Chapter 4 - The Race Against the Clock
Back at the precinct, the atmosphere was electric. Dispatcher Eric Malloy had coordinated local search-and-rescue teams, deploying them along the treacherous embankments of Old Mill Road. With Denise Carter in custody and her confession partially caught on the station's recording equipment, the narrative surrounding Andrew Hale was beginning to violently unravel online.
Natalie sat in the briefing room, staring at the map spread across the metal table.
"The flash drive Denise dropped," Eric said, walking over with a cup of black coffee and setting it down. "Our tech unit decrypted it ten minutes ago. It contains financial records proving Denise embezzled over sixty thousand dollars from the Cedar Street community improvement fund—money meant for local families. Andrew stumbled onto her ledger in the community shed four days ago."
"And that's why she sabotaged his truck," Natalie said, standing up and grabbing her jacket. "She intercepted him on his way to the pharmacy, forced him off the road near the ravine, and left him for dead while she kept an eye on Ashley."
"They're searching the lower ravine now," Eric said grimly. "The water levels are rising due to the storm. We're running out of time, Natalie."
Natalie didn't waste another second. She sprinted out to her cruiser, sirens wailing as she tore through the slick, rain-soaked streets toward Old Mill Road.
The rain had lessened to a persistent, bone-chilling drizzle, but the fog rolling off the valley was thick enough to swallow the headlights whole. When Natalie arrived at the search perimeter, amber emergency lights painted the towering pines in flashing, hypnotic strokes.
Rescue workers in high-visibility gear were clustered around a steep embankment where a mangled blue pickup truck rested upside down against a cluster of boulders, half-submerged in the rushing creek below.
"Officer Brooks!" a rescue coordinator shouted, jogging over through the mud. "We checked the cab. It was empty. The driver must have crawled out before the vehicle slid down."
"Which way would he go?" Natalie asked, scanning the dark, dense woods surrounding the ravine. "He was badly injured. He wouldn't last long in this weather."
May you like
"Upstream," a voice called out from the darkness. One of the search volunteers was shining a heavy-duty spotlight toward an old logging trail that wound upward toward the highway. "Look at the mud. There are drag marks and boot prints heading toward the abandoned pump house."
Natalie drew her flashlight and bolted toward the trail, her boots sinking deep into the wet earth.
