cylinder.”
Everett thought.
No memory.
He returned to Hadley.
“Do you remember Mom giving you a little silver key?”
Hadley frowned.
“No.”
“Anything shaped like a tube?”
“No.”
Everett stopped.
No pressure.
Then Doreen said:
“What about the kaleidoscope?”
Hadley’s face brightened.
“Mom’s star thing?”
Doreen nodded.
Everett looked between them.
“What?”
Laurel had given Hadley a small silver kaleidoscope before the accident.
Hadley still kept it in a drawer.
They retrieved it.
It looked ordinary.
Until Julian unscrewed the eyepiece.
Inside was a cylindrical bank key.
Everett almost laughed.
Laurel had hidden a vault key inside a child’s toy.
The bank cooperated with police.
Safe-deposit box.
Inside sat the black recorder.
Four years of fear contained in an object smaller than a paperback.
Nobody opened it.
Not yet.
Nolan warned:
“Tamper sequence.”
Julian examined the device.
Keypad.
Fingerprint reader.
Encrypted uplink.
A tiny display asked:
WHO WATCHES THE WATCHER?
Everett entered the first phrase.
Accepted.
WHEN MOONLIGHT FINDS THE STARS?
He paused.
Hadley’s remembered phrase:
Moonlight finds the stars.
Maybe answer, not prompt.
He typed:
THE STARS REMEMBER
Denied.
One attempt remaining before automatic upload.
Nobody wanted to guess.
Everett brought the device home under police custody.
He did not show it to Hadley immediately.
But Hadley saw the silver kaleidoscope on the table.
Then the recorder.
Her expression changed.
“Mom’s black box.”
Everett froze.
“You’ve seen it?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When I was little.”
“What did Mom say?”
Hadley touched the kaleidoscope.
“She said the moon finds stars when the house goes dark.”
Everett’s pulse jumped.
That sounded like the answer.
Julian entered:
WHEN THE HOUSE GOES DARK
Accepted.
Final prompt appeared.
WHO OPENS THE LAST DOOR?
Everyone looked at Hadley.
She looked confused.
Then suddenly sad.
“Mom used to ask that.”
Everett crouched.
“You don’t have to answer.”
Hadley stared at the screen.
“She said I should never tell someone who scares me.”
Everett’s throat tightened.
“Then don’t.”
Hadley looked at him.
“But you don’t scare me now.”
Now.
The word hurt.
She leaned toward the recorder.
And whispered:
“The person who believes the child.”
The display turned green.
The recorder unlocked.
Inside were hundreds of files.
May you like
And the first one was titled:
IF EVERETT FINDS THIS, SHOW HIM WHO PAID MARCUS DANE.
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