Chapter 5 - The Vault of Secrets
Detective Raymond Harris did not knock with the polite courtesy of a civil servant.
He banged the butt of his heavy service flashlight against our solid oak door until the decorative glass inserts rattled in their frames.
Beside him stood an imposing deputy with a tactical vest, his hand resting conspicuously on the retention holster of his sidearm.
I opened the door smoothly, standing squarely in the frame without stepping back to invite them across the threshold.
“Detective Harris,” I said, keeping my tone completely neutral.
Harris squinted at me, his eyes darting to my forearms, looking for cuts or bruises from the previous night.
He found nothing except clean skin and rolled-up flannel sleeves.
“Thomas Vance?”
“You know who I am, Raymond.”
“We have a warrant for your arrest on suspicion of felony assault with intent to commit grievous bodily harm.”
He pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket, waving it vaguely in front of my face without offering it to be read.
“Step out onto the porch with your hands behind your back.”
Eleanor appeared in the hallway behind me, holding her hospital identification badge high in her right hand.
“That warrant is invalid, Detective,” she called out, her voice clear and carrying across the quiet morning neighborhood.
“Under state statute forty-two, any investigation involving domestic battery suspects is subject to an automatic forty-eight-hour freeze if the reporting physician requests state protective custody.”
Harris glared past me at Eleanor, his lips thinning into an ugly, dismissive sneer.
“This isn't about domestic battery, Mrs. Vance.”
“This is about four men in the intensive care ward with crushed windpipes and shattered joints.”
“Those men attacked a senior citizen on private property after locking him inside their facility,” I said calmly.
“The key was inside the deadbolt, Raymond.”
“Your nephew Dustin told the dispatcher that he invited me in to discuss family matters.”
Harris frowned, caught off guard by the legal precision of my words.
“You’re coming with us, Vance.”
“No, Detective,” I said, stepping forward half an inch, my voice dropping an octave into a low, resonant rumble.
“I am not coming with you to pier nine.”
Harris’s hand twitched toward his hip, his eyes widening in pure shock that I knew the destination Frank had given him in private.
“How do you know about pier nine?”
“Because your nephew didn't just store his fight schedules on this phone, Raymond.”
I held up Dustin’s black encrypted device, letting the morning sunlight catch the polished screen.
“He stored the recorded phone calls between you and Frank Sterling from last Tuesday regarding the kickbacks on the dock shipments.”
The deputy standing beside Harris shifted his weight nervously, glancing at Harris for instructions.
Harris turned white as a sheet of paper.
“Where did you get that phone?”
“It was left on the mat at Apex Combat Club along with Dustin’s teeth.”
“Hand it over, Vance.”
“That phone is currently transmitting an encrypted duplicate of its internal memory to the regional office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Chicago.”
The lie was delivered with such cold, clinical authority that Harris stepped backward down the first wooden step of the porch.
He was a corrupt small-town cop who operated on fear and local favors; the mention of federal jurisdiction was a death sentence to his pension and his freedom.
“You’re bluffing, old man.”
“Test me, Raymond.”
“Call Frank right now and ask him if he wants the federal task force reviewing the manifest for barge forty-two at the south marina.”
Harris stared at me for five agonizing seconds, his chest heaving with shallow, panicked breaths.
He did not reach for his cuffs.
He did not call for backup.
He pointed a shaking finger at my chest.
“You think you’re smart, Vance.”
“You think because you know some dirty tricks from the army that you can stop what’s coming to this family.”
“Frank Sterling does not play by courtroom rules.”
“He has people on his payroll who make whole families disappear into the swamp south of the county line.”
“Tell Frank I will be waiting for them,” I said quietly.
“And tell him that when they come, they should bring their own shovels.”
I closed the oak door firmly and locked the deadbolt.
Through the glass sidelight, I watched Harris and his deputy hurry back to their cruisers, tires spitting gravel as they reversed down the driveway.
Eleanor leaned against the hallway wall, her legs finally giving out as she slid down onto the hardwood floor.
“Is that true, Thomas?” she whispered, looking up at me with tears in her eyes.
“Did you send the files to the FBI?”
“Not yet,” I admitted, helping her gently to her feet.
“The encryption on the accounting folder is twenty-four-character alphanumeric.”
“I need professional military hardware to crack the shell before midnight.”
“Where are we going to get that kind of equipment?”
“We are packing three bags right now, Eleanor.”
“We are taking Evelyn out of that hospital before Frank’s goons realize Harris failed.”
“And where are you taking us?”
May you like
I looked out the window toward the northern tree line where the mountains rose into the grey clouds.
“To the only man in this state who still owes me his life.”
