18. Levi #2
Rosie sighs, “You’re missing the point. If there really is a dead animal in the locker room, it’s possible that whoever Levenski saw is responsible for putting it there.
” As she speaks, Rosie drives us away from the hanger, her mind clearly racing with the implications, while my own thoughts whirl with uncertainty and concern about what might be going on.
Realizing the situation might be more complicated—and potentially dangerous—than we first thought, I quickly pull out my phone and dial the number for the security office at the arena, hoping they can provide assistance or at least help us understand what we’re dealing with.
Niall Ryland answers the phone promptly, his voice crisp and professional.
He is a recent hire, having just transitioned from military service into this new role.
“Can you locate and pull all surveillance footage from the cameras positioned outside the team’s locker room, specifically during the timeframe when the Minnesota Lions were present in the building?
I’m trying to identify a woman who was seen wearing a team t-shirt but who doesn’t appear to have any legitimate reason for being there. ”
Without hesitation, Niall responds, “Got it, boss.” With that, he ends the call.
I shake my head with a wry smile. “It’s just as well I didn’t need anything else from him right now.”
Rosie can’t help but snicker at the exchange. “He’s really good at what he does. No nonsense, straight to the point, and always focused on the job. I think he’s just relieved to be handling something more interesting than his usual routine of monitoring the building’s security feeds.”
I turn to her, still grinning. “I’ll leave you to deal with the animal situation, since your husband is bound to refuse to let you inside. They’ll probably end up calling pest control, or whoever else is necessary, to handle it and get rid of the creature.”
Rosie laughs, shaking her head. “If I do end up going in there, you’d better watch your back, Partner. You never know what might happen.”
I return her grin. “I’ll go and start reviewing the footage,” I say, already mentally preparing for what I might find.
Ryland, sporting his meticulously trimmed military crop and a sharply pressed suit, stands ready with the data feed I requested, already lined up and waiting for my review.
He’s a reliable man—dependable, diligent, and perhaps just a touch too eager to meet every expectation.
Still, I find his enthusiasm endearing, and I genuinely like working with him.
As I settle into the chair beside him, I turn to Ryland and ask, “Did you find anything?” My tone is casual, but I’m keenly interested in his response, curious to see what he’s uncovered.
“I think I found who you’re looking for,” Ryland says, his voice low and confident.
He presses a button, and the security footage flickers to life, and within seconds, a woman appears on the screen.
She moves cautiously, her eyes darting from side to side as she scans the hallway, clearly making sure that no one is watching her.
Satisfied that the coast is clear, she hurries toward the locker room, her pace quick and determined.
In one hand, she clutches a large black trash bag, gripping it tightly as if it contains something important.
I frown as I watch her disappear through the locker room door.
It strikes me as odd—there’s almost always someone in the locker room during games, whether it’s players, staff, or maintenance workers.
The area is rarely empty, especially at this time.
So why wasn’t she stopped or questioned?
Why did no one notice her coming in with that bag?
“She’s only in there for three minutes and twenty-three seconds,” Ryland says, his eyes never leaving the screen.
He fast-forwards the footage, the timestamp in the corner spinning rapidly.
Suddenly, the woman reappears, stepping out of the locker room.
This time, however, her hands are empty—there’s no sign of the black trash bag she brought in with her.
Ryland pauses the footage at just the right moment, freezing her image on the screen. He turns to me with a knowing smirk, clearly pleased with his discovery. I arch an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue.
“Maria Cole,” he says, supplying the information I need. “She’s twenty-two years old and works here as a social media intern.”
I roll my eyes in exasperation, unable to hide my annoyance.
“You could have led with that,” I say, my tone sharp as I cross my arms and stare pointedly at him.
It would have saved us both a lot of confusion if he had just told me the most important detail from the start, instead of making me guess or wonder what was really going on.
He doesn’t seem fazed by my irritation. Instead, he meets my gaze calmly and replies, “It’s better that you see proof before we find her.” His voice is steady.
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” I admit, rising from my seat and straightening my posture. “I assume you’ve already made copies of the footage?” I ask, glancing over at him.
“Three,” he replies with a confident smile.
I can’t help but let out a short chuckle. “Do you happen to know where she is?” I inquire, hoping for a lead.
He shakes his head. “I figured I’d hang on and wait for you before calling up to the office. I didn’t want her to know we’re on her.”
I nod in understanding. “That makes sense. We’ll head up to the offices. Do you happen to have a clearer picture of her that we can use?”
“Yes, I actually meant to send it to you earlier,” he says. Within seconds, my phone vibrates, and I see the image pop up on my screen. At that moment, Weston enters the room.
“He’s in the locker room,” Weston announces, referring to Dover. “Nash and Madden are staying with him. Plus, Jimmy Cheswick volunteered to stand guard at the entrance to the locker room, just in case.”
“Alright then,” I respond, reassured by the arrangements. “Can you keep an eye on things here while we go look for Maria Cole?”
Ryland speaks up, “I’ve left a printed picture of her in front of the monitors for reference. If she shows up, can you track her movements and relay them to us in real time?”
Weston frowns, clearly concerned. “Is she the one who has been after Hilton? Why though? For some reason I expected a guy to be behind it.”
“Maybe she was paid for the roadkill found in the locker room,” I shrug.
“We’ll have a clearer understanding once we have the chance to speak with her,” I add, my voice tinged with anticipation as I gather my things and make my way out of the office.
The uncertainty of the situation weighs on my mind, and I find myself growing increasingly impatient to meet with Miss Cole.
I hope that by talking to her directly, we can finally shed some light on things.