Inevitable Discovery

by Melissa F. Miller

  “You mean she said to tell me, as in, tell your superior?” he clarified.

  “No, sir, she used your name. I don’t know how she made us. I’m sorry.”

  The pain exploded behind Landon’s eyes in a fireworks display of light and heat. He gripped the phone and squeezed his eyes shut. A blown surveillance detail was a minor concern at this point. How did this woman know who he was? And what else did she know?

  29

  Sasha settled into her seat behind the steering wheel and glanced over at Charlie. He looked clammy.

  “Are you okay?”

  “You just … went up to those guys? Why? You really think Lewis will call you?”

  She shrugged. “Probably not. But now he knows I know who he is. If nothing else, he’s gonna sweat for a while. Guys like Lewis count on hiding in the shadows, dwelling in secrecy. It’ll throw him off-balance to feel exposed. It’s not much of an advantage, but it’s something.”

  “I guess,” he said, unconvinced.

  She knew from experience that Connelly and Hank hated any shred of attention that came their way. Why would Lewis be any different?

  But she couldn’t very well explain that she knew what she was talking about because her husband worked for a secret government program that didn’t officially exist. So she changed the subject instead.

  “Have you heard anything about these warrantless searches that Max mentioned? You know, they did the same thing at your office while you were in detention.”

  He lifted his shoulders. “I don’t know. Can’t the prosecutors always get in what they need? I mean, judges bend over backward to help them all the time.”

  She wrinkled her nose as if she could smell the argument. “It happens, sure. The prosecution is often viewed as the good guys, but, Charlie, this is more than that. The right to be free from unreasonable searches and seizures is in the Constitution. It’s a federally guaranteed constitutional right, for crying out loud.”

  “There are exceptions, though, right?”

  “Some. They’re limited, though. The whole reason the exclusionary rule provides that illegally obtained evidence can’t be used at trial is to discourage the authorities from engaging in the abuses in the first place. To get improperly obtained evidence admitted under the inevitable discovery exception, the prosecution has to show that it would’ve been discovered in the same condition it was found in as the result of an independent investigation that was already underway when it was illegally seized. That’s a high burden, Charlie. And a driver’s license shoved in a kitchen drawer doesn’t meet it.”

  He gave her a look that was almost pitying. “I don’t want to say you sound naïve, but you’re talking to a man who was grabbed off the street and held in a basement by some dudes who have no legal authority of any kind. Do you really believe the system always works?”

  She nodded. It was a fair point. “Listen, if I drop you at the library to see if anyone knows where Sam might go, can you find a way home?”

  “Yeah, no problem. Raquel can pick me up, or I’ll catch a bus. Why, though? What are you going to do?”

  She pulled out and headed for the library. She waved goodbye to the surveillance team in her rearview mirror. The guy on the driver’s side of the Suburban flashed her the bird. Lovely.

  “I need to check something out. If you get any leads on Sam’s whereabouts, text me and also call my office. Ask to speak to Naya Andrews.”

  “Who’s she? Your assistant?”

  “No, she’s a transactional partner, specializing in private equity offerings, but she’s also the finest investigator I’ve ever met. If anyone can help us locate Sam, it’s Naya.”

  “But you’re not going back to the office?”

  “Not right away.”

  He gave her a curious look but didn’t press her any further.

  The library was only a short trip from Max Barefoot’s place on the edge of town. It was a tired-looking, blocky gray building. But libraries could be deceptive that way. Whether they were enormous white marble monuments to books guarded by verdigris copper lions or modest, underfunded community centers, they all shared one thing in common—there was an endless world inside. Of books, sure; but sometimes also computers, printers, tools, seeds, and toys. And, always, people who wanted to use their knowledge to help their neighbors. If anyone knew where Sam was, they were likely to be at the library.

  She watched Charlie adjust his backpack onto his shoulders and lope up the library’s wide front steps. Once he disappeared inside the building, she opened her mapping app to get directions to the spot where Vaughn Tabor had been killed.

  She couldn’t quite explain, even to herself, why she wanted to go there. Or why she didn’t want to take Charlie with her. But she did, and she didn’t, and she’d learned a long time ago to trust her instincts. Today, those instincts were telling her she needed to see the spot.

  She thumbed out a quick text to Naya:

  Two things.

  1. New client Charlie Robinson might call you. Trying to find a man named Sam Blank. No last known address. If CR has any leads, he’ll reach out. You can use Jordana to do the legwork on this, but I wd really appreciate your help.

  2. Have someone search for all cases since 2009 where Milltown DA has argued inevitable discovery to get around the exclusionary rule. It’s for the Robinson matter, so bill it to the pro bono client number.

  Naya responded immediately:

  Got it. You coming in?

  Y. Later, though.

  I have to take care of something.

  K. Bring some sugary coffee thing with you. Or else.

  Thanks for the warning.

  She laughed and rested the phone in the center console. She left the radio off and drove to the intersection in silence, reviewing what she knew about the shooting. Not much, honestly. But she did know roughly where Vaughn Tabor had been standing. She could walk through the scene to get a sense of where Sam might have been.

  She pulled over on the shoulder, nudging her car as close to the wooded county lot as she could. The road curved sharply, and she wasn’t really interested in having her car sideswiped while she was poking around.

  She left her bag sitting on the back seat and her cell phone charging in the console. Her shoes crunched loudly over the gravel, and a formation of migrating geese honked overhead. She kept her eyes down as she paced slowly across the space toward a makeshift memorial set up against a bright yellow sign with a thick black chevron.

  She studied the teddy bears, cards, and candles piled in front of the sign’s metal post, then let her eyes drift back to the ground. When she saw the faint chalk outline that indicated where Tabor had fallen, she crouched beside it and scanned the surrounding area. Where had Sam been?

  She wished Aroostine were here. She would know. The prosecutor turned tracker could see things in the environment that Sasha never would.

  She sighed. No, she might not know whether a squirrel had stopped to dig up a nut near the body, but she did have her own talents. Time to use them. She rocked back on her heels, closed her eyes, and tried to picture the action. If the police officers had been coming from Milltown, they would’ve approached from the same direction she just had. They fired, and Vaughn fell this way … she opened her eyes and blinked. Sam had been in the woods. He had to have been.

  She pivoted and stared into the neglected lot. It was scrabbly, with thick, overgrown, choking weeds and stunted, sparse trees and shrubs. And lots of trash. Cans, bottles, bags, and fast food wrappers, and abandoned protest signs were scattered through the weedy grass. She walked toward the lot and peered down into the underbrush, looking for … something, she wasn’t sure what exactly. But she’d know it when she saw it.

  Then she heard tires squealing. She turned. A black van careened toward her. Reflexively, she threw herself into the weeds and out of the path of the van. It took several seconds to form the thought that a black van was bad news. Once her brain made the connection, it sent out a
series of electrical impulses that instructed her legs to get moving. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted into the trees.

  Deep voices shouted, ordering her to stop. She ran faster. The thud of heavy boots thrashing through the weeds and pounding against the hard earth sounded behind her. She ran faster still, her arms pumping, her hair shaking loose from the knot at the nape of her neck. Brambles tore at her face and neck, leaving long red scratches in their wake. She blinked away the blood and kept running.

  Her scarf caught on a bare tree branch, pulling her backward. She yanked the scarf from her neck and ran on. As she raced through the woods, she risked a blurred backward glance at her pursuers. There were three of them. All dressed in black.

  As she turned back, the stiletto heel of her left boot sank into the soft, muddy earth. Her ankle wobbled, wrenching her back, and she landed hard on the wet ground, her hands splayed out in front of her. The pounding of the boots grew louder. She yanked on her boot with both hands, but the heel was stuck. She fumbled with the zipper with shaking fingers, prepared to leave the boot in the mud and hobble on without it, but a tree-trunk-sized arm wrapped around her waist and its owner hoisted her up. Her boot came free.

  She kicked and thrashed at the man, trying to reach his eyes with her fingernails. He just stretched out his arm and held her up at a distance. He chuckled, and her fear withered, replaced by an explosive eruption of impotent rage. He was a giant, an enormous slab of muscle, with a wingspan to match. She couldn’t reach him.

  He hefted her unceremoniously over his shoulder, like he was Santa Claus and she was a sack of Christmas presents. She allowed herself to go limp, her arms hanging listlessly over his back. She slowed her breathing and tried to focus the way her Krav Maga instructor would. And she waited for an opening. She willed herself to believe there would be an opening.

  There’s always an opening. You just have to be alert enough to spot it, Daniel’s voice sounded in her mind.

  When they reached the other two members of his team, she realized with horror that the giant carrying her was the runt of the litter. These guys were gargantuan.

  The bigger they are, the harder they fall. The taunt she used to fling at her brothers when they tormented her sprang to mind, and she laughed despite her situation.

  “If you think this is funny, what comes next is really gonna amuse you,” the tallest of the three told her.

  She stopped laughing and pressed her lips together.

  When they emerged from the woods onto the berm of the road, she’d gathered her thoughts sufficiently to act. Her car was less than twenty feet away, unlocked. All she needed was one unguarded second. She lifted her head to her captor’s ear, opened her mouth, and screamed, a loud, wild, hysterical scream.

  “Holy shit!” He jumped and dropped her like she was on fire. She hit the ground, still screaming, and aimed a kick directly at his kneecap. Her angle sucked, and gravity wasn’t on her side, but she put everything she had into it and drove her boot into the squishy cartilage of his patella.

  He roared and pivoted away from her. She popped to her feet and started to run. The tall one grabbed the back of her coat and dragged her toward the van. She screamed again.

  “Shut up.” He pulled her closer and clamped his gloved hand over her mouth.

  She bit down hard, but the thick leather protected the tender webbing between his thumb and pointer finger. He backhanded her across the cheek with his free hand.

  “Bitch is feral,” he fumed. A pair of handcuffs materialized from his belt. He cuffed her hands together and pushed her into the van. The men crowded in around her, one on each side, and the tall one in front. A fourth man was already behind the wheel, with the engine idling.

  “She’s feisty,” he observed.

  Sasha clamped her mouth shut and looked at her car. It was sitting right there. She’d been so close to getting away. And nobody knew where she was. Nobody would know where to look for her. A cold finger of fear slithered down into the pit of her stomach. She bounced her head back against the padded headrest and closed her eyes. Her cheekbone stung. Her ankle throbbed. She was surrounded by brutal giants.

  And the worst thing of all—the absolute, most terrible part of her current predicament—was that if she managed to get out of this alive, Connelly would never let her live down the fact that it was her famously impractical taste in shoes that had landed her in this mess.

  30

  Sasha leaned toward her right and angled herself against the bars of the cell as best she could with her legs shackled and a chain running from her ankles to her waist, where her wrists were cuffed. She’d found that if she got her position exactly right, she’d be able to see the far outer door swing open even before she heard the pair of guards clomping down the hallway. She wasn’t sure how that early warning was useful to her, given her physical contrasts, but she liked having it.

  She assumed the guards were Fox and Scott, based on the descriptions that Charlie had given her. Whoever they were, they hadn’t been in the van. They were two large men, but they were nothing compared to the super-sized bunch that had grabbed her. Which made sense. If she were an evil mastermind running an illegal detention operation, she’d send her biggest guys out to grab people off the street. Once you had someone chained up in a cell, you didn’t really need much in the way of muscle to keep them in line.

  She shifted her weight and decided it was the perfect time to meditate. Her Buddhist friend Bodhi had always told her that her biggest problem was she always had somewhere else to be. Currently, while there many other places she wanted to be, there was nowhere else she could be. Might as well pass the time doing a lovingkindness meditation. She started with Finn and Fiona’s sweet faces and called up the images of her family, one by one, and then her friends and coworkers and wished each of them well. Bodhi said you were supposed to end a lovingkindess meditation by wishing people who annoyed you and then your enemies well. She figured that was advanced meditation, and stopping while she was ahead was good enough for a beginner like her.

  Besides, she was distracted by the cold seeping up from the floor and into her sit bones through her now-filthy sheath dress. She wouldn’t have chosen winter white wool this morning had she known she’d be spending her day crawling through the woods and then sitting in a dank, subterranean cell. Yeah, meditation time was over.

  Time to return to trying to figure out exactly where she was. Charlie had said the protestors were grabbed when it was dark out and were blindfolded for the trip back to the spot to be released. So he hadn’t been able to provide any details. She, on the other hand, had the advantage of having grown up in Pittsburgh and being snatched off the street in broad daylight. She also had a phenomenally reliable internal clock.

  So she knew that the trip from the spot where Vaughn Tabor had died to the cellar where she was being held had been a twenty-two-minute drive, exactly. There was, of course, no guarantee that the driver hadn’t taken a roundabout route to prevent her from guessing where they were going. But given the current traffic snarls being caused by the fact that an entire bus had been swallowed by the earth in the middle of Grant Street, she was fairly confident that they had stayed on the East End of town. Otherwise, they’d still be sitting in traffic.

  And they had definitely gone and stayed inside the Pittsburgh city limits after leaving Milltown. She could tell by the signage for the zoo and by the glimpse of the distinctive East Busway overhead as the van sped under the raised road. All signs pointed to her being held captive in East Liberty/Shadyside/Bloomfield area—in other words, she was almost certainly within walking distance of her own home and office. This knowledge added Tantalus-like torture to her plight.

  If she had to narrow it among the three, she’d guess East Liberty, based on the architecture she’d spied out the window. And the PPC did have headquarters in trendy Bakery Square, which was in the neighborhood. But this space wasn’t part of anybody’s urban revitalization plan, that much was certain. She
was pretty sure she was being warehoused in an actual warehouse. Although she couldn’t say for certain because the guy she’d kneecapped had eventually barked out an order for the driver to pull over, then blindfolded her with three minutes left in the trip.

  Eventually—but maybe not until she didn’t come home for dinner—Connelly would realize she’d gone missing and track her phone. Assuming that her car hadn’t been stolen or towed, the phone would lead him to the spot where she’d been abducted and then … and then the trail would go cold. For most people. Presumably not for her G-man husband. Please, not for her husband.

  She inhaled slowly, deeply, and then exhaled even more slowly, pausing for a moment at the end of the exhale before taking her next breath. The slower she could get her heart rate, the more likely she was to trick her central nervous system into believing that she wasn’t in danger. That was the theory, at least. If she could convince herself that she was safe, she could stave off the flood of cortisol that would prevent her from thinking clearly.

  Of course, her growling stomach was another constant interruption that hampered her ability to strategize. And that was one she couldn’t fake her way through. It was well past lunchtime, and she was starting to get shaky. She needed some protein and some fat, and fast. It had gotten so bad that she was having olfactory hallucinations: she smelled cookies. Sweet, buttery cookies.

  31

  Charlie struck out at the library. Oh, the librarians knew who Sam was, but no one had seen him or had any ideas where Charlie should look for him. Dejected, he’d called Raquel, who met him for an early lunch at the pizza joint down the street.

  After lunch, on a whim, really, he told her he wanted to pop back in to the library once more before they headed home. He thought the afternoon crowd might be more familiar with Sam’s comings and goings. And he didn’t want to have to admit to Sasha and Naya Andrews, the super-investigator, that his efforts had been a bust.