Chapter 14 Archive Ghost #2
“Bedroom closet. Left side. Grey suit. Should fit approximately.” I'd acquired it from a mark months ago, kept it because quality fabric was quality fabric. “Makes you look like you bill by the hour.”
He disappeared into the bedroom area—really just the mattress corner with a makeshift partition. I heard fabric rustling, the particular sounds of someone changing in a space that wasn't theirs.
When he emerged, the suit fit him the way expensive things fit men built like walls: strained across the shoulders, perfect everywhere else, transforming him from enforcer to professional.
The effect was devastating. Made him look like the kind of man who could ruin your life with paperwork instead of violence. Made my mouth go dry in ways I absolutely could not afford.
“This works?” he asked.
“Yes.” My voice came out rougher than intended. I cleared my throat, forced professionalism back into place. “Remember. You're bored. Tired. Dealing with mundane corporate filings that require access to sealed records. Let me do the talking unless directly addressed.”
“Understood.”
I grabbed my jacket, checked that my lockpicks were concealed properly, and headed for the door. Dom followed three paces behind, already settling into the role of exhausted barrister who'd rather be anywhere else.
“One more thing,” I said as we reached the stairwell. “If this goes wrong, if we get caught—you don't know me. We've never met. You were following your own investigation and I'm just some bloke who happened to be breaking into the same archive.”
“Cal—”
“I'm serious. You have connections. A reputation. People who care what happens to you.” I held his gaze. “I don't. So if someone needs to take the fall, it's me. Not you.”
Dom's expression went hard. “That's not how this works.”
“That's exactly how this works. I don't lose partners twice.” I started down the stairs. “Now come on. We've got a courthouse to infiltrate before the morning shift change makes it impossible.”
Behind me, I heard Dom following. Could feel his presence like heat at my back. Could feel the particular weight of someone who'd decided to trust me despite knowing better.
It should have made me nervous. Should have made me want to push him away before he became another name on the whiteboard. Another person whose death I'd carry.
Instead, it made me feel something I hadn't felt since James died.
Like maybe I didn't have to do this alone anymore.
Even if admitting that terrified me more than anything Harrow could do.
We took the Tube to the Temple station, emerged into morning London that smelled like rain and exhaust and the particular desperation of people rushing to jobs they hated.
The courthouse was nineteenth century stone that had watched more corruption than I could catalogue, protected by modern security and ancient bureaucracy in equal measure.
I approached the main entrance with Dom at my shoulder, both of us wearing the confidence of people who belonged here. The security checkpoint was staffed by a woman in her fifties who looked like she'd seen every variation of human stupidity and remained unimpressed.
“IDs,” she said without looking up.
We handed them over.
“Mr. Dean. Mr. Talis. Purpose of visit?”
“Case file review,” I said smoothly. “Corporate dispute requiring access to sealed testimony from previous litigation. We have authorisation.” I handed her paperwork I'd forged last night, official-looking forms with signatures that would pass casual inspection.
She studied the documents, then us, then the documents again. “These are for records in the main archive. Not administrative.”
“The case cross-references administrative testimony. We need access to both.” I smiled. “Unless there's a problem? We were told this was approved.”
“Who told you that?”
“Judge Harrow's office. We're coordinating with his circuit on disclosure requirements.” The lie slid out smooth as glass. “If there's confusion, I'm happy to call his chambers and clarify.”
Her expression shifted. Harrow's name carried weight here. Opened doors or closed them depending on context. “That won't be necessary. But administrative access requires escort. I'll call someone down.”
“Of course. We'll wait.”
She made a call. We stood in the security area, surrounded by marble and the echoing voices of people who thought justice happened in these halls. Dom's presence beside me was warm and solid.
The escort arrived: a clerk in his twenties who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. “Mr. Dean? Mr. Talis? Follow me please.”
We followed him through corridors that grew progressively less public, through security doors that required his badge, into administrative wings where the courthouse's real work happened away from cameras and witnesses.
My memory catalogued everything. Camera angles.
Guard rotations. Keypad entry codes I caught glimpses of when doors opened.
The clerk led us to a records room that was exactly what it claimed: filing cabinets, dusty boxes, the particular smell of old paper and bureaucratic neglect. “You can work here. I'll be back in an hour to escort you out.”
“Thank you.”
He left. The door locked behind him with a click that meant we were trapped as much as granted access.
Dom moved to the window, checked sight lines. “We're on the third floor. Two exits visible. Both monitored.”
“Noted.” I was already scanning the room, looking for what the clerk hadn't shown us. The real archive wasn't here. This was stage dressing, the place they brought people who asked questions. “Help me move this cabinet.”
“Why?”
“Because the real archive is behind it.” I'd studied the building's floor plan, memorised the renovations that had happened fifteen years ago. Knew that sealed evidence didn't sit in public-facing rooms. “Harrow's too careful to leave sensitive materials where auditors could stumble across them.”
We moved the cabinet. Behind it, barely visible, was a door. No handle. No obvious lock. Just a keypad and a card reader.
“Can you open it?” Dom asked.
“Give me two minutes.” I pulled lock pick tools from my jacket, knelt at the keypad and started working. The system was old, and vulnerable. I bypassed the card reader with a device I'd built myself, spoofed an authorisation signal, watched the light turn green.
The door clicked open.
Beyond was exactly what I'd expected. Smaller room. Climate controlled. Shelves of evidence boxes organised by case number. And in the corner, a filing cabinet marked with codes I recognised from Lily's case file.
“That's it,” I said quietly. “That's where they buried her.”
Dom moved past me, his body radiating controlled fury, his hands already reaching for the cabinet.
“Wait.” I caught his wrist, felt muscle and heat and the particular tension of a man holding himself back from violence. “We photograph everything. We don't take originals unless absolutely necessary. We need this to be admissible if it ever goes to trial.”
“Trial.” His voice was hollow. “You think this goes to trial.”
“I think we build the case properly or we waste everything we're risking.” I released his wrist, pulled out my phone, started photographing. “Help me document this. Every page. Every exhibit label. Every chain of custody form.”
We worked in silence. Dom holding evidence boxes open while I photographed contents with methodical precision. Case files that showed gaps. Witness statements that contradicted each other. Forensic reports with sections redacted. The architecture of corruption laid bare in paper and ink.
While Dom focused on Lily's files, I moved to the adjacent cabinet. The one with different date ranges. Different case codes. Looking for Crawford, James. Detective Inspector. My partner's name that should have been filed under suspicious death investigations.
Nothing.
I checked the next drawer. The next section. Ran my fingers along file tabs, looking for any variation of his name, his badge number, his case reference code.
Still nothing.
“Cal?” Dom's voice pulled me back.
“Just checking something.” I forced my hands to stop shaking, returned to photographing. But the absence sat in my chest like a stone. James's file should have been here. Should have been buried in the same archive where they stored all their inconvenient truths.
Unless they'd destroyed it completely. Unless James had gotten close enough to something that they couldn't risk even the sealed evidence existing.
The thought made bile rise in my throat.
“You were looking for your partner's file,” Dom said quietly.
“It's not here. Nothing with his name. Nothing with his case reference.” I kept my voice level through practice. “Which means either it was never sealed, or it was removed entirely.”
“They destroyed it.”
“Maybe. Or it's stored somewhere else. Somewhere even more restricted.” I returned to Lily's files, forced myself to focus on what we could document rather than what we'd lost. “Doesn't matter right now. We're here for your sister.”
But it did matter. It mattered that James's death had been erased so thoroughly that even the buried evidence didn't exist. It mattered that Harrow's network was efficient enough to make an entire investigation disappear.
It mattered that I might never prove what really happened to him.
Dom's hand settled on my shoulder. Brief. Grounding. “We'll find it. Whatever they did with his file, we'll find it.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and went back to work.
And then I found it. The thing that made everything click into place.
A log entry. Timestamped the night Lily died. Security footage from a camera that was supposed to have malfunctioned. Except the footage wasn't corrupted. It was deleted. Deliberately. By someone with administrative access.
And the access code used belonged to Harrow's office.
“Dom.” My voice came out strained. “Look at this.”