THE VOICES
The key was still under the loose stone.
Maya’s hands were shaking as she unlocked the back door of Vance’s office. The building was dark, the windows black, the only light coming from a streetlamp across the road.
She slipped inside.
The waiting room was the same. Beige walls. Gentle fountain. The faint smell of lavender.
She walked to his office.
The door was unlocked.
She pushed it open.
His desk was clean. A laptop. A mug. A framed photograph of a woman Maya didn’t recognize.
She knelt beside the bookshelf.
The gap behind the spines was exactly where she remembered it.
She wedged the listening device into the gap, pressing it until it was invisible.
Then she heard a sound.
Footsteps. Upstairs.
Someone was in the building.
Maya froze.
The footsteps were slow. Deliberate.
Coming down the stairs.
She looked around for a place to hide. The closet. The bathroom. The corner behind the door.
She chose the corner.
The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs.
Passed through the waiting room.
Stopped at the office door.
Maya held her breath.
The door opened.
Vance stepped inside.
He wasn’t alone.
“Close the door,” he said.
Another person entered. Maya couldn’t see who. But she heard the door close. The lock turn.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Vance continued. “About the group. About the new one.”
“Sarah Keane.” A woman’s voice. Familiar. “She’s not who she says she is.”
Maya’s blood ran cold.
She knew that voice.
Detective Leah Park.
“I looked into her,” Leah said. “Sarah Keane doesn’t exist. The name is fake. The address is fake. The phone number is fake.”
“I know,” Vance said. “She’s a reporter. Maya Cross. She was here before, under a different name.”
“Why haven’t you stopped her?”
“Because she’s useful.”
“Useful for what?”
Vance was silent for a moment.
Then: “She’s been digging into the bridge deaths. She’s noticed the pattern. She’s talking to the families. She’s getting close.”
“Close to what?”
“To the truth. That the women didn’t kill themselves.”
Maya’s heart stopped.
“Then who killed them?” Leah asked.
Vance laughed. It was a soft sound. Almost kind.
“Who do you think?”
The room went silent.
Maya couldn’t breathe.
Then Leah spoke again.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. For now. Let her dig. Let her get closer. And when she’s close enough—”
“You want me to stop her.”
“I want you to make sure she doesn’t become the fifth.”
Maya heard the sound of a chair creaking. Footsteps. The door unlocking.
“Go home, Detective. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Leah left.
The door closed.
Maya stayed in the corner, hidden, waiting.
Vance stood in the center of his office for a long time.
Then he said, quietly, as if speaking to himself:
“You can come out now, Maya.”
She didn’t move.
“I know you’re there. I heard you when you came in. The floorboards creak. I’ve been meaning to fix them.”
Maya stepped out of the corner.
Vance smiled.
“You’re getting in over your head.”
“Maybe.”
“I could call the police. Have you arrested for breaking and entering. Again.”
“But you won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you need me. You said so yourself. I’m getting close to the truth. You want to see how close I can get before I fall.”
Vance tilted his head.
“You’re perceptive. That’s dangerous.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Leave now. Take your listening device with you.”
Maya’s stomach dropped. “What listening device?”
“The one behind your shoulder. On the bookshelf. I could see it from the doorway.” He walked to the shelf. Pulled out the device. Held it up. “This is how you get people killed, Maya.”
He crushed it in his hand.
“Now get out.”
Maya walked to the door.
She stopped.
“Who killed them, Dr. Vance?”
He didn’t answer.
She left.