Chapter 12 - The Voice
The caller had used voice cloning.
BCI confirmed it by morning.
Old court recordings.
Probation hearings.
Public footage.
Enough clean audio to rebuild Darren’s voice.
Someone had been using a dead man to scare us.
Keene had access to court recordings.
Brooks had access too.
I sat in the station conference room staring at coffee that tasted like burnt rope.
Collins entered.
“Darren was murdered.”
“Cause?”
“Blunt-force trauma.”
“When?”
“Two nights before June broke your headlight.”
“So whoever followed her wanted us focused on Darren.”
“Yes.”
“Why kill him?”
Collins sat.
“Maybe he was cleaning up loose ends.”
“Keene?”
“Or Brooks.”
“Or somebody else.”
She looked exhausted.
“Stop helping.”
“No.”
“I mean stop adding suspects.”
“That’s literally how suspects work.”
She rubbed her face.
Then Emily came in holding June’s backpack.
“We found this.”
Inside the lining was a small black tracker.
Cheap.
Magnetic.
Battery-powered.
June’s face twisted.
“That’s how he knew.”
Emily hugged her.
“Not your fault.”
June looked at me.
“I counted wrong.”
“No.”
I crouched.
“You counted a man. The tracker doesn’t walk.”
She thought about that.
Important distinction.
Collins bagged the device.
Serial trace led to a security supply store.
Cash purchase.
Camera footage.
Martin Keene.
Finally something clean.
BCI got a warrant.
Keene’s office was searched.
They found Caleb’s original evidence photos.
Copies of June’s school schedule.
The pediatric verification form with the purple word.
And eleven photographs of me.
Outside my shop.
Inside the coffee shop.
At a gas station.
At home.
I stared.
“He wasn’t just watching June.”
“No,” Collins said.
“Why me?”
An agent opened another folder.
Old case notes.
My witness statement against Darren.
But with handwritten notes in the margins.
JACK MERCER — CREDIBLE, STUBBORN, PUBLIC SYMPATHY.
Next line:
USE IF CHILD NEEDS VISIBLE PROTECTOR.
My skin went cold.
Keene had not been surprised when June chose me.
He had engineered the route so she would.
June had been pushed toward my coffee shop.
Toward my motorcycle.
Toward me.
Emily whispered, “Why?”
The answer sat on the next page.
Because if the story became “scared child, biker hero, dead criminal returns,” everyone would look at Darren.
Nobody would look at Keene.
Then a BCI agent rushed in.
“Keene’s gone.”
Collins stood.
“Where?”
“His house is empty.”
The agent looked at Emily.
“And he took one thing.”
May you like
“What?”
“June’s original birth certificate.”
