Chapter 3 #2
He excused himself and walked out into the hallway, leaning against the wall. He tried to catch his breath. Carl was found in the dumpster behind the brewery. The dumpsters were in the alley, right next to the patio.
The patio where Reed had placed his recorder. He’d placed it between acts. Before the last time he’d seen Carl alive. It would have picked up any sounds that had drifted from the alley.
Reed then told his supervisor he wasn’t feeling well and that he needed to take the rest of the day off.
He’d already finished all his tasks for the day.
There was only an hour left, but he couldn’t stay in the office a second longer.
He drove home with his hands tight on the steering wheel, his thoughts racing.
He couldn’t help thinking that his recorder had probably picked up the murder. And that’s what it had to be, right? Carl wouldn’t just end up in a dumpster because he’d climbed in there and died. The man was like thirty-five. He didn’t just have a heart attack and fall into a dumpster by accident.
Reed’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The afternoon sunlight glinted on the windows when he pulled up in front of his cottage.
Inside, he found his gear bag sitting in the hallway.
He rifled through it and didn’t find the recorder.
That’s when he remembered that he’d put it in the pocket of his jean jacket. It was hanging on the hook by the door.
He slid his hand into the pocket and pulled out his recorder.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the device.
He almost didn’t want to know. But he carried it to his studio and sat down at his desk.
He pulled on his headphones and turned on the computer.
Once it booted, he connected the field recorder to the computer and downloaded the audio.
It was about two hours between the opening of the second set and the end of the night when he turned it off.
It took about two minutes to download. When it was done, he opened it in his editing software and watched the waveform spread across his screen.
It was mostly flat. There were occasional sparks where something had been loud enough to register above the ambient noise.
He dragged the playhead forward and listened through his headphones. He heard people chatting on the patio, glasses clinking, the warm murmur of a crowd enjoying the spring weather. The muffled sound of his second set bleeding through from inside.
Reed slowed down, listened more carefully. He was just about to give up when he heard voices. Reed turned up the volume. The voices became clearer, muffled by distance, but still audible.
“I’ve been patient,” a nervous male voice said. “Two years feeding you everything. Who’s talking. Who’s not. I flagged that dispatcher before she became a problem. I earned my way out.”
A controlled, flat voice responded. “You earned a conversation. That’s what this is.”
Reed’s blood went cold,
“I want an extraction. A new identity. The fifty thousand you owe me.” The nervous man was getting more agitated. “I know how Meridian works. I know where the money comes from.”
“You know what we want you to know.”
There was a pause. The nervous man spoke again.
“I know it goes above Prescott. Way above. I know who sits at the top of all of this. You think I didn’t keep records? Insurance? Anything happens to me, and it all goes public.”
“Your files are already gone, Carl.” The calm voice said. “We’ve been in your apartment twice this month.”
It was Carl. And Reed had recorded the voice of his killer.
“I’ll talk. FBI. The Shifter Protection Agency. Someone will listen.”
“The Major doesn’t tolerate loose ends. And no one’s listening to a dead bartender who skimmed from the register.”
There was a scuffle. Then a grunt. Then silence.
Seconds later, there was the sound of something heavy being dragged across asphalt. The metallic creak of the dumpster lid opening. A thump. The lid falling closed. The footsteps walked away, unhurried and calm. Then nothing but crickets and the muffled sound of Reed’s voice.
Reed couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He’d captured Carl Unger’s murder on audio. What had Carl been messed up in? The room felt like it was closing in on him. He replayed the section, listening again with his eyes closed. The sounds of the murder didn’t change.
Reed pulled off his headphones and sat in silence.
The waveform was frozen on his screen. He tried to make sense of the conversation.
Carl was some kind of informant. He’d been feeding information to someone for two years.
Something called Meridian and money. It went above Prescott.
Reed knew about the Crown Mountain conspiracy. Two of his siblings had been targeted.
Then he thought about the reference to a dispatcher.
That had to be Becca Matthews. The emergency services dispatcher who’d been murdered last year when her house was burned with her inside it.
She’d been researching the response delays during the sabotage attacks.
The arson was committed by a man named Frank Dalton, the county emergency management director.
Reed knew details about this case from his brother, Ash, who had been at the fire at Becca Matthews’ house. Everyone assumed that Frank Dalton had committed the murder to cover his own involvement in the Crown Mountain conspiracy. But this recording proved that it wasn’t over.
He realized now that he had evidence of something that people would kill for. People had seen him on the patio. Knew that he recorded shows. Had the killer known? What if they found out about the recording?
Reed saved the file and backed it up on a thumb drive. He tucked the drive in his pocket. The original was still on his computer.
He needed to take this to someone. He thought about the police. But he didn’t know how deep the corruption ran. He didn’t know who he could trust. Frank Dalton had been a public official. What if there was someone inside the police department involved in the conspiracy?
He thought about his family. His dad. His siblings. Their mates and their children. He couldn’t put them at risk.
He knew that Dominic Steel, of Steel Protection, had helped solve the Becca Matthews murder when he had been framed for her killing.
The security company had a shop on Main Street.
He’d passed the building many times since they’d moved in eighteen months ago.
They’d come to Fate Mountain to protect the shifter community.
He had to be careful. His family had been targeted before. He couldn’t take this recording to the police yet. Instead, he would take it to Steel Protection.