Chapter 3 - THE PATROL LOGS
The precinct felt entirely different as I watched the heavy glass doors swing shut behind Elias Thorne.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Check your own partner’s patrol logs.
Ten months ago, I wasn’t flying solo with Shadow. I had a human partner. Officer Marcus Vance. We had ridden together for three years until he was suddenly promoted to Detective and moved to the narcotics division just after New Year’s.
I hurried back to the captain's office. Ava was still asleep on the couch, her small chest rising and falling beneath my jacket. Shadow looked up as I entered, his tail giving a soft, single thump against the floor. Helen was sitting beside the couch, gently stroking her granddaughter's hair.
“Is he gone?” Helen asked, her voice tight with fear.
“He’s gone,” I lied, keeping my tone steady. “I want you to take Ava home. Keep the doors locked. I’m going to have a patrol unit sit at the end of your street tonight.”
“What about the key?” she asked, nodding toward my pocket.
“I’m going to find out what it opens,” I promised.
After I walked Helen and Ava to their car and watched them drive away safely, I headed straight for the precinct’s basement records room. The damp, fluorescent-lit archives were usually empty on a Saturday evening.
I logged into the old desktop terminal and pulled up the dispatch records for last December.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I typed in December 18.
The screen blinked, loading the data. I scrolled down to my own unit’s call sheet. Marcus and I had been working the night shift. It had been a quiet night. A noise complaint, a minor fender bender, and a domestic disturbance call that was canceled by dispatch before we arrived.
I clicked on the canceled domestic call.
The address loaded on the screen. 442 Elm Street.
It was Sarah and Ava’s apartment.
The log showed that Marcus had taken a personal phone call on his cell right before he radioed dispatch to cancel the response, claiming we had driven by and the premises were secure. I remembered that night. I had been in the convenience store getting coffee while he waited in the cruiser. We never drove past Elm Street.
Marcus had lied.
Why would he cancel a distress call from Sarah just seven days before she died in a suspicious car crash?
Suddenly, the heavy metal door to the records room creaked open.
I quickly minimized the screen, my hand dropping to my service belt.
“Brooks?” a familiar voice echoed in the stairwell.
It was Detective Miller. He stepped into the dim light, holding a lukewarm cup of precinct coffee. He looked at me, then at the glowing computer screen behind me.
“A little late to be doing paperwork, isn’t it?” Miller asked, taking a slow sip.
“Just catching up on some old case files,” I kept my voice casual.
Miller smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You know, that private eye, Thorne? I ran a deeper background check on him after he left. Turns out, he used to be a cop down in Springfield. Got drummed out for falsifying evidence. The guy is a paranoid conspiracy nut. You shouldn't listen to a word he says.”
“Good to know,” I said, stepping away from the desk.
Miller took a step to block my path to the door.
“I mean it, Daniel,” Miller said, dropping the casual act. “That grandmother is a grieving old woman looking for ghosts. The daughter died in a tragic accident. End of story. Don’t go digging up graves that don’t belong to you.”
He stepped aside, letting me pass.
But as I walked up the stairs, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was an unknown number. I answered it quietly when I reached the parking lot.
“Brooks,” the voice on the other end was rough, out of breath. It was Elias Thorne.
“How did you get this number?” I demanded.
“Listen to me,” Thorne gasped, and I could hear the sound of tires screeching in the background. “They know about the tin box. They know Helen brought it to the station.”
“Who knows?”
“Miller. He’s the one who searched Sarah’s car after the crash. They’re going to Helen’s house right now. You have to get to Ava before—”
A loud crunch echoed through the phone, followed by the sickening sound of shattering glass and twisting metal.
“Thorne!” I yelled into the receiver.
Silence. The line went dead.
May you like
I didn’t waste a second. I threw open the door to my K9 cruiser. Shadow leapt into the back, sensing the sudden surge of adrenaline.
I hit the sirens and sped out of the precinct lot, praying I wasn’t already too late.
