THE LULLABY KEY : THE FALL
CHAPTER 28: The Audio
The Vice President’s assassin was a man named Dimitri Volkov.
Lena found his file in the third box she opened. A thick folder, filled with photographs, witness statements, and a single audio recording.
The label read: “VOLKOV, D. – CONFESSION – 2016.”
She played the recording on her laptop.
A man’s voice. Russian accent. Calm. Professional.
“I was hired by the Vice President’s office. The target was Elena Vasquez-Crane. The method was a car accident. I was paid two million dollars. Half up front. Half on completion.”
Another voice. An interrogator. American.
“Who gave you the order?”
“A man named David Pike. He said he was acting on behalf of the Vice President.”
“Did you ever speak directly to the Vice President?”
“No. Only to Pike. But Pike showed me photographs. Text messages. Proof.”
“What kind of proof?”
“The Vice President’s signature. On a contract. For my services.”
Lena stopped the recording.
She sat in silence for a long time.
Then she played it again.
And again.
And again.
Marcus found her an hour later, still listening.
“Lena. You need to stop.”
“I can’t. Every time I hear his voice, I remember her face. The way she looked when she tucked me into bed. The way she sang the lullaby. The way she—”
She stopped.
Her voice cracked.
Marcus sat down beside her. He didn’t speak. He just put his arm around her and held her while she cried.
She cried for her mother.
She cried for her father.
She cried for the nineteen-year-old girl who had disappeared.
And when she was done, she wiped her eyes and stood up.
“Play the recording at the trial. Make sure every juror hears it. Make sure every journalist hears it. Make sure the whole world hears it.”
Marcus nodded. “I will.”
“And find David Pike. I want him in a cell next to the Vice President.”
“We’re looking. But he’s gone underground. Marchetti’s people are hiding him.”
“Then we dig him out.” Lena picked up the box of files. “We dig all of them out.”
She walked out of the Marchetti room, through the tunnel of bones, up the spiral staircase, into the night.
The protesters were still there. Still watching. Still hoping.
But now they had something to hope for.
Evidence.
Justice.
A future.
Lena looked up at the Supreme Court building.
The statue of Justice stood atop it, blindfolded, holding her scales.
For the first time in seventeen years, Lena believed that justice might actually be possible.
Not easy.
Not quick.
But possible.