“And suspect?”
“Convicted on other counts.”
“Who handled both?”
Laura changed slide.
Danny Reyes.
Not alone.
But present.
Maya studied the photograph.
“Too obvious.”
Laura smiled slightly.
“That was my thought.”
“If he's stealing, he’s careless.”
“If someone is using him, he’s useful.”
“Or someone wants us staring at him.”
Laura nodded.
“That’s why you're here.”
Maya specialized in public corruption.
Not because she hated police.
Her father had spent thirty-one years as a Chicago firefighter.
Her uncle had been a transit cop.
She understood institutions were mostly people trying to complete difficult jobs inside imperfect systems.
That was precisely why corruption mattered.
One person could poison trust thousands of others had to earn back.
“What's the source want?”
Maya asked.
“We don't know.”
“Any follow-up?”
“Two packages.”
“Second included shift schedule.”
“Third said something strange.”
Laura displayed it.
WHEN THE WOMAN IN RED LOSES HER PURSE, WATCH WHO FINDS IT.
Maya frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“We think it refers to controlled test.”
“Or source watches too many movies.”
“Possible.”
Maya leaned back.
“Need undercover access.”
“Already authorized.”
“What cover?”
Laura smiled.
“Something nobody at Twelfth District associates with federal law enforcement.”
Three weeks later, Maya entered a private charity fashion event at the Lakeshore Grand Hotel wearing a yellow jacket, white crop top and loose designer jeans.
The outfit was real.
So was the handbag.
The event's organizer, Simone Carter, had agreed to cooperate after federal agents discovered a municipal contractor named Ellis Vane regularly attended her fundraisers.
Vane ran Metro Asset Recovery.
On paper, the company towed abandoned vehicles and stored seized property for the city.
In practice, Metro had access to police impound lots, transfer warehouses, municipal garages and evidence transport schedules.
Maya's job was simple.
Watch Vane.
Do not approach.
Vane arrived at 8:15.
He spoke to donors.
Bought an auction package.
Drank sparkling water.
Then disappeared through a staff corridor for seven minutes.
Maya followed far enough to see him hand something to a uniformed officer.
Not Reyes.
Officer's face never turned toward camera.
But the envelope looked familiar.
Padded.
Brown.
Small enough for cash.
The officer left.
Vane returned to ballroom.
Maya followed him for two more weeks.
Nothing.
Then the anonymous source sent another package.
This time, only four words:
GARAGE. THURSDAY. 6:40.
Thursday arrived.
Maya went alone except for a surveillance team positioned outside the municipal complex.