Chapter 5 - The Road to Rolla
The rain hit the windshield of the unmarked Chevrolet Suburban in violent, rhythmic sheets, the heavy rubber wiper blades struggling to clear the dark glass. Up front, Detective Vance drove with both hands planted at ten and two on the steering wheel, her eyes locked on the narrow two-lane highway cutting through the dense Ozark pine forests. Beside her sat Sergeant Miller, his eyes scanning the side mirrors while an encrypted tactical tablet glowed softly on his lap.
In the back seat, Emily had finally surrendered to exhaustion, her small head resting in my lap, her rhythmic breathing soft against the quiet hum of the engine. I kept my hand gently placed on her back, feeling every breath, every tiny twitch of her body as she dreamed.
"Anything from the lake detail?" Vance asked without taking her eyes off the storm-drenched road.
"Deputies cleared the cabin fifteen minutes ago," Miller replied, zooming in on a satellite map on his tablet. "The front door was kicked open, the floorboards in the master bedroom were torn up, but the iron box was gone. Left an empty hole in the foundation."
My heart sank into my stomach. "He got it."
"He got the box, but he hasn't opened it," Vance noted, her tone calm and analytical. "Arthur Vance was an eccentric engineer before he went into real estate. That box was custom-built with a three-stage mechanical locking mechanism. You can't blow it open with explosives without destroying the paper bearer bonds inside, and you can't pick it without the original key or the mechanical code."
"Where’s the key?" I asked.
Vance glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "According to the estate file, Arthur had two keys made before he died. One was given to Sarah... which was recovered from her purse at the crime scene. The second key..."
Vance paused, looking back at Emily sleeping in my lap.
"...was placed on a silver chain around your daughter’s neck on her eighth birthday."
My hand instinctively moved to Emily’s collarbone. Beneath the scrub top she was wearing, tucked safely against her skin, was a small, heart-shaped silver locket she had worn for as long as I could remember. I had always assumed it was a simple piece of children's jewelry.
I reached down, carefully pulling the silver locket out from under her shirt. I pressed the small latch on the side. The locket popped open. Inside, sitting in a tiny velvet groove where a photograph should have been, was a minuscule, oddly shaped steel key with three distinct notches along its spine.
"He doesn't have the key," I whispered, the realization sending a cold chill straight down my spine. "Jason broke into the cabin, took the box, but he realized he can't open it without this."
"Which means he knows he needs Emily," Miller said grimly, looking out his side window into the dark woods passing by. "He knew Sarah had the ledger, but he didn't find the key on her body. He’s going to figure out that the kid has it."
Suddenly, the Suburban’s dashboard screen flickered red. A loud, sharp tone chimed from the vehicle’s internal computer system.
"Alert," a digitized voice spoke from the speakers. "External network breach detected on secure channel 4."
Vance’s eyes widened. "What the hell?"
"Our GPS signal just got pinged!" Miller yelled, grabbing the computer console. "Someone just ran our vehicle identification number through the State Police dispatch database using an official administrative password!"
"How?" Vance demanded, slamming her foot onto the accelerator, the heavy SUV surging forward down the slick, twisting highway. "That channel is restricted to divisional captains!"
"Sarah’s father’s estate trust had a high-paid corporate attorney named Gerald Vance—his brother," Miller read frantically from the tablet screen. "Gerald Vance was listed as an honorary board member on the Law Enforcement Retirement Fund! He had administrative access to the state vehicle tracking portal!"
"Gerald is in on it," I gasped, holding Emily tighter as the SUV rounded a sharp curve. "He’s working with Jason!"
Before Vance could respond, a pair of blinding high-beam headlights flared to life directly behind us in the dark rain.
A heavy, dark object lurked in our rear window—a lifted, reinforced steel front bumper attached to a massive blue Ford F-150. It had been following us with its lights off in the storm, waiting for the precise location lock.
"BRACE YOURSELVES!" Vance screamed.
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BANG!
The heavy steel bumper of the Ford F-150 slammed brutally into the rear of our Suburban. The violent impact sent a bone-shattering shockwave through the cabin. Emily woke up with a shriek of pure terror as the Suburban’s rear tires lost traction on the flooded asphalt, spinning sideways toward the black, tree-lined ravine at sixty miles an hour.
