Chapter 28 chapter 28

Chapter 28 chapter 28
VALE POV

Muhammad called at three in the morning.

No greeting. No preamble. Which was how I knew it was serious—Muhammad considered social niceties a form of real-time information management, and he only dispensed with them when the information was more urgent than the management.
"Solis moved," he said.

I was already sitting up. I'd been half-asleep on the couch, which was where I'd ended up after Iris had gone to bed—not wanting to be in the same apartment with the unsaid thing and a closed door between us. "How many calls?"

"Four. First was his lawyer—standard. Man's probably had that number on speed dial for decades. Second was someone at the AG's office, which is interesting. Third was Rowan Adler." A pause. "The fourth was Frank William."

I was standing.

"What did they say?"

"Solis's line is encrypted on his end—good system, we'd need more time than we have. But Frank's home line isn't, which is either arrogance or old habits." Muhammad paused. "Frank asked one question. He said: 'Does she have the full panel?' Solis said yes."
"He knows about Nina's tox results."

"He's known since they decided to move on Nina. They knew she had the panel—they'd known for years. What they didn't know was whether she'd given it to anyone before they got to her." Muhammad's voice was very even. "Now they know she gave it to Iris."

"Through Sera."

"Through Sera. Yes. Who they've now identified as the journalist Iris is cooperating with." A pause. "Vale. They know the full scope now. Everything that was on the flash drive is compromised as a concept—they know what you have because they know what Nina had.

"Does that change the legal value of the flash drive?"
"No. The original records still exist, the chain of custody is intact. What changes is the timetable. They know you're close to having enough. Which means they have a decision to make about whether to let you get there."
I was already in the hallway.
"Give me six hours," I said. "I'm moving Iris now."
"I'll set up the second location."
I knocked on the guest room door. Quietly at first. Then: "Iris." Just above normal conversation level.
She opened it in less than twenty seconds.
She'd been awake. I could see it in her eyes—no blinking adjustment, no confusion. She'd been lying in the dark thinking, which meant she'd probably known, with the same forensic instincts that drove everything else, that the other shoe was coming.
"Get dressed," I said. "We're leaving."
She nodded and turned without asking why.
Twelve minutes later we were in the car, moving through the city's empty hours. I drove without a specific destination at first—movement itself as a first principle, get clear of any surveillance on the building before deciding where we were going.
"Your father called Solis," she said, twenty minutes in.
"Solis called him. Frank was the second call."
She absorbed that. Her hands were very still in her lap.
"He wanted to know if I had the panel."
"Yes."
"Which means he knows what's in it. He's known for eleven years what Sable's full toxicology showed." She was quiet for a moment. "He knew she was murdered. He closed the case knowing."
"Yes."
Outside, the city moved past in its late-night reduction. Empty intersections, the yellow of streetlights reflected in wet pavement. Somewhere behind us, if Solis had deployed resources quickly enough, there might be something following. I'd know in another few blocks.
"What he did to Sable's family," Iris said quietly. Not to me, exactly. Working it through. "They spent years filing requests, making complaints. His family. Her sister died trying to reopen the case. And the whole time—" She stopped. "The whole time he had a file in his drawer with her name on it and the answer in it."
"Yes."
"He's going to answer for it," she said. Not loudly. Not with the hot quality of fresh rage. With a coldness that was far more absolute.
"He is."
"I want to be there when he does."
I glanced at her.
"I want him to look at me," she said. "When it ends. I want him to know that his daughter was the one who helped end it."
I looked back at the road.
"I can arrange that," I said.
We drove to the safe house Muhammad had prepared—a flat on the north side with a view of the river and no record connecting it to either of us. When we got there, Iris stood at the window and looked at the city for a while. I made tea and brought it to her without asking.
She took the mug.
"He loves me," she said. "I believe that, even now. I believe that he made himself believe everything he did was for me. That the career, the security, the stability—that it was all for me."

"Probably some of it was."

"Yes." She looked at the river. "That's the part that's hard. Not the part where he's a monster. The part where he's a person who loved me and also did monstrous things and thought those two facts could coexist."

I said nothing.
"Can they?" she asked.

I thought about it honestly. "I don't think they can," I said. "I think the love becomes part of the justification. Which makes it something other than love."

She was quiet for a long time
.
"Yes," she said finally. "I think that's right."