Chapter 4 - THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR
By 7:00 AM the next morning, I was sitting in a booth at a diner three miles away from the Voss house, a steaming mug of black coffee untouched in front of me.
Opposite me sat Marcus Vance.
Marcus was a former FBI special agent who now ran one of the most discrete and effective private security firms on the West Coast. I had hired his agency two years ago to investigate a high-level corporate embezzlement case for Vanguard, and he was the only man in Oregon I trusted implicitly.
I slid the amber medicine bottle across the formica table toward him.
“I need a full toxicological analysis on these pills,” I said without preamble. “Stat. I need to know every active chemical compound in there by the end of the day.”
Marcus picked up the bottle, tilting it toward the morning light. He popped the plastic top, sniffed it cautiously, and nodded once. “I have a contact at the state forensic lab. I’ll push it through as an emergency priority. What am I looking at, Adrienne?”
“My sister,” I said, my voice tight. “Her husband and his family are keeping her isolated, starving her, sleeping her on an unheated porch, and I suspect they are heavy-medicating her to keep her compliant. I also saw extensive physical abuse—cigarette burns on her forearms.”
Marcus’s expression hardened. “Did you call the police?”
“If I call local law enforcement right now, what happens?” I asked bitterly. “They send a patrol officer for a welfare check. Derek presents himself as the loving, hardworking husband. Marlene acts like the sweet mother-in-law. Caroline—terrified out of her mind and chemically altered—denies everything and says she burned herself. The police leave, write a report, and the second the front door closes, they punish her for speaking to me.”
Marcus sighed, setting the bottle down. “You’re right. Domestic abuse cases with psychological control are notoriously hard to prosecute without overwhelming physical evidence and financial documentation. If the victim won't press charges, the DA won't file.”
“Which is why I’m not just going to report them,” I said, leaning forward. “I’m going to destroy them. I need you to put a full surveillance team on Derek Voss, Marlene Voss, and Tessa Voss. I want to know every bank account, every asset, every debt, every secret they have.”
“That costs money, Adrienne. A lot of it.”
“I don't care what it costs,” I said coldly. “Use whatever resources you need. Wiretaps, financial forensics, background checks. Find out why they are keeping her like a prisoner. There has to be a financial motive. People like the Vosses don't exert this level of control over someone just for fun. They want something from her.”
Marcus looked at me for a long moment, seeing the determination in my eyes, before reaching into his coat and pulling out a small black device.
“This is a high-grade digital voice recorder with a built-in GPS tracker,” Marcus said, placing it on the table. “It’s magnetic. Slip it under Derek’s car seat or hide it in the house. It syncs directly to a cloud server I monitor.”
“Done.”
“And Adrienne?” Marcus added softly. “Be careful. If these people realize you’re building a case against them, things could escalate fast. Men like Derek Voss are cowardly until they feel cornered. When they get cornered, they get violent.”
“Let him try,” I said, my voice dead of all emotion.
An hour later, I returned to the Voss residence.
When I walked through the door, the house was strangely quiet. Derek was sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in a sharp suit, typing furiously on his laptop. Marlene was wiping down the counter, and Tessa was nowhere to be seen.
Caroline was on her hands and knees in the living room, scrubbing at a faint stain on the rug with a brush. Her hands were red and raw from the harsh cleaning chemicals.
“Adrienne!” Derek called out, instantly closing his laptop with a warm smile. “There you are! We were worried about you. I thought you might have gone back to your hotel.”
“Just took an early morning walk to clear my head,” I said easily, walking into the kitchen. “Corporate stress.”
“Of course, of course,” Derek stood up, buttoning his jacket. “Listen, regarding the Vanguard project... I took the liberty of putting together a preliminary list of local contractors and zoning consultants for you. I was hoping we could grab lunch today to discuss how I can officially fit into your operations here.”
I looked at him—at his polished shoes, his neat hair, his desperate, greedy eyes.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Derek,” I said, offering a practiced, professional smile. “Why don't you show me around the proposed commercial sites downtown this afternoon? We can review your proposal in detail.”
“Fantastic!” Derek beamed, visibly expanding with pride. “I’ll drive.”
While Derek walked into the hallway to grab his coat and Marlene stepped into the pantry, I moved with lightning speed.
I slid my hand into my jacket pocket, pulled out the tiny magnetic listening device Marcus had given me, and slipped it seamlessly beneath the edge of the kitchen counter near the landline phone.
I then turned around and met Caroline’s gaze from across the room.
She was watching me, her eyes filled with a desperate, warning plea.
May you like
I gave her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Hold on, I pleaded silently. Just hold on a little longer.
