Chapter Seven #2
"It stays on the schedule," I said. "Move it to the south bay. No public access to dispatch. If the city prefers a closed briefing, we give them one. Danner doesn't get our milestone because he found a way to frighten us."
Josie nodded and wrote launch remains in capital letters.
That choice cost less than the leased truck and more than pretending I felt brave.
"And the yard?" Rook asked.
"Cameras at the north fence and road entrance. Installed by a licensed company I select. No hidden Kingsrow feed. Ruiz gets footage by request or warrant."
Rook nodded once. "Can offer vendor names through Mace."
"Send three. I will choose."
No one called me difficult. No one congratulated me for being strong. We wrote decisions, named responsibilities, and set deadlines.
That was enough.
Mace slid a folder across the table. "Lock found another pattern in Lena's event files."
I hated the way my chest tightened at the use of his road name.
The folder held copies of Northline, Ember Risk, and Kroll invoices.
Each bore Lena's event authorization and a separate approval further down the chain.
Declan's initials appeared on the exception payment for Northline.
Beside the records was a table he had built showing dates, access locations, and known Danner connections.
The last line was not evidence. It was a statement for Kingsrow's internal chronology.
Evidence that Lena Pryce approached Kingsrow with an undisclosed motive does not alter that Declan Mercer knowingly began and continued a consensual affair.
I read it once.
Then again.
"He wrote that?" I asked.
"Yes," Mace said.
"Without being asked?"
"Hollis told him police did not need it in the vendor chart. Lock kept it in the table record so nobody could use the investigation to rewrite what he did."
The fact landed somewhere I had no intention of examining in front of witnesses.
It did not repair anything. It did not unmake a motel room or the lie at our kitchen sink. It told me only that he had seen one door leading toward excuse and chosen not to walk through it.
One door was not a road home.
I returned to the invoices.
"How did Lena enter Kingsrow's event work?"
Mace answered. "She pitched the Benny Mercer rehabilitation benefit through the chamber. Had references. Knew sponsors. Made herself useful fast."
"Declan met her there?"
"At planning meetings first. Affair began after the benefit."
I looked at Ruiz. "Have you interviewed her?"
"Attempted yesterday. She retained a lawyer and declined."
"Did you tell her Pete was hurt?"
"Her lawyer received a factual notice that the investigation now includes assault and attempted vehicle interference. We did not characterize her as responsible without evidence."
"Has she contacted Kingsrow?"
Mace's mouth hardened. "Not since the message she sent Lock before the first Danner meeting. She has not returned requests for an internal event-record interview."
I thought of the cover she had fastened at the office doorway.
How carefully her expression had emptied when she saw me.
Lena had not looked surprised to find Declan married.
She had known who I was. She had been inside Kingsrow events where my photograph hung beside his.
She had called me Audrey while asking whether I wanted another glass at Benny's benefit.
The affair was Declan's betrayal of me.
The access scheme was hers.
Those truths could stand beside each other without one swallowing the other.
"I want to speak to her," I said.
Josie's pencil stopped.
Mace shook his head. "No."
The old president's answer, delivered from a different mouth, made anger rise fast.
"You do not decide that."
He caught himself. "You're right. I should have said I think it is unsafe and likely to damage the investigation."
"Better."
Ruiz folded her hands. "Why do you believe she will speak to you when she refused police?"
"Because I am the person she displaced in the version of events she sold herself. She may want me to know why. She may want to minimize it. She may want to hurt me. Any of those motives could make her talk."
"Or provoke you."
"Then we control the setting."
I did not want a parking-lot confrontation.
I did not want to arrive at Lena's apartment with a club escort and create evidence Danner could use against Kingsrow or me.
I wanted a table, lawyers, a recording everyone consented to, and a detective close enough to act if Lena offered something material.
Miriam joined by speakerphone. She listened without interrupting, then proposed her conference room. Lena's lawyer could attend. Ruiz could occupy the adjacent office, visible and disclosed. No promises about charging decisions. No threats. No discussion of my separation beyond what I chose to say.
"And Declan?" Miriam asked.
"Not there," I said.
Mace's gaze stayed neutral.
"Kingsrow?" she asked.
"No cuts in the room. Mace can wait downstairs if Lena's lawyer agrees."
"I don't need to wait downstairs," Mace said. "Ruiz is enough."
The correction mattered. Kingsrow's presence could turn an interview into intimidation, even if no one raised a voice.
"All right," I said. "No club."
Ruiz leaned toward the speaker. "I need to make clear that Mrs. Mercer would be acting voluntarily, not as an agent of law enforcement. I will not script questions or use her to evade counsel. If Ms. Pryce agrees to a recorded meeting, I can receive evidence she chooses to surrender."
"Understood," Miriam said.
"And if Pryce refuses?" Josie asked.
"Then she refuses," I said. "We continue without her."
That answer surprised me with how true it felt. I wanted the facts Lena held. I did not need her apology, envy, or explanation to make my next decision.
At eleven fourteen, Miriam's assistant emailed the invitation to Lena's counsel.
At eleven twenty-two, the answer came.
Ms. Pryce declines any interview concerning Kingsrow MC, Cyrus Danner, or her prior relationship with Declan Mercer.
Below the refusal was a second sentence.
She would consider a confidential personal conversation with Audrey Mercer, counsel present, provided law enforcement is not concealed.
I read the careful wording.
Not an interview. A personal conversation.
Lena wanted control of the name we gave it.
"She took eight minutes," Josie said.
"She was waiting for me to ask."
Ruiz did not disagree. "If you proceed, do not assume willingness means honesty."
"I don't."
Miriam proposed Saturday at ten. Lena's attorney accepted after changing confidential to recorded by mutual consent. Ruiz arranged the adjacent office. The meeting would occur after Lena received written notice that she could leave at any time.
By noon, the safeguards were set.
I spent the next hour writing questions and deleting the ones that served only pain.
Did he compare us? Gone.
Did he tell you he loved you? Gone.
Were you in my place at the benefit while I thanked you? Rewritten as a date-and-access question.
The questions that remained had operational weight. When did Danner first approach her? What did he request? What did she photograph? Where did she store it? Who paid her? Which vendor introduced Northline, Ember Risk, and Kroll? What did she believe would happen to owners who refused?
I added one personal question at the bottom.
Did Declan knowingly provide protected information?
Not because an answer could rescue him. Because exact guilt mattered. If he knew about the theft, the marriage had another breach I had not yet been told. If he did not, I would not inflate his crime to make leaving easier. The affair was already enough.
Miriam reviewed the page and circled only one phrase.
"You wrote, Why did you target my husband? " she said. "That invites a speech about him. Ask what action she took and when."
I changed it to: Before the first sexual encounter, what instructions or incentives had Danner given you concerning Kingsrow?
The colder wording steadied me.
The ordinary workday continued around the threat.
We released two repaired sedans, declined another Ashbank call routed through a subcontractor, and received the city's written approval of our temporary verification protocol.
At six, I sent Josie home to sleep before overnight coverage and worked dispatch while the camera crew installed the north-fence units.
At ten, I ate soup from a paper cup and watched rain spread across the corridor cameras.
Josie returned at eleven thirty, rested, carrying a fresh thermos and the final camera-installation report.
At eleven fifty-two that night, my dispatch alarm sounded.
Josie turned toward the console. A motorist reported a disabled refrigeration trailer beside the old packing house, blocking the southbound lane. The callback number belonged to a prepaid mobile line. The registration information supplied did not match the trailer company.
I looked at the transparent maps.
Old landmark. Urgency. Heavy unit required. South of the corridor.
The next window had opened.
"Do not dispatch," I told Josie. "Call Ruiz and Mace. Verify through highway patrol."
I traced the probable route north from the false location to Bellwether Cold Storage, then beyond it to our access road.
The model had not merely found the next property.
It had found the next call.
And this time, we were waiting before anyone moved.