Chapter 6: The Name Nobody Was Supposed to Find
Ethan dropped Diane at the hospital entrance and told her to ask for the pediatric ward on the second floor.
He waited until she was through the doors, then pulled out of the lot and called his deputy, Marcus Webb, from the car.
"I need you at the substation," he said.
"Pierce is still in the lot.
Don't approach him, don't engage him, just make sure he doesn't leave.
The DA's office is on the way."
"Understood.
What am I looking at?"
"A physician who may have been planning an unauthorized medical procedure on a seven-year-old."
A pause.
"You're serious."
"Park where he can see you," Ethan said, and hung up.
He pulled over on Millard Road and typed *Raymond Voss Cedar Ridge Ohio* into his phone's browser.
The first results were old — a profile on a medical directory that hadn't been updated, a mention in a hospital newsletter from six years ago.
Then, on the third page of results, a local business registration.
*Voss Wellness Consulting LLC.
Registered: 22 months ago.
Address: 4410 Hargrove Industrial Parkway, Unit 9.*
Not a clinic.
An industrial unit on the east edge of town, between a tile warehouse and a vehicle storage yard.
Ethan put the car in gear.
Hargrove Parkway was dark when he arrived, the kind of dark that comes from a stretch of road where no one lives.
Unit 9 had no signage.
A single light burned behind a frosted interior window.
A gray sedan was parked at an angle near the entrance, as though the driver had left in a hurry or arrived expecting to leave quickly.
Ethan ran the plate from his cruiser.
The sedan was registered to a Pamela Voss — Raymond's wife, or possibly sister, the registration didn't specify.
He called for backup, then got out of the car.
He knocked on the metal door.
"Cedar Ridge Sheriff's Department."
Silence.
Then movement — something shifting inside, a chair, a drawer.
"I'm going to need you to open the door."
More silence.
Then the door opened four inches on a security chain.
A woman in her fifties looked through the gap.
Her eyes went immediately to his badge, then to the cruiser behind him.
"Mrs.
Voss?"
"Ms.," she said.
"Pamela."
"Is Dr.
Voss on the premises?"
"Raymond isn't here."
"When did he leave?"
Her jaw tightened.
"This afternoon."
"Ms.
Voss, I'm investigating a matter involving a minor child.
I have reason to believe this address is connected to that matter.
I'd like to come inside."
"Do you have a warrant?"
"Not yet.
But I can have one within the hour, and I'd rather do this the easy way."
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she unhooked the chain.
The interior was a single large room divided by a partition.
On one side: a desk, a filing cabinet, a laptop with its screen dark.
On the other side, visible through a gap in the partition: a padded examination table, an IV stand, and a locked steel cabinet mounted to the wall.
Ethan looked at the examination table.
"What kind of consulting does Dr.
Voss do?"
Pamela crossed her arms.
"Behavioral support.
For children with anxiety and sleep disorders."
"Without a medical license."
She didn't answer.
"Ms.
Voss, whose names are in that filing cabinet?"
Her eyes moved to the cabinet, then back to him.
"I manage the administrative side.
I don't review patient files."
"Is Elsie Pierce in those files?"
Something shifted in her face.
Not guilt exactly — more like the look of someone who has been waiting for a specific question and is now deciding how to answer it.
"I want to call a lawyer," she said.
Ethan's backup arrived four minutes later.
While he waited outside with Pamela, his phone buzzed.
The unknown number again.
*He has a recorder in the clinic.
Left side drawer.
He kept everything.*
Ethan stared at the message.
Someone had been inside this building.
May you like
Someone who knew exactly what Raymond Voss kept in that left-side drawer.
And they were feeding it to him one piece at a time.
