Page 48 of Fatal Pattern

They passed doors marked with codes and warnings: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. BIOHAZARD. CLIMATE CONTROLLED. The building felt like a tomb for evidence, each room holding pieces of lives destroyed and justice sought.

Kiara stopped at a door marked DIGITAL RECORDS—RESTRICTED ACCESS. She swiped her keycard and placed her palm on a biometric scanner. The lock disengaged with a soft beep.

“Once we go in there and I log into the system, we’re committed,” she said, her hand still on the door handle. “If anyone reviews the access logs, they’ll see I pulled a sealed IA file after-hours with two unauthorized personnel present.”

Blade met her gaze. Her green eyes held worry but also compassion. She understood what this meant to Tori. What it meant to him.

“Last chance to back out,” he said.

Kiara pushed the door open. “Let’s get some answers.”

The Digital Records Room felt like a bunker. Three workstations lined the far wall, each equipped with dual monitors and keyboards that looked like they could survive a nuclear blast. No windows. No decorations. Just white walls, industrial carpet, and the steady hum of climate control systems working to preserve digital evidence.

Blade counted four security cameras mounted in the corners, their red recording lights blinking like electronic heartbeats. Every keystroke would be logged. Every file accessed would leave a digital fingerprint leading straight back to Kiara’s credentials.

Kiara took the chair at the center workstation. Tori took the one to her left, and Blade pulled up another to her right. Kiara settled at the keyboard.

“Before we start,” he said, “we need to confirm the responding officer was Damien Sullivan. That’s our priority.”

Tori nodded, her bandaged arm resting in her lap. The lights washed the color from her face, making the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced. She’d been running on adrenaline for hours, but the crash was coming.

Kiara’s shoulders tensed as she entered her login credentials. The system prompted for additional authentication. A security token from her keychain that generated random numbers every thirty seconds. She typed the code, hit enter, and waited.

ACCESS GRANTED flashed across the screen in green letters.

Blade’s palms began to sweat. The database interface loaded, displaying search fields and dropdown menus. Kiara navigated to the case file system. She typed “CREW” in the victim name field, selected “HOMICIDE” from the case type dropdown, and entered the date range.

One result populated: CREW, NIKOS & JI-YEON—DOUBLE HOMICIDE—CASE #98-444-MH.

“There it is.” Kiara clicked the case number.

A warning dialog appeared: SEALED FILE—IA RESTRICTED ACCESS. JUDICIAL ORDER REQUIRED. UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS SUBJECT TO CRIMINAL PROSECUTION.

Kiara’s finger hesitated over the mouse. Blade could see her pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat. She was thinking about her career, her future, the safe life she’d built for herself. All of it hanging in the balance.

Tori touched Kiara’s arm. “You don’t have to—”

“No.” Kiara clicked OVERRIDE. “Blade is right. You deserve the truth.”

The murder book exploded across the screen in a cascade of scanned documents, photographs, and reports. Crime scene photos dominated the first section. Images that made his stomach roil. Blood spatter patterns on bedroom walls. Overturned furniture. Bodies positioned at unnatural angles.

Tori’s breath caught, and she gripped the edge of the desk.

“Skip the photos,” he said. “Text only. Just the reports.”

Kiara scrolled past the crime scene documentation, past the autopsy photos, past the evidence inventory. The responding officer’s report appeared, typed on an old police department form with carbon paper smudges.

RESPONDING OFFICERS: SGT. D. BARCLAY, OFF. E. SEGARRA

Not Damien Sullivan.

Tori leaned forward. “Go back to the victim information.”

Kiara scrolled to the case summary, and he read the details aloud as they appeared. “Victims: Nikos Stavros Crew, age forty-one, forensic accountant. Ji-Yeon Crew, age thirty-eight, biomedical researcher. Cause of death: Homicidal Violence. Multiple stab wounds.”

His eyes landed on the next line, and he glanced at Tori. Her fingers touched her lips, her gaze fixed on the screen.

“Victim three,” she whispered. “Unborn female child, approximately thirty weeks gestation.” Tori’s chin sank. Her hair curtained her face as her shoulders tucked inward. “She . . . she was pregnant.”