Chapter 4 - The Shadow in the Storm
The temperature dropped to twenty degrees by 4:00 a.m. A heavy, wet Midwest snow began to fall over Naperville, blanketing the suburban streets in silence.
Police cruisers were stationed at every major intersection within a five-mile radius of Westbury Lane. K-9 units had tracked Evelyn’s scent through the tree line behind my house to a nearby commercial strip mall, where the trail abruptly ended near the rear parking lot of a 24-hour grocery store.
"She had a secondary vehicle staged," Miller told me as we sat in his unmarked sedan outside the hospital entrance. "A silver Honda Civic bought off Craigslist with cash three weeks ago under a fake name. She planned for a burn-and-run scenario."
"Where is she going?" I asked. My eyes were bloodshot, my coat smelled of attic dust and hospital coffee, but I felt no fatigue. Only an icy, unwavering imperative to protect my child.
"She’s smart, but she’s running out of options," Miller said, tapping the steering wheel. "Her primary bank accounts are frozen. We’ve issued an FBI Purple Alert and an Amber Alert cross-referenced with her known aliases. She can't use an airport, she can't use a train station, and her face is on every highway digital billboard between here and St. Louis."
"She’s not leaving the state," Arthur Pendelton's voice came from the back seat. He had refused to leave my side, bound to me by the shared shadow of the woman who had ruined our lives. "She’s a perfectionist, Miller. She spent three years building her life in Naperville. She has something else hidden. Something she needs before she can start over in Glenview with this Marcus Sterling."
I froze. "The safety deposit box."
Miller turned around in his seat. "What safety deposit box?"
"Three months ago," I remembered, the memory flashing bright in my mind, "Laura—Evelyn—insisted on opening a joint safe-deposit box at the First National Bank on Main Street. She told me it was for family heirlooms and her mother's jewelry. She held the only physical key."
"The bank doesn't open until 9:00 a.m.," Miller said, glancing at the dashboard clock. It was 4:42 a.m. "We’ll have a tactical team posted inside the lobby before the doors unlock."
"She won't wait for 9:00 a.m.," I said, grabbing Miller's arm. "The bank has an automated 24-hour night-drop vault for commercial clients in the drive-thru lane. If she has a master key or a compromised commercial access code—"
Miller’s radio exploded with static before I could finish the sentence.
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"All units, all units, we have an automated silent alarm triggered at First National Bank, 404 South Main Street. Commercial vault door tamper detection activated. Suspect vehicle matching silver Honda Civic spotted in the rear alley."
Miller slammed the sedan into drive, its tires screaming against the slush as we spun out of the hospital parking lot into the blizzard.
