Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
brooks
Brooks arrived at the safe house early, coffee in hand.
Vivienne sat at the small kitchen table with Dawn, both women restless after a night of confinement.
The modest rental property that Chief Sullivan was able to “borrow” without anyone from the mayor’s office knowing about.
The house was two blocks off Harbor Street, surrounded by other homes.
“Morning,” Brooks said, setting down the coffee. “How did you sleep?”
“Barely.” Vivienne accepted the cup. “Every creak had me wondering if someone found us.”
Dawn stood, stretching. “I’m going to grab a shower. Give you two some privacy to talk shop.”
Once she’d left, Brooks pulled out his notebook. “I’ve been digging into Daniel Clarkson’s financials since yesterday. Something about his story didn’t sit right with me.”
Vivienne’s expression sharpened. “What did you find?”
“Bank deposits. Regular payments over eighteen months, all from accounts I couldn’t immediately trace.” Brooks flipped through his notes. “I sent the account information to the FBI last night. They ran it through their databases.”
“And?”
“Shell companies. All connected to the Aldrich operation.” Brooks met her eyes. “Daniel wasn’t just a scared husband. He was on their payroll.”
Vivienne set down her coffee cup. “The bracelet. When I touched Melissa’s bracelet at the shop, I felt fear and secrets from him. Financial strain. But I couldn’t tell if it was about the Aldriches or something else.”
“It was about both. He had gambling debts, got in over his head. The Aldriches offered him money to report on Melissa’s research. Every discovery she made, every lead she followed, he fed back to them.”
“How much money?”
“We’re still tracing it, but preliminary numbers suggest close to two hundred thousand over eighteen months.”
Vivienne was quiet for a moment, her fingers wrapped around the coffee cup. “Melissa trusted him. She was coming home every night, excited about what she’d found, and he was selling that information to the people who wanted to kill her.”
“The FBI wants to interview him this morning. With this evidence, they think they can get him to flip completely. Testify about his direct contacts with Winston, detail how the operation worked.”
“Will he cooperate?”
“He doesn’t have much choice. The evidence is solid. He either helps build the case against Winston or goes down with the family.” Brooks closed his notebook. “But that’s not the only reason I wanted to talk to you.”
Vivienne’s fingers tightened around the coffee cup. “Winston is still out there.”
“I know. Every agency in New England is looking for him. His face is on every news channel. He can’t hide forever.”
“He doesn’t need forever. Just long enough to destroy evidence or eliminate witnesses.” She met Brooks’s eyes. “I should be at the shop. If he comes after me, at least I’d have my protections there. Here, I’m just sitting and waiting.”
“About that.” Brooks leaned forward. “Sullivan and I talked this morning. He wants to assign you a police detail instead of keeping you here. Two state troopers, rotating shifts, staying close enough to respond but giving you freedom to move around.”
Relief crossed her face. “I can go back to the shop?”
“With protection, yes. The FBI has already recovered additional evidence and identified more victims. Your work is done for now. There’s no reason to keep you confined when we can protect you just as well at your business.”
“When can I leave?”
“After Sullivan briefs the protection detail. Probably around noon.” Brooks hesitated. “But Vivienne, you need to understand the risk. Winston is desperate. His empire is collapsing. His family is in custody. You helped make that happen.”
“I understand. But I won’t hide while he’s out there. The Hawthorne women have never run from threats, and I won’t start now.”
Brooks had expected that answer. The quiet steel beneath the gentle exterior was one of the things he admired about her. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. No investigating on your own. No following visions into dangerous situations.”
She smiled. “I promise to be reasonable.”
“That’s not the same as being careful.”
“It’s the best you’re going to get.”
Dawn emerged from the bathroom, hair damp. “So what’s the plan?”
“Vivienne gets a police detail and can return to the shop this afternoon,” Brooks said. “You’re welcome to stay with her or head back to your life. Either way, she’ll have protection.”
“I’ll stick around a few more days.” Dawn looked at her cousin. “Someone needs to make sure you actually listen to your protection detail instead of ditching them to chase ghosts.”
“I don’t chase ghosts,” Vivienne protested. “They come to me.”
“Even worse.”
Brooks’s phone rang. Sullivan. “Yeah, Chief.”
“Conference room in thirty minutes. FBI briefing on the search results from last night. They found something big.”
“On my way.” Brooks ended the call and stood. “I have to get back to the station. The protection detail should be here by noon. Officers Daniels and Morales—both good people. They’ll keep you safe.”
“Brooks.” Vivienne’s voice stopped him at the door. “Thank you. For everything. For believing me. For protecting me.”
Brooks felt the pull toward her, recognized that what had started as a reluctant working relationship had become something more significant.
“We make a good team,” he said. “Now let me go find out what the FBI discovered.”
The conference room at the station had been transformed into an FBI command center. Agent Porter stood at the front, flanked by evidence boards covered with photographs and documents. Brooks took a seat next to Sullivan as the room filled with local officers and federal agents.
“Good morning.” Porter’s voice cut through the chatter. “Last night’s searches were extremely productive. I want to walk you through what we found.”
She clicked a remote, and crime scene photos appeared on the screen.
“Location one: the old quarry on Aldrich property. Ground-penetrating radar identified three burial sites. We’ve recovered remains from all three.
Based on preliminary examination, we’re looking at victims from the 1990s and early 2000s. ”
Brooks felt his stomach tighten. More families who would finally get answers.
“Location two: the abandoned warehouse on the harbor.” More photos. “A hidden room containing financial records going back forty years. Ledgers documenting artifact sales, buyer information, transaction details. Everything we need to trace the money and identify international buyers.”
“Location three: the fishing dock storage unit.” Porter’s expression grew more intense.
“This is the significant find. Inside a waterproof container, we discovered correspondence between Winston Aldrich and buyers in twelve countries. But more importantly, we found shipping manifests that document the movement of artifacts with their original provenance—where they were stolen from, when, and how they entered the Aldrich network.”
Sullivan leaned forward. “How does that help us?”
“Because several of these artifacts are on international watch lists. Museums and governments have been searching for them for decades. Some are culturally significant pieces worth millions.” Porter pulled up images of ancient pottery, jewelry, and statues.
“With this documentation, we can not only prosecute the Aldriches for smuggling, but we can also repatriate stolen cultural heritage to the countries they were taken from.”
Brooks saw the scope expanding. This wasn’t just a local crime anymore. This was international trafficking that would involve multiple governments and agencies.
“The other significant development,” Porter continued, “is that Daniel Clarkson’s testimony is now corroborated by physical evidence.
We found emails on a server in the warehouse that match his description of being recruited to spy on his wife.
We have the payment trail. We have the communication records.
His cooperation has moved from helpful to essential. ”
“What about Winston?” an FBI agent asked.
“Still at large. But we’ve frozen all Aldrich family accounts. He has no access to his resources. No way to pay for safe harbor or false documents. Every law enforcement agency in the region has his photo. It’s only a matter of time.”
Porter clicked to the next slide. “Which brings me to our next steps. We need to interview everyone who had contact with the Aldrich family’s business operations.
Employees at the shipping company, the construction firm, the real estate holdings.
Some of them knew about the smuggling. Others were genuinely ignorant. We need to separate them out.”
“How many people are we talking about?” Sullivan asked.
“Approximately two hundred employees across all Aldrich businesses. Plus town officials who may have been compromised—council members, inspectors, anyone in a position to facilitate their operations.”
The room absorbed that number. Brooks thought about what it meant for Westerly Cove—a small town where everyone knew everyone, now facing the reality that dozens of their neighbors might have been complicit in criminal activity.
“Detective Harrington.” Porter’s attention turned to him. “I understand Ms. Hawthorne is currently in protective custody.”
“Yes. We’re transitioning her to a police detail today so she can return to her business.”
“Good. We’ll need her available for additional consultations as we process evidence.
Her insights have been invaluable.” Porter paused.
“I also want to discuss the possibility of her consulting on other cold cases with similar elements. The Bureau has several unsolved disappearances near historical sites that might benefit from her abilities.”
Brooks felt protective instincts flare. “She’s needed here in Westerly Cove.”