Chapter 5 - THE THING HIDDEN INSIDE MY RED HOODIE
Mom searched everything.
Her purse.
Her coat.
The diaper bag she still used for snacks even though I wasn’t a baby.
Her phone case.
Her shoes.
My backpack.
My lunchbox.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
She dumped everything onto the kitchen table.
Crayons rolled across the wood.
A granola bar fell onto the floor.
Two quarters.
Three hair ties.
A plastic dinosaur.
Vincent watched from the doorway.
“You’re sure David never gave you anything?”
“No.”
“USB drive?”
“No.”
“Envelope?”
“No.”
“Ledger?”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“A book of transactions.”
“No.”
“Key?”
Mom stopped.
“What?”
Vincent stepped inside.
“A key.”
Mom shook her head slowly.
“No.”
Then I remembered.
I reached into my red hoodie.
My hoodie had two pockets.
One was normal.
The other had a little hole in the lining.
I used it to hide treasures.
Rocks.
Candy.
Once, a dead beetle.
Mom had not been happy about the beetle.
I pushed my fingers through the torn seam.
Something hard touched my fingertips.
“Oh.”
Every adult looked at me.
“What?” Mom asked.
I pulled out a brass key.
It was small.
Taped around the top was a white paper tag.
The number 314 was written on it.
Mom stared.
“Where did you get that?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent took one step forward.
“Rory.”
“I really don’t.”
Marco appeared behind him.
“Think.”
I frowned.
Then I remembered David.
The day before.
Mom had been crying in the storage room.
I had been coloring near the office.
David came out carrying a box.
He saw me.
He smiled.
David rarely smiled at me.
“Hey, kid,” he said.
Then he touched the top of my head.
I didn’t like that.
“I forgot,” I whispered.
Mom crouched.
“Forgot what?”
“Mr. Sterling touched my hood yesterday.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“What exactly happened?”
“He said, ‘Don’t lose your head, little red.’”
Marco looked at Vincent.
Mom went pale.
“He put it on her?”
Vincent took the key carefully.
“Probably.”
I looked at Mom.
“Am I in trouble?”
She grabbed me and pulled me into her arms.
“No. Never.”
“I wasn’t stealing.”
“No.”
She kissed my hair.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Vincent studied the key.
“Three-fourteen.”
Elliot, who had arrived ten minutes earlier, put on his glasses.
“Bank box?”
“Could be.”
“Train station locker?”
“Maybe.”
“Storage unit?”
Marco asked.
Vincent looked at me.
“What else did David say?”
“That’s all.”
“Did he give you anything else?”
“No.”
I hesitated.
Mom noticed.
“What?”
“He said if anyone asked, I should say he gave me a lollipop.”
Vincent’s expression became cold.
“Did he?”
“No.”
Marco muttered something unpleasant.
Mom covered my ears.
“I’m four and a half.”
“I know,” she said.
“I already know bad words.”
“That doesn’t mean Marco needs to teach you more.”
Marco looked guilty.
Vincent placed the key inside a clear plastic bag.
“We find what it opens before Voss does.”
Mom stood.
“No.”
Vincent looked at her.
“No?”
“We give it to the police.”
“Eventually.”
“Immediately.”
“Megan.”
“This is evidence.”
“Yes.”
“So Detective Bell gets it.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Someone attacked a police transport and took David Sterling less than two hours ago.”
“That doesn’t mean every police officer is corrupt.”
“No.”
“But you think some are.”
“I think Leon Voss knew the transport route.”
Mom stopped.
That frightened her.
It frightened me because it frightened her.
Vincent continued.
“If Bell receives this key openly and someone in his department reports it, we lose our only advantage.”
“You said nobody calls you a liar.”
His face changed slightly.
“Who told you that?”
“Chicago.”
Marco looked amused.
Mom continued.
“If you want me to trust you, don’t start by asking me to hide evidence.”
Vincent stared at her.
Then he took out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Bell.”
Twenty minutes later, Detective Bell arrived through the bakery’s back entrance.
He looked exhausted.
His jacket was torn.
There was a bruise above his eyebrow.
Mom gasped.
“You were in the transport?”
“No. My partner was.”
“Is he okay?”
“Broken arm.”
He saw the bagged key.
“Where did you find that?”
Vincent nodded toward me.
Bell looked at my hoodie.
“Of course.”
I crossed my arms.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’ve had an unusual day.”
“I had pancakes too.”
He blinked.
“Good.”
Mom explained everything.
Bell listened.
Then he looked at Vincent.
“You’re right not to bring this through normal evidence intake yet.”
Mom looked shocked.
Bell continued.
“I’ve spent the last hour trying to figure out how Voss knew our route.”
“So you have a leak?” Vincent asked.
“Maybe.”
“Name?”
“No.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Bell didn’t.
“Do you recognize the number?” Mom asked.
Bell examined the tag.
“Could be Union Station.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Locker section?”
“Old baggage lockers were removed years ago, but private storage companies nearby use numbered boxes.”
Vincent shook his head.
“Too obvious.”
Elliot took a photograph of the key.
“Key manufacturer can narrow it.”
He zoomed in.
“Calder Safe & Vault.”
Bell frowned.
“That’s a commercial lock company.”
Elliot searched his phone.
“Custom keys. Mostly banks, private safe-deposit facilities and estate vaults.”
Vincent looked at Bell.
“Facilities in Chicago?”
“Three that I know of.”
Elliot tapped.
“Four.”
The third facility had a box 314.
Calder Private Depository.
River North.
Mom shook her head.
“We’re not going.”
Vincent said, “Correct.”
She blinked.
“You agree?”
“You and Rory stay here.”
“I meant nobody goes.”
“That was unrealistic.”
Bell sighed.
“Unfortunately, I agree with Kane.”
Mom looked between them.
“That is not comforting.”
Bell took the key.
“We’ll inspect the facility.”
Vincent reached for it.
Bell pulled back.
“Police.”
“Leak.”
“Evidence.”
“Dead man walking.”
“Who’s dead?”
I asked.
Everyone stopped.
Vincent looked at Mom.
Mom looked at Bell.
Bell looked terrible.
“Nobody,” Mom said quickly.
Adults lied in very obvious ways.
I knew that already.
Vincent and Bell left together.
Which apparently had never happened before, because Marco stared after them like he had seen a bear riding a bicycle.
Mom put me to bed.
I didn’t sleep.
I heard her walking around the apartment.
Then I heard her crying in the bathroom.
I climbed out of bed.
She was sitting on the closed toilet lid with her hands over her face.
I climbed into her lap.
“Are we poor?”
Her hands fell.
“Rory.”
“Are we?”
“We’re having a hard time.”
“Because Mr. Sterling didn’t pay you.”
“That’s part of it.”
“Is that why you don’t eat?”
Her eyes filled.
“I eat.”
“Not on star nights.”
She pulled me close.
“I’m sorry you noticed.”
“I notice everything.”
She laughed through her tears.
“Yes. You do.”
“Is Vincent bad?”
Mom went quiet.
“I don’t know.”
“Is Mr. Sterling bad?”
“I think he made some very bad choices.”
“That means yes.”
“People are more complicated than yes or no.”
I thought about that.
“Vincent gave me seven marshmallows.”
“That does not make him good.”
“It helps.”
She laughed again.
Then the apartment lights went out.
Every single one.
Mom froze.
The refrigerator stopped humming.
Outside the window, the bakery sign went dark.
Mom lifted me immediately.
“Marco?”
No answer.
She grabbed her phone.
No signal.
That was when something hit the downstairs door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Mom ran toward the bedroom.
A loud crash came from below.
Glass breaking.
Heavy footsteps.
I wrapped my arms around her neck.
“Mom.”
“Don’t talk.”
She put me inside the bedroom closet.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Rory.”
“No!”
She gripped my face gently.
“You listen to me. You do not come out until I tell you.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right outside.”
That was another adult lie.
She closed the closet door.
I heard footsteps in the apartment hallway.
Mom moved away.
Someone tried the front door.
Then stopped.
Silence.
A man’s voice.
“Megan Carter.”
Mom said nothing.
“We only want the key.”
Another voice laughed.
“And the kid.”
My whole body went cold.
Mom screamed.
Something crashed.
I pushed open the closet door.
Mom had overturned the kitchen table against the front entrance.
She was dragging a chair toward it.
“Rory!”
The window beside us shattered.
Mom threw herself over me.
A man’s arm reached through.
Then somebody roared from the hallway.
Not Vincent.
Marco.
The front door shook.
A man yelled.
Another crash.
Then silence.
Mom held me against the floor.
The door opened.
Marco stumbled inside.
Blood ran down the side of his face.
He was still standing.
Behind him were two men from Vincent’s security team.
“You okay?” he asked.
Mom stared at him.
“They said they wanted Rory.”
Marco’s face darkened.
His phone rang.
He answered.
“Boss.”
Pause.
Then his expression changed.
“What was in it?”
Mom stood slowly.
“What?”
Marco listened.
Then looked at us.
Vincent and Detective Bell had opened Box 314.
Inside was a ledger.
Photographs.
Bank records.
Names.
Police officers.
Judges.
Business owners.
Politicians.
And one photograph that made no sense at all.
Marco swallowed.
“Rory.”
I looked up.
“The box contained a picture of you.”
Mom stopped breathing.
Marco continued.
“You were a baby.”
May you like
Mom turned white.
“And the man holding you was Leon Voss.”
