Chapter 4: The Man My Brother Became
I read Daniel's handwriting again.
Captain Harris isn't protecting the person who took Malik.
He's protecting the person Malik became.
For several seconds, I couldn't make sense of it.
My brother was twenty-nine years old. He had worked as an accountant for a construction company before disappearing. He had no criminal record, no history of violence, and no known connection to the police department beyond the investigation into our mother's death.
At least, that was what I believed.
“Emily, when did Daniel write this?””
“I'm not sure. I found it inside an envelope he left in our apartment before he disappeared.””
“Why didn't you show it to the police?””
She gave me a bitter laugh.
“I did. Derek came to my house the next morning. He told me Daniel had stolen confidential documents and that I could be charged with possessing stolen government property.””
I stared at her.
“Did he search your apartment?””
“Yes.””
“What did he take?””
“Daniel's laptop. His notebooks. A small metal box.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What was inside the box?””
Emily shook her head.
“I never saw it open. Daniel kept it locked.””
I looked at the photograph of Malik on my phone.
His face was bruised, but his eyes were open.
He was alive.
That was the only fact I could hold on to.
“I'm taking you somewhere safe,” I told Emily.
“Where are you going?””
“To find out who my brother really is.””
I called Deputy Chief Morrison and requested an emergency meeting at headquarters.
He told me to bring Emily directly to the secured entrance.
Twenty-five minutes later, we arrived.
Two uniformed officers escorted Emily into a protected interview room. I watched the security door close behind her before heading upstairs.
Morrison was waiting in his office.
He looked older than he had during our last meeting. His tie was loose, and a half-empty coffee cup sat beside a stack of files.
He stood when I entered.
“Carter, sit down.””
I remained standing.
“Tell me what you know about Malik.””
Morrison rubbed his forehead.
“I was hoping we could establish the facts before you saw the recording.””
“You already knew about the old precinct.””
“I knew there was a connection.””
“Did you know Malik had a locker there?””
“No.””
“Did you know he was connected to Daniel Brooks?””
Morrison hesitated.
“Not until this morning.””
I placed Emily's handwritten note on his desk.
He read it.
Then he closed his eyes.
“Where did you get this?””
“Emily.””
“Did she tell you anything else?””
“She said Derek took Daniel's belongings after he disappeared.””
Morrison leaned back.
“That's consistent with what Internal Affairs uncovered.””
“What exactly did they uncover?””
He opened a drawer and removed a thick envelope.
Inside were photocopies of personnel records, access logs, and several old photographs.
He placed one photograph in front of me.
It showed Malik standing outside the old precinct.
He was wearing a dark jacket and holding a folder.
Beside him stood Daniel Brooks.
But the third person in the photograph made my blood run cold.
My mother.
She looked younger, perhaps forty-five, with her hair tied behind her head.
I stared at her face.
“Why was my mother there?””
Morrison folded his hands.
“Because she was the confidential source in an internal corruption investigation.””
I looked up sharply.
“My mother was a police informant?””
“Not officially. She worked in municipal accounting. Her department processed payments for several city contracts, including contracts connected to the police department.””
“What did she discover?””
“Payments were being made to companies that didn't exist. Some of the money was eventually transferred into accounts connected to missing-person investigations.””
I looked at the records again.
“Missing people?””
Morrison nodded.
“Cases were being deliberately misclassified. Some victims were recorded as runaways. Others were listed as having voluntarily relocated. Once their files were closed, their identities were used to conceal financial transactions.””
My stomach turned.
“And Malik found out?””
“Apparently.””
I stood abruptly.
“Why wasn't I told?””
“Because your brother asked us not to involve you.””
I laughed once, without humor.
“He disappeared, and you respected his request to keep his sister uninformed?””
“He believed you were safer not knowing.””
I stared at him.
“That's not his decision to make.””
Morrison didn't argue.
Instead, he switched on his computer.
“I want you to watch something.””
A video appeared.
The image was grainy and black-and-white.
A timestamp showed November 18, 2018.
The entrance of the old precinct came into view.
At 10:16 p.m., my mother walked through the doors.
She was carrying a brown envelope.
A few seconds later, a uniformed officer entered behind her.
Derek.
My hands curled into fists.
On the screen, my mother approached the front desk and spoke to someone.
Then she turned toward the hallway.
Derek followed.
The footage jumped.
When the image returned, my mother was leaving.
But she was no longer carrying the envelope.
I leaned toward the monitor.
“Who took it?””
Morrison paused the video.
A second officer appeared in the background.
His face was partially visible.
Captain Harris.
I stared at the screen.
“Did you question him?””
“Twice.””
“And?””
“He said your mother came to report a stolen vehicle.””
“That's a lie.””
“I know.””
I turned toward him.
“How?””
Morrison brought up another document.
It was a copy of the original accident report.
The cause of death was listed as blunt-force trauma following a single-vehicle collision.
But underneath the report number was a second notation.
Post-incident medical examination requested.
I read it twice.
“Second autopsy?””
Morrison nodded.
“Your mother received an additional examination forty-eight hours after the accident. The results were sealed.””
“Who ordered it?””
He pointed to the bottom of the document.
The signature belonged to Captain Harris.
I felt sick.
“Why?””
“That's what we're trying to establish.””
My phone vibrated.
A message from Emily.
I remembered something. Daniel said Locker 214 wasn't just a locker. It was a dead drop.
I showed Morrison.
He immediately stood.
“Get your coat.””
“Why?””
“Because if Daniel left evidence there, we need to recover it before someone else does.””
We drove to the old precinct with two Internal Affairs investigators.
The building stood behind a temporary construction fence. Its windows were dark, and a faded department sign hung crookedly above the entrance.
An investigator cut the padlock.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and damp concrete.
Our footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Locker 214 was at the far end.
I pulled the handle.
It didn't move.
Morrison tried his key.
Nothing.
One of the investigators used a small tool to release the lock.
The metal door swung open.
Inside was a black notebook, a disposable phone, and a photograph wrapped in plastic.
I picked up the notebook first.
The first page contained a list of names.
Twenty-seven names.
Beside each name was a date and a case number.
Some names belonged to people who had been reported missing.
Others belonged to people whose cases had been closed.
I recognized one immediately.
Malik Carter.
But there was something written beside his name.
A date.
November 18, 2018.
The night my mother died.
My fingers began to shake.
Then I opened the notebook to the last page.
There was a message written in Daniel's handwriting.
If Nia finds this, tell her the truth.
Malik wasn't recruited by them.
He was recruited to bring them down.
I looked at Morrison.
“What does that mean?””
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached for the disposable phone.
The screen lit up as soon as he pressed the power button.
One saved contact appeared.
No name.
Just a number.
The phone began ringing.
Morrison looked at me.
I answered.
A man's voice came through.
“Detective Carter?””
“Who is this?””
A short silence.
Then the man whispered:
“Your brother told me you would come.””
“Where is Malik?””
“Alive. For now.””
“Who are you?””
The man took a shaky breath.
“I'm the person who buried your mother's second autopsy.””
Before I could respond, he added five words.
May you like
“And I'm the reason she died.””
The call disconnected.
