Chapter 6: The Detective and the Drive
Her name was DS Carla Mwangi, and she arrived at nine the following morning in plain clothes, a thermos of coffee under one arm and a worn leather notebook under the other.
She shook my hand at the door, looked around the kitchen once, and sat down.
"Aiden told me the outline," she said.
"I want to hear it from you.
All of it.
From the beginning."
I told her everything.
Harold.
The accident.
The years afterward.
Aiden's investigation.
The flowers.
The photograph.
The notes in Amelia's handwriting.
The USB drive.
Carla listened without interrupting.
She took notes in a small, precise hand.
When I finished, she picked up the USB drive and turned it over in her fingers.
"How old was your daughter when she hid this?"
"Twelve.
She d*ed at thirteen."
Carla set the drive down carefully.
"She knew she might not survive."
"Yes."
"And she still made sure you'd be able to find it."
"She hid it well enough that I wouldn't find it by accident," I said.
"But she left a map.
Notes in the other flowers, pointing to this one.
She wanted me to find it when I was ready." My voice steadied.
"She knew I'd use her flowers for something important eventually."
Carla looked at the flowers still spread across the table.
She didn't say anything for a moment.
Then: "The threatening messages."
I showed her both texts.
She photographed them with her own phone.
"Unknown number," she said.
"We can work with that." She looked at Aiden.
"The missing case files from your office — you filed a report?"
"Reference number's in my records.
I can send it today."
"Do that." She turned back to me.
"The audio recording — Harold states clearly that he compiled financial evidence and gave Raymond Colt a deadline.
That establishes motive and prior knowledge.
The recording itself may face admissibility challenges, but motive evidence doesn't require the recording to be admitted.
The financial records on this drive, if they can be authenticated, are a different matter entirely."
"Can they be authenticated after this long?"
"Bank records don't disappear.
If Harold's records show transfers out, Raymond's accounts show transfers in.
The money went somewhere.
Ten years is a long time, but financial forensics has a long memory." She closed her notebook.
"I'm not promising you anything.
I want to be clear about that.
What I'm telling you is that this is worth pursuing, and I'm willing to pursue it."
I nodded.
"There's one more thing," Carla said.
She looked at me directly.
"If I open this, Raymond Colt will know.
Not immediately, but eventually.
The threatening messages suggest he already suspects you've found something.
Once a formal inquiry begins, he'll have confirmation." She paused.
"Are you prepared for that?"
"He threatened me twice," I said.
"He let my husband d*e to protect himself.
He let my daughter carry this secret alone while she was dying." I looked at the flowers.
"Yes.
I'm prepared."
Carla picked up the USB drive and stood.
"I'll be in touch within forty-eight hours," she said.
"Don't respond to any more messages from that number.
Don't discuss this with anyone outside this room.
And—" she glanced at Aiden, "—don't go anywhere alone until I've had a chance to establish where Colt is and what he knows."
She left.
The kitchen felt different after she was gone.
Quieter, but not empty.
Something had shifted.
Aiden looked at me across the table.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
I thought about it honestly.
"I don't know yet," I said.
"Ask me when it's over."
My phone buzzed a third time.
Same number.
This time, no message.
Just a photograph.
It was a picture of my front door.
Taken from the street.
Timestamp: 9:04 AM.
May you like
Carla had arrived at nine.
He had been watching while she was inside.
