“Lead investigator. He didn’t like certain names being mentioned. Danton was one. Reed might’ve been another.”
“Why would a prison administrator be connected to Martin Keller?”
Ortiz looked toward the lake. “Keller handled books for people. Taxes. Businesses. Sometimes people with clean money. Sometimes people who wanted dirty money to look cleaner than it was.”
“Are you saying Reed was involved in that?”
“I’m saying Keller knew numbers. Numbers scare people more than guns ever did.”
Amelia looked at the cabin again.
A gust of wind lifted leaves across the porch.
“What about the missing ledger from the tape?” she asked.
Ortiz’s eyes narrowed. “The tape mentioned a ledger?”
“Yes. Martin said he had records.”
“That was never in the file.”
“I know.”
“Then either police missed it…”
“Or someone made sure it disappeared.”
Ortiz walked to the cabin steps and stopped.
“I was the first backup officer at the scene,” he said quietly.
Amelia turned.
He kept his eyes on the door. “Crain was already inside. Avery was on her porch crying. Gavin had been picked up two blocks away because he matched her description. I remember Crain coming out of the kitchen with something in his hand.”
“What?”
“I thought it was a wallet. Maybe a small notebook.” Ortiz shook his head. “It was dark. Rainy. Scene lights weren’t set yet.”
“Was it logged?”
“No.”
Amelia’s grip tightened around her coffee. “Would you swear to that?”
He looked pained. “I can swear I saw him remove an object. I can’t swear what it was.”
“That may be enough to ask more questions.”
“Questions make people nervous.”
“Good.”
Ortiz gave her a sideways look.
For the first time, there was something like respect in it.
Back at the prison, Mitchell began his own quiet inquiry.
He reviewed staff schedules from five years earlier, comparing them to dates in the case file. Reed had taken unexpected leave the night of Martin Keller’s murder. Officially, he had requested two personal days due to “family matters.”
Mitchell knew Reed had no spouse and no children.
He requested archived entry logs from the county evidence facility. The response came back incomplete. Records from that period had been “damaged during storage.”
He called an old acquaintance in county administration and asked whether Reed had ever served in any law enforcement liaison role.
The answer came after an uncomfortable pause.
“Unofficially, maybe.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means certain people trusted him to move things quietly.”
“What things?”
“Robert, I’m retired.”
“So am I, almost.”
“Then you know when not to ask a question too loudly.”
Mitchell hung up with a heaviness in his chest.
The prison no longer felt like solid ground. It felt like a building whose foundation had cracked years ago while everyone kept repainting the walls.
