Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Union Station Federal Courthouse
Tacoma, Washington
The Pacific Grand Hotel was crawling with law enforcement by the time Allie and Jason arrived. Halloway’s body was discovered by housekeeping a little after nine, and she and Jason spent the morning there at the crime scene and speaking with Halloway’s sidepiece.
The room was pristine except for the dead man and the number seared into his back, the bold digits till raw and raised against the skin, marking him with the number twenty-two.
They located Jennifer White through the hotel’s security system. The footage showed her entering the hotel roughly three hours before the estimated time of death. Allie and Jason tracked her down at the legal office where she worked.
The interview produced nothing useful. White got to the hotel earlier in the evening and had left a little before one in the morning. She hadn’t noticed anyone in the hallway or the lobby and hadn’t seen anything unusual.
In the car afterward, Jason gripped the steering wheel and shook his head. “A man whose associates are being murdered slips his security detail to meet some woman in a hotel room? I can’t wrap my head around it.”
Allie adjusted her seatbelt and watched the traffic crawl. “He wouldn’t be the first.”
“No. I guess not.” Jason exhaled through his nose. “He made it seem like he had a good marriage.”
After seeing the brand, Allie called the office and asked Brandy to look up Exhibit 22 from the Torrino trial. It corresponded to the financial ledgers that Halloway himself had introduced during the prosecution.
The pattern was unmistakable now: the killer was working through the prosecution team systematically, and the exhibit numbers were his signature.
By the time they made the now familiar trek to the fourth floor of the Courthouse, Allie had burned through both her breakfast and her patience. They needed to get some answers fast. On this visit, they found two U.S. marshals stationed in the corridor outside Sarah Park’s office.
Park stood the moment they entered. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she held a crumpled tissue in one hand. The composed attorney Allie remembered from their earlier encounters was barely visible beneath the raw fear on her face.
“Bob is dead.” Park’s voice cracked on the third word. “Am I next?” She didn’t try to hide her trembling hands.
Allie kept her expression steady and gestured toward the chairs. “Why don’t we sit down?”
Park followed her suggestion but didn’t relax. Her fingers anxiously worked the tissue into smaller and smaller pieces.
“We’re taking every precaution to ensure your safety,” Allie said.
“But we need your help to move this investigation forward.” She paused, choosing her words carefully.
“Halloway had the number twenty-two burned into his back. We believe it corresponds to Exhibit 22 from the Torrino trial. They were the financial ledgers he introduced.”
Park stared at her with a horrified expression.
“Sterling was branded with fourteen, which matched the exhibit he presented. Vance had the number thirty-five, matching his. We believe the killer is targeting state-paid members of the trial based on specific exhibits from that trial.”
The color drained from Park’s face. “You—you think I’m also going to be targeted?”
“We certainly think it’s possible,” Jason said.
He pulled a printout from his folder and set it on the desk between them.
“This is your trial record from the Torrino prosecution. You introduced approximately a dozen exhibits, mostly witness affidavits and testimony documentation.” He scanned the page, then read off several exhibit numbers.
“Do any of those stand out as particularly controversial?”
Park shook her head, though her gaze stayed fixed on the printout as if it might tell her something she didn’t already know.
“No. Everything was by the book. My role in the Torrino case was primarily preparing witnesses for testimony. The written testimonies were mostly what I submitted at trial.” She sniffed.
“It’s been five years, and I’ve worked hundreds of cases since then. I can’t remember every detail.”
“What about the defense’s challenges?” Allie asked. “Were any of the witnesses you prepared questioned on their credibility?”
“The defense did challenge some of the witnesses, claiming they’d been coerced into testifying.” Park straightened in her chair, her posture shifting into something more practiced. “Judge Vance reviewed the challenges and ruled in our favor. The ruling was upheld on appeal.”
Allie watched the subtle change in Park’s body language, the way her shoulders squared and her chin lifted, as though she were addressing a courtroom rather than two FBI agents investigating the murders of her colleagues. It was small, but a tell nonetheless.
“Did you ever feel pressure to adjust witness testimony?” Allie asked directly.
Park’s expression hardened. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Were there any irregularities with the evidence you handled?” Jason pressed. “Anything that seemed off, even in hindsight?”
“The judge reviewed everything and ruled it legitimate.” Park spread her hands on the desk as if anchoring herself.
“Everything I submitted went through proper channels. The court accepted it. The appellate court upheld it. I don’t know what else I can tell you.
Are you saying that someone is getting revenge for this case?
That they think we all did something wrong with the evidence? ”
Allie nodded. “That’s what everything currently points to.”
Hearing that, Park’s composure began to fracture.
Her face crumpled, and she pressed both palms against her eyes as tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I have a young boy. He’s six years old.
Please find whoever is doing this.” Her voice broke into something raw and desperate. “Please. What a nightmare.”
Allie gave Park the space to collect herself. “We’re doing everything we can,” she said softly. “The marshals will keep you and your son safe. Just make sure you stay within their purview and follow their directives. Halloway would probably still be alive if he hadn’t slipped them.”
The corridor felt cooler after the confined emotion of Park’s office. The two marshals stood like bookends on either side of the door, and Allie waited until she and Jason were well out of earshot before speaking.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Jason rolled his shoulders, working out the tension that always accumulated during difficult interviews. “I believe her. She’s terrified, and she has every reason to be.”
Park’s fear was real, and her concern for her son was genuine. But something about the interview nagged at her. “Her responses felt off,” Allie said. “When we pushed on the evidence, she didn’t actually deny there were problems. She kept deflecting to what the judge ruled.”
Jason slowed his pace. “You think she’s hiding something?”
“I think there’s a difference between saying ‘the evidence was clean’ and saying ‘the judge said it was clean.’ Park never once told us the evidence itself was legitimate. She told us the court accepted it.” Allie stopped and turned to face him. “Those are two very different statements.”
“So then we dig deeper into the witness affidavits and the testimony documentation she submitted. If witnesses were coached or their statements were altered, that’s where we’ll find the fingerprints.”
A minute later, they stepped out into the main lobby, where the vaulted ceilings and restored architecture of the old train station opened up around them. Marble floors gleamed under the overhead lights.
Allie spotted Marshall Jake Reeves coming through the entrance. Allie noticed a tightness around his mouth that hadn’t been there before. When he saw them, he changed course and met them near the center of the lobby.
Jason didn’t waste any time. “Your detail was supposed to keep Halloway alive.”
Reeves absorbed the words without flinching, though a muscle jumped in his jaw.
“Halloway wasn’t under house arrest, Agent King.
He was under voluntary protective custody.
It was his choice to give his detail the slip.
” His tone was professional, but the tension beneath it was audible.
“My team followed protocol. We can’t physically restrain someone who doesn’t want to be protected. ”
Allie stepped in before the exchange could escalate. “We’ve been developing a theory about the exhibit numbers. The branding on each victim corresponds to specific exhibits they introduced or authorized during the Torrino trial. Halloway’s number matches the financial ledgers he presented.”
Reeves’s hesitation was brief, no more than a heartbeat, but Allie noticed it. His eyes moved between them, but something behind his expression recalculated before he nodded.
“That makes sense,” he said. “It fits with how deliberate this whole thing has been.”
“We need increased security on Park and U.S. Attorney Thorne,” Allie said. “Whoever is doing this is accelerating. We have no indication that they’re going to stop anytime soon.”
“Already on it.” Reeves straightened his jacket. “That’s why I’m here. I’m coordinating with the courthouse security team and doubling the detail on both of them.” He glanced toward the elevators. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get that set up.”
He gave them a curt nod and walked toward the elevator bank with long, purposeful strides. Allie watched him go. Reeves was a professional doing a difficult job under impossible circumstances. His reaction was understandable.
“This whole case bothers me,” Jason said after the marshal was gone. “Not just Halloway and not just the exhibit numbers. All of it.” He crossed his arms and stared down at the shiny floor. “We’re missing something, Allie. I can feel it.”
She could feel it too. The pieces they had were connecting into a clear picture of a killer working through a list, branding his victims with the evidence they had personally contributed to a prosecution. But the picture felt incomplete.
“Then we keep digging,” she said. “Starting with those affidavits.”
Jason nodded, and they walked toward the exit together. Outside, the air carried the familiar damp chill of a Pacific Northwest autumn, and low clouds pressed against the Tacoma skyline like a lid closing over the city.