Chapter 17: Fragile Alliances (Lauren POV)

Chapter 17: Fragile Alliances (Lauren POV)

I waited for him to explain, watching as he carefully deposited the fragments into his trash can. The way he cleaned up reminded me of a crime scene technician.
"ADA Morey," Alex continued, washing his hands at the sink. "If we can convince him that there's something supernatural protecting Valdez, something actively sabotaging the prosecution's case, maybe he'll reconsider dismissing the charges."
"Alex, Morey thinks I'm having a breakdown. The last time I saw him in court, he could barely look at me without rolling his eyes."
"That was before Maria Santos was murdered with ritual symbols carved into her walls. That was before we had physical evidence of supernatural activity in Chicago."
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Morey's number. "You really think he'll meet with us? I'm suspended, remember. Officially, I shouldn't be anywhere near this case."
"He'll meet with us if he wants to win. Prosecutors hate losing high-profile cases, especially ones they've invested years building." Alex dried his hands and turned to face me. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen? He says no, and we're exactly where we are now."
The worst that could happen was Morey deciding I was completely unhinged and reporting back to Captain Rodriguez that I was actively interfering with department business. But Alex was right; we were out of options.
I dialed Morey's number before I could change my mind.
"Jahort Morey."
"Mr. Morey, this is Detective Lauren James. I know I'm not supposed to be involved in the Valdez case anymore, but I have new information that might help save the prosecution."
A pause. "Detective James, I thought you were suspended."
"I am. But this isn't about my employment status. This is about making sure Marcus Valdez doesn't walk free."
Another pause, longer this time. "What kind of information?"
"Can you meet us tonight? Somewhere private?"
"Us?"
"Detective Henderson is with me. He's been helping with some... unofficial research."
"Detective James, if this is some kind of attempt to circumvent your suspension..."
"Mr. Morey, have you seen the crime scene photos from the Maria Santos murder?"
Silence.
"The ritual symbols, the way she was drained of blood; that wasn't random violence. It was ceremonial. And I think it's connected to the evidence disappearances in the Valdez case."
"You think there's a connection between a recent murder and your missing evidence?"
"I think someone or something has been systematically sabotaging cases involving certain defendants. Marcus Valdez isn't just any murderer, Mr. Morey. He's being protected."
A long sigh. "Where do you want to meet?"
"Millennium Park. By the Crown Fountain. One hour."
"One hour. And Detective James? This better be worth my time."
After I hung up, Alex nodded approvingly. "Crown Fountain is good. Public enough that he'll feel safe, private enough that we can show him the photos without attracting attention."
"You think he'll believe us?"
"I think he wants to believe us. Nobody likes losing a case they should have won."
The drive to Millennium Park took us through the heart of downtown Chicago, past the very streets where I'd lost two hours earlier that day. Every building looked familiar and foreign at the same time, as if I was seeing them through someone else's memories.
"Alex, about what happened to me today; the missing time, the blood..."
"What about it?"
"You don't think it's connected to all this? To the supernatural activity we've been tracking?"
Alex was quiet for a moment, navigating through evening traffic. "I think stress can manifest in a lot of different ways. Memory lapses, disorientation, it's more common than you'd think."
"But the blood..."
"Could have come from anywhere. A nosebleed, a small cut you didn't notice. Lauren, the human mind looks for patterns even when none exist. Don't let your imagination create connections that aren't there."
We found ADA Morey sitting on a bench near the Crown Fountain, his briefcase balanced on his knees. Even in the evening light, he looked tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from fighting too many losing battles.
"Detective James," he said as we approached. "Detective Henderson."
"Thank you for meeting us," I said, settling onto the bench beside him while Alex remained standing.
Morey checked his watch. "You have fifteen minutes. Make it count."
I pulled out the envelope containing the Maria Santos crime scene photos. "Before you say anything, just look at these."
Morey opened the envelope and began flipping through the photographs. His expression shifted from skeptical to troubled as he studied each image.
"Where did you get these?" he asked finally.
"That's not important. What's important is what they show."
"They show a brutal murder. What's your point?"
"Look at the symbols carved into the walls. Look at the precision of those wounds on the victim's neck. This wasn't a random killing, Mr. Morey. This was a ritual."
"Ritual murders happen, Detective. Cults, gangs, psychopaths who think they're performing some kind of ceremony..."
"But not like this." I pointed to one of the symbols. "These markings are ancient. Older than any modern cult or gang. And look at the victim's body, completely drained of blood, but no blood spatter anywhere in the room. Where did it go?"
Morey studied the photos more carefully. "You're suggesting what, exactly?"
"I'm suggesting that there are forces at work in this city that go beyond normal criminal activity. And I think those same forces have been protecting Marcus Valdez."
"Detective James, I appreciate your... creative thinking. But what you're describing sounds like..."
"Like the ravings of someone having a mental breakdown?" I interrupted. "I know how it sounds, Mr. Morey. But explain to me how physical evidence disappears from locked rooms. Explain how security footage shows things that some people can see and others can't."
Morey closed the photo envelope and handed it back to me. "I can't explain those things. But that doesn't mean the explanation is supernatural."
"Then what is it?"
"Corruption. Inside jobs. Maybe someone in the department is being paid to make evidence disappear. Maybe your security footage was doctored by someone with the technical skills to do it subtly."
Alex stepped forward. "Mr. Morey, what if we could show you something that couldn't be explained by corruption or technical manipulation? Something that would prove Detective James isn't delusional?"
"What kind of something?"
"We want you to see the truth," I said. "Whatever that truth turns out to be."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then Marcus Valdez walks free on Friday, and whoever killed Maria Santos continues operating in our city. And you'll always wonder if you could have prevented the next murder by taking one night to investigate a possibility you were too afraid to consider."
Morey stood up, adjusting his tie with sharp, frustrated movements. "This is insane."
"Maybe. But what if it's not?"
He stared at me for a long moment, and I could see the conflict playing out behind his eyes. The rational lawyer warring with the prosecutor who'd seen too many guilty people walk free.
"Where and when?"
"We'll call you tomorrow with details."
After Morey left, Alex and I walked along the park's pathways in comfortable silence. The evening air was crisp, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and distant restaurant kitchens preparing dinner.
"Do you think he'll actually show up?" I asked.
"He'll show up. He wants to believe there's a reason his cases keep falling apart. It's easier than accepting that he's just not good enough to win against high-powered defense attorneys."
Something in Alex's tone caught my attention. "You don't like prosecutors very much, do you?"
"I don't like anyone who puts their career advancement ahead of justice."
We were passing the courthouse steps when I noticed a familiar figure descending toward the street. ADA Morey, walking quickly with his phone pressed to his ear.
"That's odd," I murmured. "I thought he'd gone home."
Alex followed my gaze. "Maybe he had to go back to his office. Prosecutors work late."
But something about Morey's body language bothered me. He kept looking over his shoulder, and his free hand gestured emphatically as he spoke into the phone.
"I want to hear what he's saying," I said impulsively.
"Lauren, no. We can't..."
But I was already moving toward the courthouse, staying in the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Alex reluctantly followed.
We got close enough to hear fragments of Morey's conversation as he paced near the courthouse entrance.
"...definitely showing signs of instability..." he was saying. "...convinced there's some kind of supernatural conspiracy... yes, I think Dr. Voss should be informed..."
My blood ran cold. He was reporting our meeting to someone, describing me as unstable.
"...Henderson seems to be enabling her delusions... no, I don't think they have any real evidence..."
I started to step forward, to confront him, but Alex grabbed my arm and held me back. We watched as Morey ended his call and turned toward the courthouse entrance.
That's when I saw who he was meeting.
Judge Margaret Morrison emerged from the building, her black robes replaced by an elegant coat and scarf. She approached Morey with the confident stride of someone accustomed to being in control.
"Jahort," she said, her voice carrying clearly in the quiet evening air. "Thank you for calling me about Detective James."
"I'm concerned about her mental state, Your Honor. She's clearly having some kind of breakdown, and she's trying to drag other officers down with her."
"And the photos she showed you?"
"Disturbing, but explainable through conventional means. There's no evidence of supernatural activity."
Judge Morrison nodded thoughtfully. "We can't allow her delusions to interfere with the proper administration of justice. The Valdez case must proceed based on evidence, not fantasy."