Chapter 6 - The Call Claire Made While Someone Was Listening

“Paul Harker is trying to keep me alive.”

For a moment, nobody in my father’s room spoke.

Then Detective Park held out her hand.

“Speaker.”

I turned it on.

“Claire, I’m with Detective Elena Park. She is not connected to Reed Meridian.”

A sharp breath.

“You brought police?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

That single word unsettled me. Claire had spent nine years avoiding institutions. If she welcomed police now, something had changed.

“Where are you?” Park asked.

“I can’t say.”

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

“Is Harker with you?”

“Yes.”

A man spoke in the background.

“Tell them the exchange failed.”

Park leaned toward the phone. “Mr. Harker, you can tell me yourself.”

Silence.

Then his voice came clearer.

“I was supposed to trade Claire the Vane archive for Michael’s recorder.”

“On whose authority?”

“My own.”

“Why?”

“Because Malcolm is cleaning house.”

Arthur flinched at the phrase.

Harker continued.

“He has surgery scheduled in twelve days. He thinks he may not wake up. He’s been moving money, closing entities, buying silence. Vane died, but Vane kept copies. I found them after his estate sold a storage unit.”

“Why not go to law enforcement?”

“Because I spent eleven years helping him make things disappear.”

There it was.

Not innocence.

Not redemption.

Self-preservation.

Park’s voice remained flat. “What did you do?”

“Surveillance. Intimidation. Internal leaks. I moved files. I paid people to sign nondisclosure agreements they did not understand.”

“And Michael Reed?”

Another silence.

“I followed him.”

My hand clenched.

“After Harbor Nine?” Park asked.

“Before and after.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No.”

The answer came fast.

Too fast.

Park heard it too.

“Did you know someone intended to harm him?”

“I knew Vane wanted his documents back. I knew Malcolm told him Michael had become a liability.”

I stepped toward the phone.

“What happened to his car?”

Harker’s breathing changed.

“I don’t know.”

“You followed him.”

“I lost him that night.”

“Convenient.”

“I know how it sounds.”

“You stood at his funeral.”

“I know.”

“You shook my hand.”

“I know.”

Each answer made me want to break something.

Claire cut through it.

“Jonathan, stop.”

Her voice was firmer now.

“Why should I?”

“Because rage is what got Michael isolated in the first place. Everyone became an enemy. He stopped sleeping. He stopped explaining. He tried to carry every piece himself.”

I swallowed.

She continued.

“Paul has evidence. We need to get it somewhere safe.”

Park asked, “What evidence?”

Harker answered.

“Vane’s billing archive. Private invoices. Call logs. Copies of reports that never reached Reed Meridian’s official system.”

“Where is it?”

“Not with me.”

Park rubbed her forehead.

“You people love making this difficult.”

Harker almost laughed.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Give me a location.”

“No. I want a written proffer agreement.”

“You are not negotiating immunity over a phone.”

“I’m negotiating the right not to get murdered before morning.”

Park looked at Aisha.

Aisha nodded once.

There were procedures for this.

Slow procedures.

Claire did not sound like she had time.

“Are you being followed now?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

“Black SUV. Two men. Harker recognizes one.”

“Name.”

Harker answered.

“Damon Kreel. Private contractor. Worked for Vane.”

Park immediately began typing into her phone.

I remembered the surname from Michael’s notebook. One entry. No explanation.

Claire whispered, “They’ve passed twice.”

“Wherever you are, stay inside,” Park said. “Do not move unless Harker believes the location is compromised.”

“He does.”

Harker came back on.

“There’s another issue.”

Of course there was.

“The flash drive Claire gave me wasn’t Michael’s recorder. It contained copies of the notebook pages.”

I looked at Aisha.

Claire had bluffed.

“Harker gave me part of the Vane archive anyway,” Claire said. “Enough to prove he had it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he wanted me to believe him.”

“What did you see?”

A pause.

Then Claire said, “A payment made the morning Michael died.”

Arthur’s hand tightened on the blanket.

“To whom?” I asked.

“Midwest Fleet Services.”

I knew the company.

Reed Meridian had used them for executive vehicles.

Aisha closed her eyes.

“Purpose?”

“Emergency brake service.”

The room became still.

Michael’s crash report said his brakes had failed under impact after he struck the guardrail.

Not before.

Park spoke first.

“That invoice proves service was billed. It does not prove sabotage.”

“I know,” Claire said.

“Do you have the work order?”

“Harker says Vane did.”

“Had?”

“He says the physical file disappeared.”

I nearly swore.

Then Harker interrupted.

“Not all of it.”

Paper rustled through the phone.

“I kept the dispatch slip.”

Park stopped typing.

“Why?”

“Insurance.”

“Against whom?”

“Everyone.”

He read the line.

Vehicle: M. Reed. Requested service: brake inspection. Authorization code: EV-17.

Elias Vane.

The call dropped.

“Claire?”

Nothing.

I called back.

No answer.

Park was already moving.

“Trace request is in.”

My father looked at me.

For the first time since I was a boy, he looked frightened.

Not for the company.

For Claire.

For Lila.

For what his silence had helped preserve.

My phone buzzed with a text from Claire’s number.

No words.

Only a photograph.

A motel room door.

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Number 38.

And reflected in the brass numbers, just visible behind the camera, was a man raising a gun.