Chapter 5 - The Locker Behind the Wall
Noah did not cry when Vincent showed him the empty notebook. That frightened Vincent more than tears would have.
“They took the pages,” Noah said.
“Yes.”
“But they left that sentence.”
“Yes.”
“Is it true?”
Vincent sat across from him at the breakfast table. “Your father didn’t run.”
“Then why did somebody write it?”
“To make you doubt what you know.”
Noah studied him. “Do you know what happened?”
Vincent heard the old answer rise in his throat. Nothing you need to worry about. He forced it back down.
“I know I should have told you sooner.”
Lena entered carrying two mugs of coffee. “Nobody is going to the Blue Heron.”
“We’re not going inside,” Vincent said.
“That is exactly what people say before going inside.”
“Caleb left something there.”
“Caleb left a dead son, a grieving family, and a police report. That is what he left.”
“He left evidence.”
Lena looked at Noah. “We take that evidence to Detective Ortiz.”
“If it’s still there,” Vincent said.
They went in daylight, with Darius Bell following them from half a block away.
The Blue Heron stood at the end of Bellwether Street behind a chain-link fence. Its brick walls were streaked with rain and age. The blue neon bird above the entrance flickered even though the building had no legal power connection.
Vincent found a loose section of fence. “Stay close.”
Lena glared at him. “That is not a plan.”
“It’s the beginning of one.”
Inside, dust covered the floor. Broken chairs lay beneath the balcony. Vincent could almost hear the old club: trumpets, laughter, glasses knocking together, Caleb arguing with a drummer about whether photographs could have rhythm.
Noah stopped beside the stage. “The bird is on the wall.”
Painted behind the old bar was the same blue symbol, nearly hidden beneath peeling plaster.
Vincent remembered Caleb saying, Look where the music stops.
He crossed to the stage and tapped the wall behind the microphone stand. The first three knocks sounded hollow. The fourth struck something solid.
Darius stepped from the shadows.
Lena spun around. “You.”
“I’m not here to fight,” Darius said.
Vincent lifted the saxophone case he had brought as a walking stick. “Then why are you here?”
“Because Pike knows about the notebook.”
“Who is Pike?” Noah asked.
“The man who tells us where to go.”
“You work for him?” Lena demanded.
“My mom’s laundromat is three months behind on rent. Pike said if we delivered envelopes, they’d stop sending notices.”
“And the fires?”
Darius looked away. “We didn’t start them.”
Vincent found a rusted metal plate behind the wall. The brass key from the kitchen fit the lock. Inside was a narrow compartment containing two memory cards, a ledger, and a cassette recorder wrapped in oilcloth.
Lena’s breath caught.
Darius stepped closer. “That’s what Pike’s looking for.”
The cassette recorder clicked when Vincent pressed play.
Caleb’s voice filled the ruined club.
“June fourteenth. Pike met with Gideon Vale in the service hallway. Vale said the Mercado would be easier after the insurance inspection. Pike laughed and said a frightened owner signs anything.”
Another voice answered. “And Callahan?”
“He doesn’t know how close he is.”
Vincent gripped the recorder until his knuckles whitened.
“That’s enough,” Lena whispered.
Metal clanged outside.
Darius turned toward the entrance. “They found us.”
Three men crossed the lobby. Ellis Pike stood in front, holding a tire iron. Behind him, a younger man wore the gray shirt Vincent had seen at the festival.
“Give me the cards,” Pike said.
Vincent placed himself between Pike and Noah. “You’ve been waiting fifteen years to ask.”
Pike smiled. “I’ve been waiting fifteen years for you to stop pretending you’re brave.”
Darius grabbed a fallen chair and threw it through a side window. “Run!”
They scrambled through the opening into the alley. Lena pulled Noah after her. Vincent heard the tire iron strike the wall beside his head.
They ran past garbage bins and rusted fire escapes until they reached a locked gate. Darius climbed first, then lifted Noah over. Vincent was halfway across when Pike seized his ankle.
“Your son should have listened,” Pike said.
Vincent kicked free and dropped into the alley.
At the corner, a police cruiser turned toward them. Mara Ortiz stepped out with her hand on her weapon.
“Everybody stop!” she shouted.
Pike vanished through the opposite alley.
May you like
Vincent opened his hand. One memory card remained in his palm.
The other was gone.
