Page 44 of The Guilty Trial

She pulled a stack of trial transcripts toward her and began reading through the prosecution's opening statement. Sterling had delivered it, and his confident voice came through even on the page, painting Torrino as a calculated predator who had corrupted institutions and destroyed lives for profit.

Allie leaned back and stared at the boxes. The numbers branded into Sterling and Vance meant something specific, and she was increasingly curious if they might be connected to exhibits from this trial. She wanted to review the master exhibit list to see exactly what exhibits fourteen and thirty-five corresponded to, but when she searched through the materials spread in front of her, she realized it wasn’t among them. The archives had sent over transcripts, motions, and witness statements, but the comprehensive exhibit log was missing.

She reached for her phone and dialed Mia's extension. The analyst picked up on the second ring, and Allie could hear the faint tap of a keyboard in the background.

“Still here?” Allie asked.

“You know me,” Mia said. “What do you need?”

“The master exhibit list from the Torrino trial. It's not in any of the boxes they sent over.”

“Hold on.” The keyboard tapping intensified for a moment. “It might not have been included in the first batch. Let me reach out to the archives and see what I can do. It could be sitting in a separate storage location.”

“Can you push on it? I need that list.”

“I'll make some calls first thing in the morning.”

“Thanks, Mia.”

Allie hung up and turned back to the transcripts, but before she could find her place, her phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen to see her neighbor’s name.

“Hey, Connie.”

“Allie, I'm so sorry to bother you.” The older woman’s voice carried that familiar mix of apology and determination. “I know you're busy, but that fox came back. It tore up the chicken wire again, and I just chased it off, but the damage is worse this time. I hate to ask, but could you come help me patch it up? I can't reach the section that's torn. And well, the chickens.”

Allie glanced at the clock on the wall. It was well past eight. She looked at the boxes, at the transcripts fanned across the table, and the timeline on the whiteboard with its gaps and question marks. Her eyes were burning, and her neck ached from hunching over documents for hours.

“You bet. I'll be there soon.”

The relief in the older woman's voice was immediate and warm. “Thank you. I’m going to call a pest control company tomorrow and see what we can do to grab up that miscreant.”

Allie gathered her notes into a neat stack and capped her pen. She stood, stretching the stiffness from her back, and took one last look at the room before switching off the overhead lights. The boxes sat in shadow, holding their secrets for another day.

As she walked through the empty corridor toward the elevator, something settled in her mind with quiet certainty. She couldn’t yet explain it, couldn’t point to a single piece of evidence or a specific detail that had triggered the feeling. But after all the dead ends, false starts, and chasing leads that dissolved into nothing, she was optimistic that what they were looking for was buried somewhere in those thirty-plus boxes of documents.

They might not find it tomorrow, or even this week, but something told Allie they were finally looking in the right place.

Chapter Twenty-Four

FBI Field Office

Tacoma, Washington

Allie and Jason had been at it since seven-thirty. Trial transcripts and case files were spread across the long table in an arrangement that had started organized and devolved into something closer to controlled chaos. Jason's notes were sharp and detailed despite the shadows under his eyes, and Allie was halfway through a section of witness testimony when the conference room door opened.

Mia breezed in carrying a folder thick enough to warrant both hands. Her face was bright with the unmistakable satisfaction of someone who had accomplished something difficult before nine in the morning.

“Got it!” she announced, setting the folder on the table with a satisfying thud. “Master exhibit list from the Torrino trial. Archives had it pulled and waiting when I showed up.”

“First thing?” Jason asked, rubbing his eyes. He looked like he'd been dragged through the night sideways. His tie was slightly crooked, and his hair lacked its usual precision.

“I called after we hung up last night, Allie.” Mia slid into a chair and opened the folder. “Figured they’d get the message when they got to work this morning. I made sure to let them know we couldn't afford to wait around.”

Marze appeared in the doorway holding four cups in a cardboard carrier. He distributed coffee without ceremony, sliding one toward each of them before settling into his usual seat at the head of the table.

“You look like you got hit by a bus,” Marze said to Jason. His expression showed mild amusement.

“Joey had other plans for my sleep schedule,” Jason muttered. He wrapped both hands around the cup as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. Marze said nothing, but Allie caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “She was up every two hours. I have no idea what her problem is.”