Page 44 of Cross the Line
Not good.
"St. Michael's called." Murphy's voice was carefully measured. Controlled. "Male assault victim. Severe injuries. Won't speak to anyone but specifically asked for 'Detective Carlson from 52.'"
My brain stuttered. Someone asking for me? Here? By myoldposting?
"Name's Daniel Nguyen. Twenty-six. Found beaten in a laneway near the division border last night. Multiple fractures, internal bleeding." The Inspector's gaze locked onto mine. "Refused to give a statement until you arrive."
The name hit me like a physical blow.
Daniel.
The air went thin. My lungs forgot how to work properly. I kept my face neutral through sheer force of will. Years of practice smiling through bad news. But I could feel Hawley watching me. Reading me.
"Who is Daniel Nguyen to you, Detective?" Murphy's tone left no room for deflection.
I hesitated. Glanced briefly at Hawley. His face stayed impassive, but something in his posture shifted. Waiting. Not judging. Just... present.
I'd never had to explain this part of my past to anyone at 51 Division. Hoped I'd never need to.
"He was my confidential informant during the 52 Division drug trafficking investigation." The words came out steady. Professional. "The same case that led to my transfer."
Murphy leaned forward, palms flat on his desk. "I need the full picture, Detective. Now."
The ventilation hummed overhead. I could feel Hawley beside me. Solid and still.
How much to tell? How much did he need to know? How much could I stand to relive?
"It was a year-long operation targeting high-end drug distribution in Yorkville and Bay Street clubs. Designer drugs. MDMA variants. Synthetic opioids. The clientele was wealthy, connected. Politicians' kids. Old-money heirs. Tech-money kids. The occasional celebrity."
I took a breath. Shoved down memories of sleepless nights and constant pressure from above. The thrill of building the case piece by piece. The nausea of watching it collapse.
"Three days before the final raid, multiple CI identities were leaked. The whole network scattered. Evidence disappeared. Witnesses recanted. The case imploded." The words tasted likeash. "Service brass needed someone to blame. I was the lead investigator, so I became the scapegoat."
I didn't mention the Internal Affairs (IA) investigation. The whispers of corruption that followed me through the halls. The colleagues who suddenly couldn't remember my name. How fast I fell from golden boy to pariah.
"Daniel was my primary informant. He infiltrated the distribution network at significant personal risk. When the operation fell apart, I lost contact with him. I assumed he'd gone underground."
Or died.The thought I'd pushed away for months. That Daniel had paid the ultimate price for trusting me.
Finding him alive was a relief.
Finding him beaten to hell meant my fears hadn't been wrong. Just delayed.
Murphy studied me with that sharp, assessing focus that missed nothing. "Whatever connection you have with this victim may have just followed you to my division. I expect full disclosure if it impacts this investigation. Clear?"
Not a question. An order.
"Yes, sir."
"You and Hawley will go to the hospital. Take his statement, find out what happened, and determine if this is connected to your previous case or something new. I want regular updates."
"Understood," Hawley rumbled beside me.
"Dismissed."
We filed out. The bullpen's curious stares pressed against my back like physical weight. My usual swagger had abandoned me. Replaced by something cold and leaden in my gut.
Daniel had been found near the division border. Right on the line between my past and present.
