Page 18 of Fatal Pattern

“I haven’t seen him since I brought him that Bible. That was the same day he asked me to have Tori come see him. Since then, he’s refused to see me,” Corbin said.

“Maybe this confession is his way of showing he’s changed,” Tori said. “Damien’s warped way of owning up to the corruption everyone suspected he had his hands in.”

Blade didn’t think Sullivan’s grip on Scripture was about devotion. Neither was his confession. It was survival. He twisted verses into formulas, equations of blame and redemption, like a man trying to calculate a way out of his own damnation.

He didn’t voice that opinion, though. “We can’t just take him at his word. We’ll have to prove Barclay’s police report is a lie.”

“How?” Corbin asked.

Blade tossed his spikey ball straight up and caught it. “By finding that second murder book.”

Harlee swiveled her chair so her back was facing her monitor. “Where do you even start with something that buried?”

“We start with the one that’s filed. The original Crew murder book. That’s the first thing we do,” Tori said.

Blade nodded. “The problem is access. Millie Beach Police handled the investigation and never requested outside help from Broward Sheriff’s Office or FDLE. No invite, no jurisdiction.”

“Can’t Tori get the file? As a witness, she has standing,” Corbin said. “They might not give you everything, but if you put in a formal request for your own statement and the initial report, they’d have a hard time stonewalling you.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Tori shook her head. “I’ve put in requests. I’ve had FDLE brass push them up the chain. Every time I get the same answer. The case is technically still open, and I’m the surviving witness. Never mind that I don’t remember a thing from that night. They won’t let me within ten feet of the murder book.”

Blade saw her frustration bubbling up. Of course she’d tried. She’d tried everything.

“Maybe I can get access,” he said. “Broward’s not FDLE. If anyone at Millie Beach PD asks, I’m working an active case with a potential connection. Might get me in the door.”

“Make the call,” Harlee said.

Blade looked at Tori. Her chin lifted in a slight nod.

He punched in the number for Millie Beach PD Records and hit speaker.

Tori didn’t take a chair. She circled the room, arms locked across her chest.

“Millie Beach PD, Records Division.”

“Detective St. James, Broward. I need a homicide file, 1998. Nikos and Ji-Yeon Crew.”

Rapid keystrokes rattled through. “That file’s flagged. You’ll need my supervisor.”

“Transfer me,” Blade said.

Tinny hold music bled from the receiver, some looping track no one cared enough to update. He rolled the ball beneath his thumb, pressing hard until the plastic teeth bit into his skin. He could get used to this thing. Perfect tool for calls and conversations when people stretched sentences, spoon-feeding details his head had already stacked, labeled, and shoved aside three thoughts back.

“Supervisor Corso,” the man identified himself, sounding annoyed. “You’re after the Crew file?”

“Correct,” Blade said. “Working a related case. Need to see originals.”

“No can do, Detective. File’s sealed under court order. Protection on the surviving child.”

Bureaucrats blocking him was one thing. A judge’s seal? Whole other beast.

He glanced at Tori, who pinned him with a look that said, I told you so.

“Supervisor Corso, the surviving victim’s grown. My case ties in—”

“Detective, I’m staring at the status on my screen.” Keys tapped on his end. “It isn’t only sealed. It’s Internal Affairs flagged. Sensitive probe. Locked down.”

Internal Affairs? That made zero sense. Unless it had something to do with Damien Sullivan.