Chapter 6: The Technician's Silence
Angela Pierce lived in a two-bedroom apartment in Wicker Park, eleven minutes from the Vale estate by car.
Fosse's man found her at 11:40 p.m.
packing a suitcase.
She was not packing slowly.
Vincent took the call in the corridor outside the study and relayed it to Dominic in four words: "Pierce is running.
Now."
Dominic was already moving.
"Bring her in."
"Quietly?"
"Yes."
Twenty-two minutes later, Angela Pierce sat in the small study with her coat still on and her hands in her lap and her eyes moving between Dominic and Vincent with the rapid, calculating attention of someone trying to determine how much was already known.
She was thirty-one.
She had worked in orthopedic rehabilitation for six years.
Her record with Mercer's practice was clean.
Dominic sat across from her.
He didn't speak immediately.
He set his cane against the desk and looked at her the way he had looked at the brace — steadily, without hurry, as if the answer was already visible and he was simply waiting for the right angle.
Angela broke first.
"I didn't know what it would do," she said.
"Tell me what you did."
"I was told it was a calibration.
That the plate had been installed incorrectly at the manufacturer and needed to be reversed for proper tension distribution." She stopped.
"It sounded technical.
It sounded real."
"Who told you?"
She looked at her hands.
"Angela."
"A man called me.
Three weeks ago.
He said he was from the brace manufacturer's quality assurance team.
He had the product serial number.
He had my name.
He knew my certification level." She exhaled.
"He said there had been a recall on that specific model and that the retaining plate needed to be manually adjusted.
He said Dr.
Mercer had already been notified."
"Had he?"
"I didn't check." Her voice dropped.
"I should have checked."
"What did the man sound like?"
"Older.
Calm.
Very — professional.
Like someone used to giving instructions."
Dominic looked at Vincent.
"Did he call you again after the adjustment?"
"Once.
Two days later.
He asked if the adjustment had been made and whether the patient had reported any change in symptoms." She looked up.
"I said yes to both.
He thanked me and hung up."
"Did you keep the number?"
"I tried to call it back the next day.
It was disconnected."
"Why did you try to call it back?"
Angela was quiet for a moment.
"Because Dr.
Mercer mentioned in passing that the recovery had gotten worse.
And I started to think about the timing." She pressed her lips together.
"I told myself it was a coincidence."
"But you packed a bag tonight."
"Someone called me this evening.
Different voice.
He said — he said that if anyone asked about the brace, I should say I hadn't touched it.
That the adjustment had been made before the brace arrived at the estate." She looked directly at Dominic for the first time.
"He said it would be better for me if I was somewhere else tonight."
"Who called you?"
"He didn't give a name."
"Describe the voice."
"Younger.
Maybe forty.
He spoke carefully.
Like he was reading from something."
Colton.
Farris.
Tate.
Any of the three.
"Angela." Dominic leaned forward slightly.
"The first man who called you.
The one who gave you the serial number and the recall information.
I want you to think carefully.
Was there anything in his voice — any word, any phrase, any background sound — that you remember?"
She thought.
Her eyes went to the middle distance.
"He said 'we appreciate your discretion' at the end of the call.
Before he hung up." She frowned.
"It was a strange thing to say.
Like — like he was ending a business meeting.
Not a technical call."
"Anything else?"
"There was a sound.
When he first picked up.
Like — a room.
A large room.
Stone or marble.
The kind of echo you get in a big space." She looked around the study.
"Like this building."
The estate.
The call had been made from inside the estate.
Dominic sat back.
"You're going to write down everything you just told me," he said.
"Every detail.
The date of the first call.
What was said.
The serial number if you remember it.
The second call tonight.
Everything."
"And then?"
"And then you're going to stay in this building until morning.
You're not in danger here.
You are in danger if you leave."
Angela looked at him.
"Are you going to go to the police?"
"That depends on what the next few hours produce." Dominic stood.
"What I can tell you is that you were used by someone who knew exactly how to make an instruction sound legitimate.
That doesn't make you innocent.
But it does make you a witness."
She nodded slowly.
Vincent handed her a legal pad and a pen.
In the corridor outside, Dominic stopped.
"The call was made from inside the estate," he said.
"I heard her," Vincent said.
"That means Arthur wasn't working alone from outside.
He had access to an internal line."
"Or someone made the call on his behalf."
"Mercer?"
Vincent considered.
"Mercer has an office in the rehabilitation wing.
He has an internal estate line."
"But you don't think he knew about the brace."
"I think there are things Mercer did without knowing the full shape of what he was part of." Vincent paused.
"That's a different kind of dangerous."
Dominic moved toward the great room.
Through the glass, the conference room was still lit.
Four men remained at the table.
Colton and Farris.
Tate.
And Arthur, who had not moved from his chair in two hours.
Waiting.
He was still waiting.
Because he still believed the night would end the way he had planned it.
Dominic stopped at the glass.
Arthur looked up and met his eyes.
This time, neither of them smiled.
"Get Fosse back on the phone," Dominic said.
"Tell him I need Curtis Beal's location before two a.m."
"And if Beal won't talk?"
Dominic watched Arthur through the glass.
"Show him the holding company documents," he said.
May you like
"Show him what he was part of.
Then ask him again."
