Darcy’s face remained stoic, though her eyes lit up with laughter as she motioned down the hall.
“Come on, hot shot. This way.”
They stopped at an empty desk littered with a few stray office supplies and an outdated landline phone. A sleek chair with battered edges sat in front of a computer that looked too clean and fancy to have belonged to anyone else.
“Welcome to your kingdom,” Darcy said dryly. “Don’t get too comfortable. We spend more time in the field than at these desks, but you’ll want to go through this first.” She dropped a thick case file onto the desk with a heavy thud.
Isabel ran a hand over the folder, noting the bright redKIDNAPPING - CHLOE HARPERlabel. Picking up the folder,Isabel feigned like it was too heavy to lift as she lifted a questioning brow at Darcy.
Darcy rolled her eyes before answering Isabel’s silent question. “That’s the all the info we could pull on the gala staff this morning. None of it has been reviewed yet.”
Isabel nodded, growing serious. “What’s the captain’s read on this so far?”
Darcy leaned against the desk, crossing her arms again. “Langley’s thinking professionals. Maybe even Iron Fang - a local syndicate.”
Isabel flipped the folder open, scanning the preliminary reports. Photos of Chloe Harper’s last known appearance - stepping outside the gala in a shimmery silver dress - were clipped to the top. Next to it was a still from the security footage: a dark SUV with blacked-out windows pulling away from the hotel’s rear exit.
“Security footage is too grainy for plates,” Isabel muttered, flipping to the next page. “And no ransom demand yet?”
Darcy nodded, an approving look in her eyes as she assessed Isabel. “Not publicly,” she acknowledged. “But something’s off with Lily Harper. She’s holding back.”
“Shocker,” Isabel murmured, reaching for the crime scene photos. Chloe’s abandoned shoe, the overturned chairs from the gala’s fire drill, the faint smear of something dark near the exit. Isabel squinted at the image. “Has forensics confirmed if this is blood?”
Darcy shook her head. “They’re running tests now.”
Isabel studied the pictures, then the transcripts of witness statements. Most guests had been too distracted by the fire drill to notice much. A few mentioned a man near the exit, but the descriptions varied - tall, medium height, clean-shaven, scruffy…”
She sighed, shutting the file. “Something’s bugging me.”
Darcy smirked. “Then you’ll fit right in. Figure out what it is. And for god’s sake, you’d better go through those background checks on the gala staff before the 9 a.m. meeting, or you’ll never get on Captain Langley’s good side.”
Never one to turn down a challenge, Isabel straightened her spine. “Well call me Tom Cruise, because I’m going to dominate this mission impossible.”
Darcy rolled her eyes, feigning disgust. “You’d better put your money where your mouth is, Torres.”
Isabel laughed as she gave a mock salute and retorted, “Yes, Lieutenant Collins!”
The precinct bullpen was a dull hum of ringing phones and clicking keyboards, but Isabel barely heard any of it. Her eyes were fixed on the mountain of documents in front of her, her fingers drumming absently on the desk as she read through line after line of personnel files. Background checks were tedious work, the kind of thing that could make a detective’s brain turn to mush if they weren’t careful. But if there was one thing Isabel had learned in Chicago, it was that answers were always buried in the details. The trick was knowing where to dig.
She rubbed her temples and forced herself to focus.
Start simple. Look for patterns. Look for the outliers.
Most of the gala staff were just regular people picking up a paycheck.
Henry Walcott – Bartender
Age: 27
DUI charge eight years ago, dismissed
