Chapter 3 - THE EVIDENCE LOCKER
The 4th Precinct building sat on the corner of 5th and Elm, a monolithic concrete structure built in the late 1970s. Rain continued to pour down, slicking the dark asphalt streets of the city.
It was 2:15 AM.
I sat in an unmarked black sedan parked across the street from the precinct's rear loading dock. In the passenger seat sat Marcus, my former team leader from the Army’s Special Investigation Division, who now ran a high-end private security firm in South Boston.
Marcus opened a ruggedized tablet, displaying the blueprinted schematics of the precinct's basement layout.
“The precinct’s central evidence locker is located on the B2 level,” Marcus explained, pointing his finger at the screen. “It’s secured by a heavy steel door, a digital keypad, and a logged keycard scanner. There are two desk officers stationed at the main intake desk upstairs, but down in B2, it’s mostly automated after midnight.”
“What about the camera feeds?” I asked, checking the action on my suppressed 9mm pistol before holstering it under my jacket.
“I’m running a signal jammer on their local loop,” Marcus replied. “The B2 cameras will loop a clean ten-minute footage cycle starting in three minutes. You have exactly twelve minutes to get down there, open Liam Carter’s property box, retrieve the locket, and get back out to the alley.”
“That’s plenty of time,” I said.
“Daniel,” Marcus warned, grabbing my shoulder before I pulled the door handle. “If you get caught inside a police precinct stealing evidence, not even Vance can save you. You’ll be sitting in a cell right next to Liam.”
“Liam isn't going to be in a cell,” I said grimly. “He’s going to be at St. Jude’s Hospital waiting for his cartel friends to bail him out. I’m not letting him walk away with the key.”
I opened the sedan door, slipping out into the freezing rain.
I moved quickly through the shadows of the alleyway, reaching the basement service entrance. Using a master bypass key tool Marcus had programmed, I pressed the electronic chip against the reader. The indicator light flickered from red to green with a soft click.
I pulled the heavy door open and slipped inside the warm, fluorescent-lit concrete hallway.
The smell of stale coffee, floor wax, and damp paper filled the air. I kept my head down, moving silently along the wall toward the stairwell leading to B2.
According to the schematics, the property room for high-value arrests from that evening was located in Sector C.
I descended the concrete stairs, stepping lightly to avoid echoing footfalls. When I reached the B2 basement door, I waited five seconds until Marcus’s voice cracked through my earpiece: “Loop is active. You have eleven minutes.”
I pushed through the B2 door. The hallway was empty. Long rows of steel mesh cages stretched out before me, filled with plastic bins containing clothing, weapons, and personal items recovered from crime scenes.
I hurried down the central aisle until I found the section labeled: CASE FILE 884-CARTER, LIAM.
The property bin was a heavy acrylic box locked with an electronic barcode latch. I pulled out a portable cloner device Marcus had provided, pressed it against the latch’s reader, and waited four seconds while the algorithm cracked the precinct’s default intake code.
BEEP.
The lock released. I pulled the lid open.
Inside lay Liam’s expensive black suit jacket, his gold wristwatch, his leather wallet, and a clear plastic evidence bag labeled: PERSONAL EFFECTS—JEWELRY.
I picked up the clear bag. Inside was Emma’s delicate gold locket.
I ripped the bag open, taking the locket out, and pressed a small silver pin into the micro-latch near the clasp. The locket popped open.
Inside, embedded behind a tiny glass mirror, was a micro-drive no larger than a grain of rice.
I extracted the micro-drive, placed it safely inside a shock-proof capsule in my pocket, and closed the locket.
Suddenly, a heavy set of footsteps echoed from the far end of the B2 hallway.
I instantly crouched behind a row of steel filing cabinets, drawing my breath in slowly.
A uniformed police officer walked into the aisle, holding a clipboard and a cup of coffee. He was a thick-set man in his fifties, wearing a badge that read OFFICER BURKE.
He stopped directly in front of Liam Carter’s property box.
Burke didn't look surprised to see the intake latch unlocked. Instead, he pulled a key ring from his belt, unlocked a secondary master box under his arm, and reached into his pocket.
I watched through the mesh screen as Burke pulled a duplicate plastic bag from his coat—containing an identical gold locket—and tossed it into Liam’s property bin. Then he took the original opened plastic bag I had touched, threw it into a portable trash incinerator slot on the wall, and re-locked the bin.
My blood ran cold.
Burke wasn't just doing routine maintenance. He was swapping out the evidence.
Liam’s lawyers hadn't waited for morning. They had already paid off an intake officer inside the precinct to replace the real locket containing the micro-drive with a fake replica before the prosecution could catalog it.
Burke turned to walk away, whistling softly to himself.
I stood up from behind the filing cabinet. “How much did Nikolai Solokhov pay you to swap that bag, Officer Burke?”
Burke froze instantly. He dropped his clipboard, his hand flying toward his service holster.
Before he could clear leather, I closed the distance between us, grabbing his wrist and twisting it sharply downward while slamming my palm into his solar plexus.
Burke gasped, losing his balance, and slammed against the steel mesh cage. I stripped his service weapon from his hand, cleared the chamber, and tossed the pistol into an empty bin.
I pressed him face-first against the cage. “Answer the question, Burke.”
Burke groaned, sweating profusely. “I don't know what you're talking about, man! I was just told to swap the property tags!”
“Who told you?” I growled, pressing my forearm against his throat.
“A guy named Vance!” Burke gasped out, his eyes wide with fear. “Not the federal agent! A guy working for Julian Mercer’s law firm! He gave me fifty grand in cash to swap the jewelry before the morning audit!”
“Daniel!” Marcus’s voice panicked in my earpiece. “The loop is failing! Someone just initiated an override from the main desk upstairs! You have sixty seconds before the alarm sounds!”
I pulled a pair of heavy plastic zip-ties from my pocket, bound Burke’s wrists securely to the steel mesh frame, and stuffed a rag into his mouth.
May you like
“Thanks for the confirmation, Officer,” I whispered.
I grabbed the replica locket from the bin, sprinted down the B2 corridor, and pushed through the emergency stairwell door just as the loud, blaring screech of the precinct’s intruder alarm shattered the silence of the building.
