Page 108 of Fatal Pattern

The sight hit her like a lightning bolt. Pure, triumphant adrenaline flooded her system. It was real. Damien hadn’t been lying. All those years of doubt, of wondering if her parents’ deaths would remain unsolved forever. Vindication washed over her in waves.

“It’s actually here.” She reached for the notebook with trembling hands. “Let me see it.”

It was thick, stuffed with loose papers and photographs wedged between pages. The leather cover was worn smooth from handling.

She opened to the first page, steeling herself for whatever horrors lay inside.

The handwriting slanted right in pencil strokes that were smudged and faded in places. But the first thing she saw was a loose sheet of spiral notebook paper. The pocket-sized kind Blade carried.

Her eyes scanned the note.

Barclay’s going to frame me for something big. I can feel it coming. If anything happens to me, this book has everything.—D.S.

“What’s it say?” Blade leaned closer.

“It’s true. Damien knew.” Her voice barely worked. “He knew Barclay was going to frame him before it happened.”

Garrison looked up from the file folders. “Damien thought Barclay would frame him for the workplace shooting before it even happened?”

Blade frowned. “That’s awfully convenient. Write a note predicting your own frame-up, hide it away for someone to find later. Sounds like premeditation to me.”

Tori shook her head. “If this was all fabricated, if he made this up, why didn’t he pull this out before trial? He went to prison for life, Blade. He never used this to defend himself.”

“She’s got a point,” Garrison said, flipping through the folders. “And you both need to look at what I’m seeing here.”

Garrison spread photographs across the table. Crime scene shots. In one photo, a bloody footprint was clearly visible on white tile. In the next photo of the same location, the footprint was smeared beyond recognition.

Another set showed a stack of drugs and cash on a table. The second photo showed the same table with a much smaller pile.

Garrison turned one photograph over. “Case numbers on the back. Looks like evidence tampering to me.”

“Crime scene manipulation,” Blade said. “Damien was documenting every time Barclay altered evidence.”

“There must be hundreds of photos here,” Garrison said, spreading more images across the table. “This isn’t just a few bad cases. This is institutional.”

Blade pulled out a stack of police reports from beneath the photographs. “Look at these. Copies of the originals and the filed versions.”

Tori took the first set. The original report described a domestic violence call with multiple witnesses and clear evidence of assault. The filed version painted a different picture entirely. Mutual combat, insufficient evidence to prosecute. Both reports bore signatures at the bottom.

Her stomach clenched. “Damien’s signature and Barclay’s. When he was still a sergeant.”

“Check this one.” Blade handed her another pair. A drug bust that originally netted fifty kilos of cocaine and three hundred thousand in cash. The filed report listed ten kilos and twenty-five thousand.

Where had the rest gone? Into whose pockets?

The third set made her throat close completely. A sexual assault case. The original report detailed a victim’s statement, physical evidence, and a suspect in custody. The filed version dismissed the charges due to “credibility issues” and “insufficient evidence.”

“They destroyed this woman’s life,” Tori whispered. “Made her look like a liar when they had everything they needed to prosecute.”

Garrison photographed each page with her phone. “We’ll need the FBI on this. This level of corruption requires federal intervention.”

“Special Agent Sebastian Wells offered to help with anything we needed. He’s been briefed about the possible serial killer.”

Garrison nodded. “Good call, but we do this together. We verify everything quietly, build an airtight case before Barclay catches wind. One leak and he disappears.”

“Got it,” Blade said.

Tori flipped through more notebook pages, searching for any mention of her parents’ case. The entries were chronological, starting in 1995. She skimmed a few.