His name was Dr. Simon Vale.
Clare said it as if naming him might cause him to appear.
Jonah froze the video.
The man's face was not fully visible, but enough of it showed.
Silver at the temples.
Narrow glasses.
A distinctive scar near the jaw.
Clare did not hesitate.
“That's Simon.”
“Doctor?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Clinical pharmacology.”
The words settled into the car like smoke.
Of all specialties.
Of course.
I looked again at the old recording.
Dererick stood beside Evelyn's sleeping body while Simon handled something from the black bag.
“How long have you known him?”
“Years.”
“How well?”
“Not personally.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Clare flinched.
“Professionally. He consults on toxicology cases. Medication reactions. Overdoses. Unusual exposures.”
The archive suddenly rearranged itself in my mind.
The carefully selected substances.
The knowledge of detection windows.
The medical packaging.
The hospital-linked information.
Dererick had not acquired that expertise alone.
Simon could have provided it.
Maybe more.
“Does Simon know you?”
“Yes.”
My fear sharpened.
“How well?”
“He knows I'm Anna Hale's sister.”
“How?”
“Hospital fundraiser. Dererick came with me.”
Of course he had.
A charity event.
Smiling photographs.
Introductions.
Another door quietly opened.
Detective Morales joined us after Clare called him over.
We showed him the paused frame.
“Don't contact this man,” he said.
“We weren't planning to.”
“Don't go near him. Don't warn anyone at the hospital either.”
Clare stared at him.
“What if he's working today?”
“He probably is.”
“He has access to patients.”
Morales's expression hardened.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
Clare's voice rose.
“He could be administering things to people right now.”
“Clare.”
“No. You don't get to say this is procedural while he walks around a hospital.”
Morales waited.
When he answered, his voice remained calm.
“If he is involved, the fastest way to protect people is not to tell him we know. If he disappears before we secure records, we may lose evidence and other victims.”
Clare looked ready to fight.
Then she looked at the screen.
Simon standing beside Evelyn.
Her anger became colder.
“What do you need from me?”
“Names of administrators who can preserve records discreetly. Nothing more.”
Clare nodded.
Morales took the laptop image reference and called his team.
Jonah continued searching.
Simon Vale appeared repeatedly.
Not always by name.
Sometimes initials.
S.V.
Sometimes simply V.
His involvement went farther back than I expected.
The earliest records were older than Dererick's marriage to Evelyn.
“What was Dererick doing ten years ago?” Jonah asked.
I realized I barely knew.
We met when he was thirty-three.
He told me he had worked consulting contracts across several states.
He described those years as boring.
Hotels.
Airports.
Corporate offices.
Nothing worth remembering.
Now I wondered whether he had spent them building the very network we were uncovering.
Jonah found financial files.
Small transfers.
Payments routed through companies I had never heard of.
The money did not make immediate sense.
It was not enough to look like a fortune.
That almost made it worse.
Whatever Dererick and Simon were doing did not seem primarily motivated by getting rich.
“What were they selling?” I asked.
Jonah shook his head.
“Maybe data.”
“What kind?”
“Responses.”
The word from Dererick's notebook.
Response.
Clare sat down.
“Drug responses.”
“Maybe.”
I remembered the way Dererick had whispered into the camera.
Timing.
Breathing.
Reaction.
He had not been assaulting people impulsively.
He had been observing them.
Recording them.
Measuring what happened.
My stomach turned.
“They were experimenting.”
Clare looked at me.
The word hung there.
Morales returned.
His face had changed.
“We need to move.”
“What happened?”
“Dr. Vale isn't at the hospital.”
Clare stood.
“He's scheduled.”
“Yes.”
“Did he call out?”
“No.”
Morales looked at me.
“His badge was used at 5:47 this morning.”
“That means he was there.”
“His office is empty now.”
“When did anyone last see him?”
“Shortly after six.”
I checked the time.
It was almost ten.
Simon had been gone four hours.
Dererick had attacked Peterson sometime after eight.
Enough time for the two men to communicate.
Maybe coordinate.
“Did Simon leave through the main entrance?”
“We're checking.”
Morales turned toward another officer.
“Get a unit to his registered address.”
The officer left.
Clare looked at me.
“If Dererick told him we're looking—”
“He may run,” Morales said.
“Or clean.”
Jonah closed the laptop.
“Can he delete hospital logs remotely?”
Clare answered immediately.
“Depends what access he has.”
“What about pharmacy records?”
“He shouldn't have unrestricted access.”
“Shouldn't?”
She gave him a hard look.
“Hospitals are complicated.”
We left Peterson's street under police escort.
Clare wanted to go to work.
Morales initially refused.
Then changed course when hospital security confirmed Simon's office had been accessed before dawn and that several controlled-storage areas showed unusual badge activity.
“I'm useful there,” Clare said.
“You're also potentially a target.”
“Then keep someone with me.”
He agreed.
I went too.
Not because anyone wanted me there.
Because the alternative was sitting alone in a protected room imagining every possible disaster.
The hospital looked exactly as it had every time I visited Clare.
Bright lobby.
Coffee cart.
Visitors asking for directions.
Wheelchairs near the entrance.
The normality was almost offensive.
Somewhere inside that building, Simon had spent years helping Dererick.
Perhaps he had watched people arrive suffering from substances he had helped select.
Perhaps he had advised on their treatment afterward.
I wanted to tear every wall open.
Clare led us through a staff corridor.
Morales and two plainclothes officers followed.
No uniforms.
No sirens.
Nothing that might announce the investigation.
At Simon's office, security had already restricted access.
Clare stood outside while officers entered.
I watched her face.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
She looked at me.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“Neither should you.”
“It's my hospital.”
“And he's my husband.”
The words silenced us both.
My husband.
Even after everything, the title still came automatically.
I wondered how long that would last.
An officer emerged carrying a small evidence bag.
Inside was a USB drive.
Jonah, who had come with Morales, looked interested.
“From his desk?”
“Drawer.”
Another officer came out with a notebook.
Clare saw the label.
“That's not hospital issue.”
Morales opened it only long enough to verify the first page.
His expression tightened.
“Patient initials.”
Clare stepped forward.
“Let me see.”
“No.”
“I might identify—”
“Not here.”
She stopped.
An administrator arrived.
She knew Clare.
I saw recognition in her face followed by confusion.
“What's going on?”
Morales took her aside.
They spoke quietly.
Her color changed.
Minutes later, access logs began coming in.
Simon had entered the pharmacy-adjacent storage area shortly after six.
His badge recorded three minutes inside.
Then he entered a lab.
Then a records office.
Then nothing.
No exit swipe.
“Could he still be inside?” I asked.
Clare shook her head.
“Staff entrances don't all require exit swipes.”
Morales's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then said, “Secure the residence.”
I knew from his voice before he ended the call.
“What happened?”
“His apartment is empty.”
“Empty how?”
“No luggage. No car.”
“Did he leave anything?”
“They're checking.”
Clare looked furious.
“He knew.”
“Looks that way.”
“How?”
No one answered.
I did.
“Dererick.”
Morales looked at me.
“Maybe.”
“No. Definitely.”
Dererick had attacked Peterson after learning I had searched his study.
He knew enough to warn Simon.
The timing fit.
Unless Simon had learned another way.
Through the hospital.
That possibility was worse.
“What if there's someone else here?” I asked.
Clare turned.
“Someone besides Simon.”
“His files mention more people.”
Jonah opened the archive index again.
“There's no reason to assume only two.”
Morales gave him a look.
“Don't speculate.”
“I'm not. I'm counting identifiers.”
“How many?”
Jonah hesitated.
“Potentially six.”
Clare sat down slowly.
“Six people involved?”
“Or six aliases.”
The distinction did not help.
Morales asked for every repeated identifier.
Jonah wrote them down.
SV.
K.
M2.
North.
Seven.
R.
The names meant nothing.
Except North.
That word appeared familiar.
I had seen it somewhere.
“Go back.”
“To what?”
“The spreadsheet.”
Jonah opened the earlier directory.
I scanned the columns.
Locations.
Dates.
Status.
Then one header.
NORTH.
Not a person.
Maybe a category.
Maybe a location.
“Search the entire archive for North.”
Jonah did.
Hundreds of results.
Too many.
We narrowed to filenames.
One folder appeared.
NORTHFIELD.
Clare leaned forward.
“Northfield?”
“You know it?”
“There's a closed rehabilitation center outside the city. Northfield Recovery.”
Morales looked at her.
“Closed when?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
“Maybe seven.”
“Why?”
“Funding problems, I think.”
Jonah searched public records from a secure terminal.
The facility had indeed closed.
Then he found something else.
One of the financial shell companies from Dererick's archive had paid property taxes on the site three years after closure.
My skin prickled.
“Who owns it now?”
Jonah opened the property record.
The listed owner was Northfield Holdings LLC.
Morales copied the address.
“Get units there.”
I looked at him.
“Dererick could be there.”
“He could.”
“Simon too.”
“Maybe.”
Clare folded her arms.
“What was Northfield originally used for?”
“A rehabilitation center,” Jonah repeated.
“No. Before that.”
He searched.
The history went back decades.
Private medical clinic.
Then neurological rehabilitation.
Then addiction treatment.
The property included inpatient rooms.
A basement laboratory.
Storage buildings.
All the physical infrastructure Dererick could need.
A place where vehicles arriving at odd hours would not necessarily attract attention.
A place already designed to hold people overnight.
Morales's team moved faster now.
Still no sirens.
Still quiet.
I watched the hospital corridor and thought of the spreadsheet.
Tomorrow's date beside Peterson's name.
The dates weren't merely records.
They were plans.
If Northfield was part of those plans, we needed to know who else was scheduled.
“Jonah.”
He looked up.
“Filter the upcoming dates.”
He did.
There were eleven entries over the next week.
Peterson was one.
The boutique worker.
The widow.
Others.
Then I saw a name that made the room tilt.
Anna Hale.
Mine.
The date beside it was today.
I stared.
“That wasn't there before.”
Jonah checked.
“It was.”
“No. We filtered future dates earlier.”
“You must have missed it.”
My entry had no location.
Only a code.
RETURN.
Clare read over my shoulder.
“What does that mean?”
I knew.
Or thought I did.
Dererick had already tried to get me home.
Come home. Alone.
Return.
The spreadsheet had anticipated it.
Maybe today was meant to be another procedure.
Maybe something larger.
The current timeline changed again.
I had not accidentally discovered the camera on an ordinary night.
I had discovered it immediately before something scheduled.
Something significant enough to receive its own code.
“What are the other codes?” I asked.
Jonah opened the legend.
OBS.
TRANSFER.
FOLLOW.
END.
RETURN.
My mouth went dry.
“What does END mean?”
No one answered.
Three upcoming names carried that code.
Peterson did not.
I did not.
The widow from two streets away did.
Clare whispered, “We need to find these people.”
Morales was already calling officers.
I scrolled through the document.
Beside my name, another field contained initials.
SV.
Simon.
He had been assigned to me today.
Not Dererick.
Simon.
I looked toward Clare.
“If I had gone home last night…”
She understood.
“Dererick may have brought you somewhere.”
“Or Simon was coming to us.”
Morales returned.
“Units are approaching Northfield.”
My stomach tightened.
“Can we listen?”
“No.”
“Can you tell us when they go in?”
“Yes.”
We waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Twenty.
Then Morales's radio came alive.
A voice.
Movement.
Perimeter secure.
Main building unlocked.
No vehicles visible.
Entry team moving.
Another voice.
First floor clear.
Second floor clear.
Then silence.
I could barely breathe.
Static.
A new voice.
“Detective, you're going to want to see the basement.”
Morales grabbed the radio.
“What did you find?”
The response came after a pause.
“Rooms.”
“What kind?”
“Medical.”
Another pause.
“And restraints.”
Clare closed her eyes.
I felt something inside me collapse.
Then the officer added:
“There's fresh blood.”
