Joe is wrapping up his last batch of monthly reports when a knock at the door interrupts his thoughts. Looking up, he sees the desk sergeant standing in the hallway, an envelope in hand.
Here we go again, Joe thinks, running his fingers through his thinning hair. Closing his laptop, he motions for the older, rounder officer to enter.
Ed Walters had been in his prime when Joe first joined the force, serving as his mentor in those early days. With Ed's exceptional clearance rate, the captain has always admired him.
"This came with the morning mail," Ed says, handing the envelope over.
A curious expression crosses Joe's face. "It was in the mail this time?"
Ed nods. "Registered. I had to sign for it."
Joe frowns. "That's strange." He suddenly recalls the last letter—the one that had details about what will happen if he should die. Could it be?
Taking the envelope, he peels back the flap and pulls out several sheets of paper clipped together. He removed the paper clip and began to read.
Dear Captain,
The day has finally come. The people of Berryville can finally be at peace, knowing the phantom is gone.
Joe exhaled slowly. Thirty years of terror is finally over.
There hadn't been a kidnapping in decades—not any he was aware of, anyway—but the lingering fear had weighed heavily on everyone. Thinking that he was still out there, lurking, waiting to strike again, has kept the town on edge for far too long. People had become more guarded and less friendly, and doors are now locked every single night.
Joe pictures the residents in his mind and allows himself a small smile. "They can finally rest easy," he murmurs.
He continues reading.
I've enclosed maps marking the locations of the buried bodies. There should be fifty in all, not including those you've already found in the storage shed.
I hope this discovery brings closure to the victims' families, allowing them to move forward, to live happy, productive lives. Hopefully, they know how special they are—that they matter and that they have purpose.
We did what we had to do—to give those children a fighting chance, something they never would have had otherwise.
Happy digging, Captain.
Sincerely,
Tony Abbot Muller, AKA The Phantom
Joe flips through the remaining pages. They are all maps of the eastern seaboard.
I've got to get these maps to the right authorities ASAP. Shoving his chair back, he bolts for the door.
***
"The last case on the docket: Russ Wise." The bailiff announces.
The guard opens the side door.
A tall, gangly prisoner shuffles into the courtroom, his long hair hanging in unkempt strands. His hands are cuffed in front of him and then secured to a chain around his waist. Thick metal cuffs are fastened around his ankles, connected by another chain.
The guard leads him to the front, beside his attorney, then turns and exits through the same door.
"How does your client plead, counselor?"
"Not guilty, Your Honor."
The state's attorney rolls his eyes. "The prosecution requests remand."
"He doesn't have any priors," Russ's lawyer argues.
"His crimes are heinous, Your Honor. Releasing him will put the community at risk."
"Alleged crimes," the defense corrects. "Which I will prove he had no involvement in."
The judge smacks his gavel against the bench. "This is an arraignment, counselor—save your opening statement for trial."
"Apologies, Your Honor."
The judge sighs. "Let's move this along so we can all go home."
"Yes, Your Honor. My client isn't a flight risk. He has a clean record, a full-time job he's held for over twenty years, and he volunteers at the local shelter regularly." Gesturing to the woman in the wheelchair beside him, he added, "Your Honor, he also cares for his sickly mother, who is entirely dependent on him."
The judge glanced at the frail woman before shifting his attention back to the attorney.
"And," the lawyer continued, "I will be filing a motion to dismiss the case before the end of the business day."
"On what grounds?"
"The arresting officer failed to read my client his Miranda rights when he was taken into custody. Realizing his mistake after obtaining a confession, the officer hastily ran through his rights before having him sign a waiver, which makes his coerced confession unlawfully obtained and all subsequent evidence fruit of the poisonous tree."
The judge's expression darkens. "Can you prove coercion?"
"I can, Your Honor. My client believed he was protecting his mother—keeping her out of a nursing home—by giving them a confession."
"The arresting officer told him that?"
"Not in so many words."
The judge glanced toward the officer seated in the courtroom, then at the prosecutor. With a frustrated sigh, he shakes his head. "I'm releasing him ROR with an ankle monitor, pending the motion to suppress." Smacking the gavel down, he says, "Court is adjourned."
Stepping out of the courtroom, Jerry pulls his phone from his pocket and dials the station.
"The judge just released Russ Wise, Sergeant." Putting the call on speaker, Jerry hurried down the hall.
"How the hell did that happen?"
"They played the mommy card. But that's not the worst part—the lawyer is filing a motion to suppress all the evidence."
"I knew it would happen the second Brice told me what he did. Head back to the station—we've got a lot of work ahead of us."
"I'm on my way."
Rachel let out a weary sigh. It's going to be a long night. She feels exhaustion creeping in as she hangs up the phone.
Grabbing her coffee mug, she makes her way to the breakroom.
"Something wrong, Sergeant?" the captain asks.
"Russ Wise is being released, and his lawyer is working to get the charges dropped," she explains. "Which means the detectives and I are in for a long night trying to salvage the case."
"I'll approve any overtime you need."
"Thank you, Captain."
Fury boiled through Nadia's veins. If they can't find a way to stop him, then I will. Scooting away from her desk, she grabs her gun and heads for the door.
With lights and sirens blaring, Nadia zips across town, turning off the noise once she reaches the square. Pulling into the empty parking lot, she glances around. I didn't miss them, did I? It's a good thing I know where they live.
She starts to pull away when she sees the courthouse doors open. The attorney and his client are chatting it up as they step out into the bright sunlight.
"This couldn't have worked out any better," she murmurs, a satisfied smile curling her lips. Throwing it in park, she climbs out of her car. Darting to the bushes, Nadia unholsters her gun. Straight to the chest, she thinks, aiming for center mass. Her sweaty finger adjusts on the trigger when a familiar voice cuts through the silence.
"Drop your weapon. Do it now."
Nadia's grip tightens on her gun. "I've got to stop him, Bruce." She retorts. Her words barely escape her lips before the sharp crack of a gunshot rings out. Pain sears through her lower right side. Gasping, she clutches her wound as the ground rushes up to meet her.
"You are under arrest for murder—and attempted murder," Bruce says, snapping the cuffs around her wrists.