Chapter 3 - The Lies of the Neighborhood
By 6:00 a.m., the rain had softened into a dreary gray drizzle that blanketed the city of Detroit in mist.
Outside the crumbling apartment building on 4th Street, news vans were already parked along the curb. Local reporters stood under large black umbrellas, delivering sensationalized live broadcasts against the backdrop of the decayed facade.
"...a shocking case of maternal abandonment in the heart of the city," a blonde reporter spoke into her microphone. "Neighbors report that twenty-eight-year-old Sarah Miller frequently left her two young children unattended in appalling conditions..."
Rachel slammed her squad car door shut, marching straight through the flock of reporters. "Clear the entryway! Off the steps now! This is an active crime scene!"
"Officer! Is it true the mother had drug debt?" a photographer shouted, shoving a camera in her face.
Rachel grabbed the reporter's microphone and pushed it down. "What is true is that a mother was kidnapped while trying to save her sick child's life while a building full of adults sat behind locked doors and watched. Back off!"
Inside the hallway of 4B, Detective Thomas Miller from the Major Crimes Unit was waiting with a team of forensics specialists dusting the doorframe.
"You're making friends with the press, Brooks," Miller said dryly, holding a coffee cup.
"They're painting a victim as a criminal, Miller," Rachel snapped, pulling off her wet gloves. "What did forensics find on the chair wedged under the knob?"
"Fingerprints everywhere. Most belong to Sarah Miller and little Lily," Miller replied, pulling a clear evidence bag from his trench coat. "But we pulled a crisp palm print from the exterior door frame. It matches Victor Vance’s criminal index file. And we found blood droplets on the linoleum outside 4B that match the blood puddle you found in Storage Unit 114."
"He ambushed her," Rachel said, her mind piecing together the timeline. "She left the kids locked inside to protect them, ran out to get Leo’s medicine, but Vance was waiting in the stairwell. He forced her into his vehicle, took her to the storage locker thinking she had hidden her late husband's money there, and when he didn't find it, he took her somewhere else."
"We need leverage," Miller agreed. "Where’s the loan money?"
"The failed text on her phone mentioned a safe at the diner where she worked," Rachel recalled. "The Silver Diner on 8th Street. It’s a 24-hour dive."
Before they could step out, the door to apartment 4A swung open. It was the same neighbor who had gossiped through a crack in the door hours earlier—a thin woman in a faded robe with yellowed hair and a cigarette tucked behind her ear.
"Look, Officer," the woman began, crossing her arms defensively. "I didn't mean no harm earlier. I just... everyone said Sarah was running around with bad people."
Rachel stepped up to the woman, her eyes cold as ice. "Did you ever once hear Sarah screaming for help in this hallway, Mrs. Gable?"
The woman flicked her eyes away. "I... I hear a lot of things. It's a loud building."
"Did you hear a man kicking her door two nights ago?" Rachel pressed, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "Did you hear a mother crying while her two-year-old burned with a fever?"
"I have my own problems!" the woman snapped back, her face flushing red.
"Your problems aren't about to get you subpoenaed for obstruction of justice and failing to report a felony," Rachel countered smoothly. "If you saw Victor Vance in this hallway and didn't report it, you are on the hook. Did you see his truck last night?"
The woman swallowed hard, her defensive wall crumbling under Rachel's unwavering gaze. "I... I saw a dark blue pickup parked near the fire hydrant at 1:30 a.m.," she squeaked out. "A guy with a scar brought Sarah out the back door. She wasn't fighting him... she was crying, telling him she'd go quietly if he left the apartment alone."
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Rachel felt a lump form in her throat. Sarah hadn't surrendered; she had sacrificed herself to keep Vance from breaking down the door where her sleeping children lay.
"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," Rachel said coldly. "Next time, try using your phone to call 911 instead of taking videos."
