PART 31: THEY STOLE THE WRONG FILE
My heart stopped.
“Father Donnelly…”
I whispered.
“Is he all right?”
The dispatcher answered immediately.
“He’s alive.”
“But he was sedated.”
“The nurses found him conscious about ten minutes ago.”
I closed my eyes in relief.
At least he was alive.
Linda didn’t waste a second.
“Did they steal anything besides Harold’s file?”
There was a brief pause.
“No.”
“No medication.”
“No jewelry.”
“No wallets.”
“No electronics.”
“They walked past everything.”
The sheriff frowned.
“So they came for one thing.”
“Yes.”
“Harold’s file.”
Thomas slowly shook his head.
“They’re desperate.”
Janice looked at him.
“No.”
“They’re frightened.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“What do you mean?”
She folded her arms.
“If they believed the file contained the only evidence…”
“…they would have taken it years ago.”
Linda nodded slowly.
“So why now?”
Janice looked toward the Polaroid still lying in my hands.
“Because now they know we’ve begun putting the pieces together.”
The sheriff spoke into his radio.
“Seal off St. Anne’s.”
“I want every hallway photographed before anyone touches a thing.”
He looked at me.
“Maggie…”
“We need to go.”
Twenty-five minutes later, we hurried into Father Donnelly’s room.
The place had been turned upside down.
Drawers emptied.
Books scattered across the floor.
The mattress pulled halfway off the bed.
But something immediately caught my eye.
The cloth pouch that had held the brass key…
was still lying on the bedside table.
Untouched.
Linda noticed it too.
“They ignored the key.”
“They already had another one,” I said quietly.
The sheriff walked toward the window.
“It wasn’t forced open.”
“What about the door?”
“The lock wasn’t damaged either.”
One of the crime-scene technicians looked up.
“Whoever came in…”
“…used a proper key card.”
Linda’s eyes narrowed.
“So they didn’t break in.”
“They walked in.”
The technician nodded.
“As if they belonged here.”
Father Donnelly stirred.
His eyes slowly opened.
“Maggie…”
I rushed to his side.
“I’m here.”
He looked exhausted.
“They came…”
“I know.”
“They took Harold’s file.”
He gave the smallest smile.
“No.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“They took…”
“…the copy.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Linda stepped closer.
“Copy?”
Father Donnelly nodded weakly.
“I never trusted…”
“…keeping the original in one place.”
My pulse quickened.
“Where’s the original?”
He slowly lifted one trembling hand.
Not toward the closet.
Not toward the bedside table.
Toward the ceiling.
We all looked up.
There was nothing except an old smoke detector.
Father Donnelly smiled.
“Not there.”
His hand drifted slowly toward the wall behind the bed.
A plain wooden crucifix hung there.
It had been in the room the entire time.
He whispered,
“Harold carved it himself.”
Thomas’s eyes widened.
“The cross…”
Father Donnelly nodded.
“He said…”
“‘If people ever come searching for papers…’”
“‘…they’ll never think to look inside a symbol of faith.’”
The sheriff carefully removed the crucifix from the wall.
It felt unusually heavy.
Turning it over, he found a tiny brass screw hidden beneath the base.
Linda borrowed a small screwdriver from the evidence technician.
One careful turn.
Two.
Three.
The back panel loosened.
Inside…
wasn’t a file.
It wasn’t paper at all.
It was a narrow roll of old microfilm sealed inside a glass tube.
Thomas gasped.
“My God…”
Janice closed her eyes.
“He photographed everything.”
Linda held the tube toward the light.
Tiny black frames ran from one end to the other.
“What is it?” Paula whispered.
Father Donnelly smiled.
“Every deed…”
“Every ledger…”
“Every signature…”
“Every photograph Harold couldn’t safely keep.”
The sheriff stared at the tiny roll.
“So the file they stole…”
“…was only there to distract them.”
Father Donnelly nodded.
“They’ve spent twenty-eight years…”
“…stealing the wrong evidence.”
Relief washed across the room.
Then Linda’s phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression changed instantly.
“It’s the state crime lab.”
She answered on speaker.
“This is Mercer.”
The technician spoke without greeting.
“Ms. Mercer…”
“We developed the six negatives.”
Everyone held their breath.
Linda’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“What did you find?”
“The reflection Harold wanted you to see…”
“We identified every person in it.”
“And?”
There was a long silence.
Then the technician said,
“William Ashcroft wasn’t the most important person in the reflection.”
Linda frowned.
“Who was?”
The answer made every person in the room freeze.
“The man standing beside him…”
“…was the judge who approved the sale of Marguerite Ellis’s house four years ago.”
