The shard of redemption, p.19
The Shard of Redemption, page 19
Kozo relented and turned it over, fingers tracing the damage. His voice dropped.
“It’s the car’s brain … This is evidence, isn’t it, Mr. Ames? You’re making me complicit in something the police should be handling, aren’t you?”
Neil smiled, dry. “You aren’t going to faint again, are you? You survived cracking Yuu’s accounts. This is just a cracked box.”
Kozo ignored Neil’s ‘faint’ remark.
“If the EEPROM’s intact, I can backtrace, scan for memory shadows, spoofing, CAN injection, throttle overrides—”
“You’ll show me later,” Neil interrupted. “I’ll meet you at your place … your prized hacker cave. And use whatever lab access you’ve got through Yuu.”
“You mean … Yuu’s deep tools?” Kozo groaned. “Of course. Drag me into the crosshairs. Again.”
“Yes.”
Kozo set the unit back on the cloth. “I don’t think I should do this.”
Neil leaned in, voice flat. “You’re going to find out how they killed the driver. And who they are. Because if you don’t, no one will.”
Kozo swallowed. “Do I even want to know who ‘they’ are?”
“Probably not,” said Neil, “but ignorance isn’t necessarily a good thing.”
“Ignorance is bliss,” Kozo muttered. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I knew it. You’re putting me in a position where I can get in trouble again, aren’t you?”
Neil’s grin widened. “Look how well that turned out for you.”
Kozo straightened, shoulders squaring as if anchoring himself. His weight shifted evenly over both feet. His hesitancy was gone, replaced by a still, steady focus. His eyes locked on Neil’s, unblinking.
“Killed who? Who did they kill?”
“A friend of mine,” said Neil
The corridor opened into the interior garden. The soft glow of electric lanterns illuminated the glass-enclosed space, and Octavia guided Penelope to the bench next to the maple, where the branches scratched at the light in sharp black lines. They sat silently and observed the snowflakes as they occasionally caught the light, each one a brief bright spark.
“I didn’t know who my father was until a year ago,” Octavia said, her eyes looking up at the sky. “Years ago, we created a highly praised jazz album together. I didn’t know he was my father.” She drew in a breath. “His name was Bastien Beaulieu … He was a brilliant jazz trombonist and a scientist who died for the wrong reasons.”
She let the words hang there.
“I learned the truth in the middle of a murder investigation. I’d inherited his music, his research, his homes. And a lifetime of decisions made without me. My mother had cut him out of my life before I was even born. Finding out felt like I’d been stolen from myself.”
She paused, her breath catching in her throat. Penelope continued to watch the delicate snowflakes drift down.
“I was angry,” Octavia continued. “Hurt. And for a while, I wanted to burn every connection to that truth. But the truth follows you. And once you know it, you have to decide what to do with it.” She glanced at Penelope, then looked away. “It doesn’t matter if it’s beautiful or ugly, it’s yours to face.”
Penelope looked down at her hands, knuckles white as they clenched tightly in her lap.
Octavia leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her cane balanced between them. “It’s not easy, turning toward something you’ve been running from. But you get to choose how it shapes you. Not the people who kept it from you.”
The silence stretched.
“I grew up in … shadows,” Penelope said at last. “My mother said it was to protect me. That people wanted to hurt us. We moved all the time. Changed names. I was never allowed to tell anyone the truth about anything. I couldn’t have friends. I didn’t go to school. It was like living in a room with no doors.”
She hesitated, then glanced at Octavia. “I had tutors. I liked studying. I wanted to go to university. I wanted to take the entrance exams to see if I was really … good enough. I took them under a false ID, and I did really well.” She allowed herself to smile. “Mom said she had connections. She got recommendations from influential people, and I got in. I majored in art, but the whole university thing wasn’t for me, so I dropped out and entered a competition to get into the manga academy … and I won.” Another quick smile. “I could finally be me.”
Octavia didn’t interrupt.
Penelope’s smile faded. “Sometimes my mother would look at my sketches, and she’d get a strange expression, as if she saw something disturbing in them. Like I’d drawn something I wasn’t supposed to know. I think she’s in trouble. Really bad trouble. She always said we were running from people, but now … I think she’s connected to them. Maybe even part of them.”
The air between them held still, the gently falling snowflakes filling the void.
“I think,” Octavia said, “you and Neil are the only two people in this who want the same thing: Answers about your mother. Answers you both deserve.”
Penelope hesitated. “And if I don’t like what I find out?”
“You’ll survive it,” Octavia said. “You’ll be stronger for knowing. And you won’t have to face it alone.”
Penelope’s shoulders eased, just slightly. Not trust. But something close.
Octavia smiled faintly. “You’re a fighter, Penelope. You just haven’t been in the right corner. Let Neil stand there with you.”
Penelope looked into Octavia’s face and whispered, “Is he really my father?”
Octavia studied her for a long moment, and sitting there in the lantern light, she saw echoes too strong to ignore. The shape of the eyes. The way she held her shoulders when bracing for something. The defiance.
“There are tests that can verify it,” Octavia said. Her voice softened, but it still carried a note that was part certainty, part protectiveness, and part warning. “But sitting here, looking at you … I have no doubts.”
Penelope pursed her lips together and pressed her palms against her thighs. She exhaled into the cold air and watched the snow. Slowly, muscle by muscle, she relaxed.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll ask … for his help.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” said Octavia.
Penelope dropped her head and whispered, “And … maybe … about a DNA test.”
The snow fell more steadily, each flake a silent whisper as it coated the garden snow globe, and in that moment, Octavia thought she caught a glimpse of the woman Penelope might become.
Octavia and Penelope heard Neil’s low register and Kozo’s rising urgency coming from the kitchen as they stepped into the corridor.
Penelope hesitated. “Thank you again,” she whispered, “for everything. For the gift. For listening.”
Octavia touched her arm. “I meant every word.”
Penelope offered a small smile and slipped away.
Octavia entered the kitchen. She leaned lightly against the counter, one hand resting on the polished wood, the other holding the handle of her e-cane. Her gaze fell on the metal object on the cloth.
“That’s not tea,” she said.
“It’s the reason I’m here,” said Neil. “Wallace’s ECU. The original unit.”
“I thought I was the reason you flew to Japan,” said Octavia, her voice dripping with irony. “But Kozo has talents that far exceed mine.” She grinned at Kozo. “What magic is he asking you to conjure?”
“If the main chip’s intact, I might recover shadow instructions. Spoofed commands, forced overrides, signal jamming, like someone whispered murder into the throttle line.”
A laugh burst from Octavia, and her sapphire eyes sparkled with delight. “What a lovely phrase, Kozo. Whispered murder.”
Kozo straightened a little, lips twitching at the corners, like he’d just solved a line of code and gotten applause.
“Great,” said Neil. “Now she’ll want you to title the drink specials.”
Octavia gave a stage-whisper gasp. “Whispered Murder, served neat, with a salted rim and a dangerous finish.”
Kozo’s face dropped; a deep pallor spread across it as if he were about to confess to a heinous crime. “If this box holds what I think it holds, I’ll need to access the deep tools. Tier-three diagnostics. Yuu won’t be happy if they catch me.”
“They won’t,” said Neil.
Kozo didn’t look convinced.
Octavia stepped in beside Kozo and planted her cane with a soft click. She shifted into her power stance, shoulders squared, gaze level. It wasn’t a pose; it was policy.
“Tell them you’ve built an updated test, and you’ll be running it yourself.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Then a pause … and ask for a volunteer to write the report to be submitted at 7 am. That will send everyone scurrying.”
Kozo straightened, appearing to be inches taller.
Neil didn’t speak, just let Octavia work her magic.
She winked and said, “I have every confidence in him.” Then she met Kozo’s eyes. “And he ought to have the same confidence in himself.”
Kozo sighed, steeling himself. “I’ll get what I can.”
“Good. I’ll come by your place tomorrow.” Neil wrapped the unit back in cloth and handed it over.
Kozo nodded. “We had a wave of cyberattacks on Yuu’s system tonight. It will be a good excuse to execute a test diagnostic to make sure everything is secure.”
“Before you go, I have something else for you to take,” said Octavia. She gestured toward the hallway. “Gifts for your security team. Tell them I appreciate the long hours, and I insist they take some time off.”
Kozo smiled and followed her out. Neil remained alone. Not for long.
Penelope entered, her sketchbook cradled in one arm, Octavia’s pen resting between her fingers like something ceremonial. She paused when she saw Neil. He waited, saying nothing.
She didn’t meet his gaze at first. She moved with care, as if she’d rehearsed this moment and still wasn’t sure of her lines.
“I was rude earlier,” she said. “I’d like to apologize.”
Neil nodded. “Accepted.”
She lifted her blue-gray eyes and searched his face. She spoke quickly.
“I’m worried about my mother. I’d like your help. I want to know where she is. And if she’s safe.”
She said it. Find my mother.
Rather than blazing, Neil’s mind descended into darkness, as if falling into an abyss.
The key, the only thing that matters. Find the phantom Emily Granger. Resurrect the real creature.
Then a flash of the imprisoned light trying to escape, and the words from long ago: “A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
Lock it down. Lock it down.
Neil dragged the light out of its prison and focused on the young woman in front of him.
“I know she won’t be happy if she finds out,” said Penelope, “but I need to know. I’ve needed to for a long time.”
He watched her closely now, cataloging her expressions, the set of her jaw, the curve of her brow, the echo of another face he used to draw without reference.
“Why me?” he asked.
“Because … if … you are …” She choked back her words. Then she swallowed and looked at Neil with anger raging from her eyes. “You’re the one person she never talks about,” Penelope said. “Which means you mattered.”
Silence pulsed between them.
“If I take your case,” he said finally, “there’ll be conditions.”
“What kind of conditions?”
“Access. To anything you have. Photos. Notes. Conversations. And especially …” he nodded toward the sketchbook, “the drawings.”
She clutched her sketchbook closer. “We didn’t keep photos or notes. Digital communication disappears as soon as we finish. All I have are my sketches and … and my art journals.”
“I understand.”
“It’s not just art,” she said. “It’s … my life. My journal. Everything I was afraid to say out loud.”
Neil held her gaze. “That’s what makes it useful.”
She looked down, then up again. “You won’t show anyone?”
“No.”
Penelope drew a breath and held it. Neil saw it, the same pause he knew too well: the moment before graphite meets paper, before a line is locked in place.
“All right,” she said.
“Then yes,” Neil said. “I will find your mother.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Neil took out his phone. “Number?”
She gave it and hesitated, her eyes lingering on the etched lines of his face, seeking answers in the tiny wrinkles and the raised scar above his brow.
Her voice trembled slightly. “Are you—”
Kozo reappeared, his messenger bag securing his laptop slung over his shoulder, holding a cardboard box filled with the ECU and wrapped gifts. “We’ve got to go! I’ve got the team’s gifts. I told Octavia I’ll deliver them tonight, before the roads freeze up.”
“Ready?” Kozo asked after Penelope slipped on her coat and shoes.
She nodded, then turned back to Neil and Octavia. “Thank you … for everything.”
Neil and Octavia watched them drive away. He closed the door. She winced as she turned, pain catching her mid-step.
“Funny thing about nerve endings,” she murmured. “When they start to heal, they scream. Every step hurts like hell.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes soft, voice low and musical. “But it’s better than feeling nothing at all. Good night, Neil. Turn the lights off when you go to bed.”
Chapter 31
The day after Christmas, Destiny Pointe PD felt hollow. Half the unit was on leave; the rest moved through the motions in muted voices and the steady click of keyboards.
Hayes sat in his office, staring at his new hand-crafted ceramic OCTANE mug. The coffee inside had gone cold, untouched. He went to the breakroom to refresh his coffee. The bullpen behind him grew still as an Internal Affairs investigator appeared in the doorway. The effect was instant, conversations clipped short, and mugs lowered. Nothing chilled a room like Internal Affairs … especially Detective Mike Dunne.
He wore an off-the-rack suit. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, scanned the surroundings. Dunne stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “Captain Hayes,” he nodded toward Hayes’ office, “A word.”
Before Hayes could close his door, the IA investigator started in. “This isn’t Texas, Captain Hayes,” he said, voice dry, rehearsed. “We don’t do lone lawmen here. You had suspicions, you should’ve brought them to us the moment they crossed your mind. Not after you’ve played ranger and move forward with your own agenda.”
Hayes didn’t rise to the bait. He took a sip of coffee, walked casually to his chair and sat, then took another sip and gazed steadily at his opponent. “You goin’ to church?”
The IA investigator edged closer. “That cowboy act won’t be tolerated in Destiny Pointe.”
Hayes leaned back casually and locked eyes with the man. His reply was flat and hung in the air.
“Detective Dunne, I’m lookin’ into how you handled the Wallace investigation. And the possibility that a dirty cop cooperated in the murder of Detective John Wallace.”
The IA investigator smiled thinly. “Ex–detective, Captain. Ex. John Wallace lost that title. Figures, man dies in a wreck, suddenly everybody wants to turn him into a martyr.”
“He didn’t die in a wreck,” said Hayes, “He was put in one. You ever seen an onboard computer that wipes itself clean before first responders arrive? That’s not bad luck. That’s intent.”
Dunne leaned back, arms crossed. “You’re saying somebody rigged it?”
“I’m sayin’ the man was murdered, and the reason ties back to the Emily Granger case. That’s the one your office used to hang him out to dry.”
“Wallace made his own bed. He lost the evidence, let a killer walk. You know the file.”
“I’ve read it, said Hayes, “And I’ve read the part that came from Detective Stan Rucker, who has a long track record with Internal affairs, who suddenly decides to share a secret that he’s been carrying for years, that when he was a rookie, the first on the scene of the Emily Granger murder, claims he overheard Wallace and Katherine Sterling talkin’ about 'helping her get away'. You ever wonder why he decided to tell you at this particular time?”
“He was retiring,” said Dunne.
“Rucker’s record’s got more shadows than a salmon run in November: payoffs, missing inventory, a few too many cases that disappeared into the system. He’s been keepin’ himself useful to the wrong people for a long damn time.”
Dunne studied him. “You’ve got proof of that?”
Hayes smiled, “Not yet. But I’m glad we have an understanding. I’ve got enough to know Wallace didn’t crash by accident. Somebody made sure the only man who was digging into the Emily Granger case took his last drive.”
“That’s a stretch, even for Texas,” said Dunne
“Maybe. But sometimes a stretch is just reachin’ where everyone else stopped lookin’. This is a murder investigation. It trumps your secret society. If that offends you, prove me wrong, help with the investigation. If it threatens you … it should.”
Only when the elevator doors clanged shut did the murmur of voices pick back up, careful, subdued, like the air after lightning.
Hayes pulled his logbook from the drawer and wrote one line.
Case Log: IA stonewalling. Rucker’s dirt runs deep. Watch my back.
He placed the log back in the drawer, took another sip of coffee and stared out the window. Cordera knocked on the door and came in.
“Is everything okay, Captain?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s goin’ to get interesting, though.”
“I figured as much, when I saw IA come in. Rucker?”
Hayes nodded. “Up to his neck.”
“Do you need me to—?”
“No. Why are you here?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be with your family.”
