Chapter 9
I left the brass key on the table while I called the attorney whose name appeared on the county records request Roman had shown me. Her name was Lena Ortiz. She answered on the fourth ring, her voice alert despite the rain and the late hour.
I put the phone on speaker only after Daniel agreed.
“We have a witness with original records,” I said. “He wants his family protected from publicity, and he doesn’t consent to being relocated.”
Roman’s jaw tightened. He stood near the blinds, watching the street.
Lena paused. “Is there an immediate threat?”
“We don’t know.”
“That matters. I can seek a temporary confidentiality order for his identity and notify the inquiry counsel that evidence exists without naming its source. But I won’t promise anonymity if a judge eventually orders testimony.”
Daniel’s finger returned to the key.
“Then what good is any of it?” he asked.
“It gives you time,” Lena said. “And choices. We can document your conditions before anyone sees the records.”
Roman turned from the window. “Someone was already looking for Clara’s file. We shouldn’t leave him here.”
Daniel pushed his chair back. The legs scraped sharply across the floor.
“I said nobody moves my family.”
“He means tonight,” I said.
“I know what he means.”
Roman took a breath through his nose. “The truck outside slowed twice.”
“It was a delivery truck,” I said. “We don’t know why it slowed.”
“We also don’t know who fired into our reception.”
Daniel stood. “This is exactly what I didn’t want.”
I rose between them, careful not to touch either man. “Roman, step into the hallway.”
His eyes met mine. For a second, the old impulse passed over his face—the calculation that safety justified deciding quickly. Then it was gone.
He opened the door and walked out.
In the hallway, rainwater ticked through a gutter beside the narrow windows. Roman kept his voice low.
“If we wait for paperwork, Rusk’s people could reach the archive.”
“Then we protect the evidence without taking control of Daniel.”
“How?”
“We notify Lena of the archive location under privilege. Daniel keeps the key until she sends written terms. We request a sheriff’s patrol around the building, not his daughter’s house, and we don’t give the sheriff Daniel’s name.”
Roman glanced toward the meeting-room door. “And Daniel stays here?”
“Daniel goes wherever Daniel chooses.”
“If he chooses home and someone follows him?”
“We offer him options. We don’t put him in a car.”
Roman’s mouth flattened. “I could keep him safer.”
“That isn’t the only thing that matters.”
Another truck rolled past, its tires hissing on wet pavement. Roman watched it go, then looked back at me.
“No,” he said quietly. “It isn’t.”
We returned to the room. Daniel remained standing, his coat buttoned now. I explained the plan without softening its limits. Lena would prepare a written agreement identifying her role, the chain of custody, and the circumstances under which Daniel’s name could be disclosed. A neutral evidence officer would meet us at the harbor office. Daniel could leave at any point before surrendering the records. His family wouldn’t be contacted unless he requested it.
“And him?” Daniel asked, nodding at Roman.
“He follows the same rules.”
Roman pulled out a chair but didn’t sit. “Yes.”
Daniel studied him. “You don’t like that.”
“No.”
“But you’ll do it?”
Roman looked at me before answering. “Yes.”
Lena emailed the draft twenty minutes later. The old printer behind the hall’s service counter shuddered awake, filling the room with the warm, dusty smell of paper. Daniel read every page. He changed two sentences in pen: one required written notice before his identity appeared in any filing; the other prohibited photographs of his family’s home.
Lena accepted both changes.
Daniel signed. I signed as the person receiving the location information, not the evidence. Roman signed as a witness.
Only then did Daniel remove his finger from the brass key.
“The archive entrance is on the second floor,” he said. “Outside stairs, harbor side. The main office key won’t open the sealed room.”
He turned the key over. A number had been filed into one edge: 18.
I thought of the date on the ledger page and the transfer record. October 18.
Daniel placed the key in my palm and closed my fingers around it.
“If the seal is broken,” he said, “don’t go inside.”
Roman reached for his phone, then stopped. “May I call Lena and arrange the evidence officer?”
I nodded.
May you like
It was a small question, asked in a plain room while rain streaked the glass. But I felt the difference between being guarded and being heard.
The key pressed into my skin as Roman made the call. Across the street, the harbor office stood dark above the water, its upper windows reflecting nothing.
