The repair-shop owner?
Daniel was working for him before he disappeared.
Hector reached for his phone.
I can find out whether Hale is still operating.
Within minutes, they discovered that Hale had sold his repair shop two years earlier and moved to a neighboring county. His current business was a vehicle-recovery company that handled towing contracts for several private insurers.
The company had a clean public record.
Too clean, Frank thought.
Call Linda Porter, he said.
Marcus looked at him.
Sarah's friend?
She knew Daniel before he disappeared. Maybe she knows more than she told Sarah.
Marcus made the call.
Linda answered after several rings.
When Marcus explained the situation, she became quiet.
Then she said, "I think it's time I showed you something."
They met her at a coffee shop that afternoon.
Linda was sixty, with silver hair and tired eyes. She carried a thick envelope inside her handbag and kept glancing toward the windows.
I should have done this years ago, she said.
She placed the envelope on the table.
Inside were copies of letters, receipts, and a photograph of a damaged delivery truck.
Frank recognized the truck immediately.
It was the vehicle involved in Daniel's accident.
What is this? he asked.
Linda took a breath.
Daniel thought the accident wasn't an accident.
Marcus leaned forward.
Explain.
Before the crash, Daniel discovered that Victor Hale was using the repair shop to alter vehicle identification numbers and move stolen motorcycles through private auctions. He found paperwork linking Hale to several vehicles that had been reported missing.
Frank felt a chill move down his back.
Why didn't he go to the police?
He tried.
Linda pulled out another document.
This is a copy of a report he filed with a local detective. The detective told him there wasn't enough evidence to pursue it.
Which detective?
Linda pointed to a name.
Frank recognized it.
Detective Paul Mercer.
A man who had retired two years earlier after serving nearly thirty years with the county police department.
Linda continued.
Daniel started collecting records himself. He believed Hale had connections with people who could make problems disappear. Then he had the accident.
Marcus studied the photograph.
Are you saying Hale arranged the crash?
I'm saying Daniel believed someone tampered with the truck's brakes.
Frank stared at the paperwork.
Why didn't you tell Sarah?
Linda's eyes filled.
Because Daniel begged me not to. He said Hale had threatened to hurt his family if he talked. He believed leaving would keep Sarah and Noah safe.
Frank sat back.
For six years, he had imagined Daniel riding away because he couldn't bear to face his failures.
Now another possibility stood before him.
Daniel might have left because he believed his family was in danger.
But that didn't erase the harm he had caused.
It only made the silence more complicated.
Marcus turned another page.
What happened to the evidence?
Linda shook her head.
I don't know. Daniel took the originals when he disappeared. I kept copies because I was afraid someone might come looking for them.
Frank examined the documents carefully.
One receipt bore the name of a storage facility outside town.
The date was June 13, 2020.
The day before Daniel disappeared.
At the bottom of the receipt was a handwritten unit number.
B-17.
Frank looked up.
Does this storage facility still exist?
Linda nodded.
I believe so.
Then we're going there.
No, Linda said sharply. "You need to be careful. If Hale finds out—"
He already knows we're looking.
Frank gathered the documents.
We're not going to start a fight. We're going to find out what Daniel left behind and turn it over to the proper authorities.
Marcus watched him closely.
And if someone is waiting for us?
Frank folded the receipt.
Then we'll make sure we don't walk into anything alone.
He didn't mention the note in his pocket.
He didn't need to.
By the time they left the coffee shop, all three men understood that the next step might uncover the truth.
It might also place them directly in the path of whoever had spent six years trying to bury it.
The storage facility stood beyond the industrial district, surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with coils of razor wire.
Rows of metal doors stretched beneath a corrugated roof. A faded sign warned customers that the property was monitored by security cameras, though several of the cameras appeared to have been broken for years.
Frank arrived with Marcus and Hector shortly after four in the afternoon.
They had informed the police that they were checking an old storage unit connected to a possible criminal investigation. A dispatcher recorded the information and promised to pass it along to an officer.
Frank wasn't satisfied.
He had also sent the facility's address to Raymond, along with instructions to call the police if they didn't check in within thirty minutes.
They weren't looking for trouble.
They were trying to avoid it.
At the office, a woman in her twenties examined the receipt Linda had provided.
Unit B-17, she said. "That account is closed."
When was it closed? Frank asked.
She checked the computer.
June 2020.
Who closed it?
The account holder removed the contents and surrendered the unit.
Do you have a record of what was removed?
The woman hesitated.
That information is confidential.
Frank placed his identification on the counter.
I'm not asking you to release personal records to the public. We're trying to locate evidence connected to a missing-person investigation. If necessary, we'll obtain a formal request.
The woman looked at the receipt again.
Wait here.
She disappeared into a back office.
Marcus lowered his voice.
This feels wrong.
Frank nodded.
Because it is.
Hector glanced toward the window.
A black pickup truck had entered the parking lot.
It moved slowly past the office, then stopped beside the far row of storage units.
The driver remained inside.
Hector took out his phone and photographed the vehicle.
Maybe a customer.
Maybe, Frank said.
The office worker returned carrying a folder.
I found an incident report from the day the unit was surrendered.
Frank opened it.
The document contained only a few lines. It stated that the account holder had removed the contents, left the unit clean, and returned the lock key.
The signature at the bottom was not Daniel's.
It belonged to Victor Hale.
Frank felt his pulse quicken.
Why would Hale close Daniel's account?
The woman shrugged.
He said he had authorization.
Do you have a copy of that authorization?
No.
Any security footage?
Not from that period.
Frank thanked her and walked outside.
The black pickup was gone.
Marcus scanned the parking lot.
We need to leave.