The uncertainty surrounding Sterling's statements gnawed at me. I needed to know if he had mentioned "Simone Dubois," if my cover had been blown to the Anti-Crime unit. Direct questions were out of the question. I had to rely on indirect methods, using my knowledge of precinct procedures and the strained communication between units.
I managed to get a look at the preliminary report filed by the Anti-Crime unit regarding Sterling's arrest. It focused solely on the financial crimes, the paper trail of offshore accounts and shell corporations. There was a brief mention of him being apprehended at a hotel bar, but no details about his companion. This was a small relief, but it didn't mean he hadn't mentioned her during the subsequent interrogation.
I needed a more direct information source. Someone within Anti-Crime I could trust, or at least, someone I could extract information from without raising suspicion. It was a risk, but the potential exposure from Sterling was a greater one.
I identified a detective in the unit, a seasoned officer named Hayes, who occasionally shared case anecdotes over beers after shifts (a rare indulgence I allowed myself). He was a straight shooter, not part of the IA mess or the network. I timed it right, finding him at a bar a few blocks from the precinct late one evening.
I kept the conversation casual at first, discussing the general challenges of complex fraud cases. Then, I steered it towards Sterling.
"Tough collar, that Sterling," I commented, sipping my drink. "High-powered lawyer. Probably fighting you guys every step of the way."
Hayes grunted. "You got that right. Lawyer was on the phone before we even finished Mirandizing him. Denies everything. Clammed up tighter than a drum."
"Anything… unusual about the arrest?" I probed, trying to sound like I was just looking for interesting details. "Who he was with? Anything unexpected?"
Hayes paused, swirling his drink. "Yeah, actually, that was a little weird. Found him with some woman at the bar. Looked expensive. He got spooked when we moved in. Started yelling something at her before his lawyer shut him down."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Yelling what?"
"Didn't quite catch it," Hayes admitted. "Sounded like a name, maybe? Or a warning. Didn't matter much to us, she wasn't part of the fraud case. She bolted before we could get a statement." He shrugged. "Probably just a one-night stand who didn't want her name in the papers."
He hadn't caught the name. He hadn't focused on her. My cover as Simone Dubois was still theoretically intact within the Anti-Crime unit. But Sterling knew. And he had tried to communicate with me, or expose me, in that moment. He was a known variable, a ticking time bomb in custody.
The subtle surveillance at the precinct continued unabated. Another minor object on my desk was moved. A faint, almost imperceptible scuff mark appeared near the baseboard, as if something had been quickly installed or removed. It was psychological warfare, designed to chip away at my composure, to make me paranoid, to perhaps provoke a mistake.
Miller's investigation felt like a tightening net. He was interviewing colleagues, reviewing old case notes, looking for patterns of behavior, inconsistencies in timelines. The camera glitch near my desk remained his blind spot, a source of frustration that he seemed determined to explain.
The walls were getting closer, not just from the external threats, but from within the very place that was supposed to be my sanctuary, my base of operations. Someone inside knew something, or suspected something, and they were watching me. And the thought of Sterling, sitting in a cell, with his dangerous knowledge, waiting for the right moment to use it, was a constant, chilling reminder of how precarious my double life had become.