Chapter 6: The Blue Folder
The woman on the phone was named Carla Voss.
Cole had known her for eleven years.
She had been a paralegal once, then a private investigator, then something harder to define — a person who knew where things were buried and how to dig carefully.
She had helped Cole twice before.
Both times she had told him not to call again.
Both times he had called again.
"Decker's real name is Warren Fitch," she said.
"He's been operating under the Decker alias for at least twelve years.
I've got three open federal inquiries connected to his network — two closed without charges, one still active out of the Chicago field office.
The active case is thin.
They know what he does.
They can't prove it."
"What does he move?"
"People, mostly.
Sometimes product.
The people side is what the Chicago case is built around." A pause.
"Cole, if this man has a child in his sights—"
"She's safe.
For now."
"For now isn't good enough."
"I know that.
That's why I called." He moved to the window.
The lights at the end of Rudy's road hadn't moved.
"Rennie Marsh.
She worked for him eight years ago.
She got out.
She's been hiding.
She's in a hospital right now and she has documentation — names, locations, what he moved and when.
She called it a blue folder.
She told Lila to tell me I'd know where it was."
Silence on the other end.
"I don't know where it is," Cole said.
"But Rennie thought I would.
Which means she hid it somewhere connected to me.
Somewhere she knew I'd still have access to."
"Or somewhere she knew you'd think to look," Carla said.
"Did you two have a place?
Somewhere specific?"
Cole thought.
There had been a place.
A storage unit on the east side of the city, rented under a name that wasn't his, paid three years in advance.
He had used it to store his father's tools after the old man passed.
He hadn't been there in four years.
He hadn't given the address to anyone.
Except Rennie.
Once.
Years ago.
Because she had helped him move the tools and he had trusted her and that was the kind of man he had been before everything went wrong.
"Yeah," he said.
"There's a place."
"Then you need to get there before Decker does.
If he's been watching her at the hospital, he may already know about the folder.
He may already be looking."
"He's parked at the end of my road right now."
"Which means he's not at the storage unit."
"Which means I need someone else to go."
Carla was quiet for a moment.
"Send me the address.
I'll go myself."
"It's the middle of the night."
"Cole." Her voice was dry.
"I am aware of what time it is."
He gave her the address and the unit number and the code for the lock.
She hung up without saying goodbye, which was how Carla always hung up.
Cole set the phone down.
Priest appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"Vehicles are still stationary.
But the van moved up about fifty yards."
"He's getting impatient."
"What do you want to do?"
Cole looked at the ceiling.
Above him, Lila was sleeping — or trying to.
June was probably still sitting with her.
"I'm going to go talk to him," Cole said.
Priest's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes did.
"That's not a good idea."
"I know." Cole picked up his jacket.
"But I need him focused on me and not on that van moving any closer to this house.
And I need to buy Carla time to get to that storage unit."
"And if he doesn't want to talk?"
"Decker always wants to talk.
That's his problem.
He likes to hear himself explain things." Cole zipped the jacket.
"Keep everyone back.
Nobody moves unless I go down."
"Cole—"
"Nobody moves," he said again.
"That's an order."
He walked out the front door and down Rudy's gravel path toward the lights at the end of the road.
Decker got out of the truck before Cole was halfway there.
He stood in the headlights with his hands in his coat pockets, watching Cole come.
"Couldn't sleep?" Decker said.
"Neither could you."
"I don't need much sleep." Decker tilted his head.
"You read the letter."
"I read it."
"Then you know the document is valid.
You know she signed it."
"I know how she signed it."
Decker's expression didn't shift.
"She signed it.
That's what matters legally."
"We're not talking legally right now."
"No." Decker looked past Cole toward the farmhouse.
"We're talking about a man who has driven a long way and is running low on patience.
Hand me the girl, Cole.
Walk back inside.
This doesn't have to become something neither of us wants."
"What was in the packages, Decker?"
The question landed quietly.
But it landed.
Decker's eyes came back to Cole's face.
"That's a strange thing to ask at midnight on a gravel road."
"Rennie told Lila things," Cole said.
"Kids hear more than people think.
And Lila talks." He watched Decker's face.
"She told me some names.
I recognized a couple of them."
It was a partial lie.
But it was the right kind of lie — the kind that contained enough truth to be dangerous.
Decker was still for three full seconds.
"You're bluffing," he said.
"Maybe," Cole said.
"You want to find out?"
The two men stood in the headlights.
Then Decker smiled — but it was different from before.
Tighter.
The smile of a man recalculating.
"I'll be back at six," Decker said.
"With a court order this time, not just a document.
You can explain to the county sheriff why you're harboring a minor against a legally notarized custody agreement." He turned back toward the truck.
"Enjoy the rest of your night."
He got in.
The truck didn't move.
Cole walked back to the house.
His phone buzzed as he reached the porch.
A message from Carla.
*Found it.
May you like
You need to see this.
Calling in ten minutes.*
