Chapter 11 - The Freight Depot Was Never Meant to Be a Rescue

Nia wanted to go.

That was the first instinct.

Not brave.

Not rational.

Just immediate.

Her cousin Maya had been the person who drove her mother to chemotherapy when Nia could not leave work. The person who mailed birthday cards even when neither of them had money for gifts. If Carlo had Maya, every careful argument about evidence felt obscene.

Enzo took Nia’s phone from her hand.

“You are not going alone.”

“He said—”

“I can read.”

“He has her.”

“Maybe.”

Nia stared at him.

“Maybe?”

Hale stepped between them.

“Carlo needs you frightened. That does not mean he actually has Maya.”

Nia called again.

No answer.

Hale asked police to verify Maya’s home and workplace. Enzo sent no one of his own.

That was deliberate.

For the first time, the Costa side and law enforcement were operating in the same room without pretending otherwise.

Twenty minutes later, an Oregon deputy reached Maya’s house.

Empty.

Her car remained in the driveway.

A kitchen light was on.

Her phone was gone.

That was enough.

The freight depot sat beside a dead rail spur near the river. Its windows were broken, its loading doors rusted halfway open.

Carlo had chosen a place with too many entrances.

Hale’s investigators hated it.

Police hated it more.

Nia hated standing three blocks away in the back of an unmarked van while everyone argued.

“He asked for me,” she said.

“And that is why you do not walk into the building,” Hale replied.

“He may hurt her.”

“If we lose control, he may hurt both of you.”

Enzo said nothing.

Nia turned to him.

“You agree?”

“I agree with the part where you stay alive.”

A text arrived.

TEN MINUTES.

Attached was a photograph.

Maya sat on a wooden chair inside the depot, wrists bound in front of her. She looked frightened but uninjured.

Behind her hung a red fire hose cabinet.

One officer recognized it from old building plans.

Second floor, east corridor.

The operation changed immediately.

A tactical team moved along the river side.

Nia remained in the van.

At nine minutes, Carlo called.

His voice was calm.

“You made this complicated.”

“You kidnapped my cousin.”

“I borrowed leverage.”

“You poisoned your cousin.”

A pause.

“You have been talking to Matteo.”

“I watched you poison him.”

“You watched a cup of tea.”

Nia forced herself to breathe.

“What do you want?”

“The journals.”

“You already stole them.”

“The original records in Oregon.”

“I don’t have them.”

“You can get them.”

“And then?”

“You and Maya walk away.”

Nia almost laughed.

“You planted drugs in my apartment.”

“Voss was careless.”

“You ordered people to kill me.”

“I said solve a problem. People hear what they expect.”

Everything was slippery.

Every sentence designed to be denied later.

Nia understood suddenly that Carlo had not brought her there simply to trade records.

He was recording.

“What else?” she asked.

“What?”

“You want me to say something.”

Silence.

Then Carlo sighed.

“You are smarter than you look.”

“You keep proving that is a dangerous sentence.”

Across the van, Hale pointed at his headphones.

Keep him talking.

Carlo continued.

“Tell the police you added something to Matteo’s tea.”

Nia’s skin went cold.

“There it is.”

“You had access. You had motive. Debt. Resentment.”

“And the foxglove?”

“You knew the plant.”

“You grew it.”

“You cannot prove who cultivated flowers on abandoned property.”

“Your initials are on the harvest sheets.”

“A child could write initials.”

His confidence returned with every denial.

Nia realized the purpose.

Carlo did not need her confession to be believable forever.

Only long enough to create doubt.

Long enough to bargain.

Long enough to escape.

“You made one mistake,” she said.

“Only one?”

“You think this is still about your story.”

A crash sounded through the phone.

Carlo stopped speaking.

Then shouting.

Police had entered.

Nia heard Maya scream.

Gunfire did not follow.

That absence became the loudest sound in the van.

Thirty seconds later, Hale received a signal.

Maya secured.

Nia sagged against the wall.

But Carlo was not captured.

He had prepared another exit.

A maintenance tunnel beneath the depot opened near the river.

By the time officers reached it, only footprints remained in the mud.

Maya arrived at the van wrapped in a blanket.

Nia climbed out before anyone could stop her.

They collided in the street and held each other so tightly Nia could barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Nia kept saying.

Maya pulled back.

“Who is Carlo Costa?”

Nia almost laughed from relief.

“A very long explanation.”

Maya’s expression changed.

“He kept talking about Enzo.”

Nia went still.

“What did he say?”

“That Matteo would be dead already if Enzo hadn’t hidden the first warning.”

Across the street, Enzo heard her.

His face gave him away before he spoke.

Nia released Maya slowly.

“What warning?”

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Enzo looked toward the river.

For the first time since this began, he seemed afraid of answering her.