Chapter 8 - Ashes in the Archive
Tessa never made it to cabinet 418.
At 7:06 the next morning, she called from the archive parking lot. Her voice shook so badly that I could barely understand her.
“There was a fire.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No. The basement is sealed. Cabinet 418 was inside the burn area.”
I looked across the kitchen at Grant. He was reading the newspaper, one ankle resting on his knee. The headline concerned a downtown building fire. He had circled the article in black ink.
“Can you get a copy of the records?” I whispered.
“The digital index survived. The originals are gone.”
“Did anyone see how it started?”
“The fire marshal says electrical fault.”
Grant turned a page.
“Tessa,” I said, “leave now.”
“Nora, there’s something in the digital index. The Bell-Hale transfer was accessed from a county account last night.”
“Whose?”
“I’m trying to find out.”
The call ended when a man shouted in the background.
Grant folded the newspaper. “You’ve been busy.”
I forced myself to look surprised. “What do you mean?”
“Tessa called.”
“She checks on me.”
“She called the house line. I answered.”
He had taken the phone from the wall months earlier, claiming the bill was too high. I had forgotten that he could still see the caller history through the account.
“I didn’t tell her anything.”
“You don’t have to. People can hear instability in your voice.”
The front door opened. Detective June Park entered with another deputy. Grant stood quickly.
“Can I help you?”
June showed her badge. “We’re investigating the archive fire.”
“What does that have to do with my wife?”
“Her mother’s records were stored there.”
June’s gaze settled on me. “May we speak privately?”
Grant laughed. “My wife cannot be questioned without me present.”
“She is an adult.”
“She is medically compromised.”
“Then she can tell us that herself.”
I stood, gripping the table. “I’ll speak with Detective Park.”
Grant’s eyes warned me not to continue. I continued anyway.
June led me to the porch. The deputy remained by the door. Outside, the morning smelled of wet pavement and smoke from a distant chimney.
“Did your husband know which cabinet held the records?” June asked.
“He knew my mother left evidence.”
“Did he threaten anyone connected to the archive?”
“He threatened me.”
“That is not the same question.”
I told her about the sedatives, the blue papers, and the red thread on Grant’s cuff. I described the photograph, the ledger, and the letter. June listened without changing expression.
“Do you have the ledger?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Not here.”
“Good. Keep it somewhere he cannot reach.”
She lowered her voice. “The fire was not electrical. The fire marshal found traces of an accelerant near the records room. Someone disabled the camera system for eleven minutes.”
“Can you prove Grant did it?”
“Not yet.”
The word yet carried more comfort than certainty would have.
Tessa arrived an hour later with a burned sleeve and a hard drive wrapped in a towel. She had retrieved it from a computer technician before leaving the archive.
“The index contains access logs,” she said. “Someone used Mara’s credentials at 2:51 a.m.”
“Mara burned the records?” I asked.
“Maybe,” June said. “Or someone used her password.”
Grant appeared in the doorway. “You brought strangers into our home again.”
Tessa stepped behind me. June remained still.
“We’re leaving,” I said.
Grant looked at the hard drive. “What is that?”
“Nothing.”
“Give it to me.”
I clutched the towel. “No.”
He moved toward me. June stepped between us.
“Mr. Bell, do not approach her.”
Grant’s face went pale with anger. “This is my wife.”
“And she has said no.”
The room held its breath. Then Grant lifted both hands.
“I’m trying to protect her.”
June wrote something in her notebook. “You use that phrase often.”
After she left, Tessa squeezed my fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I should have believed you sooner.”
I looked at the burned edge of her sleeve. “You believe me now.”
That evening, a message arrived on the prepaid phone from Mara.
Meet me alone. I can tell you what your mother knew.
Below the message was an address: the old Bell-Hale warehouse.
I showed it to June.
“You are not going there alone,” she said.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good. Because whoever started that fire wants the originals destroyed. They may believe you have them.”
From the hallway, Grant called my name.
May you like
I closed my hand around the phone.
“Then we make them believe I’m still afraid,” I said.
