Chapter 4 - WALTER'S LAST DELIVERY
Vincent refused to take Renley to locker 317.
Renley refused to care.
“My mom is out there.”
“We don't know that she's in danger.”
“They have a picture of her.”
“Exactly. A picture. Not your mother.”
“That is supposed to make me feel better?”
“No. It's supposed to make you think.”
Renley glared at him.
Adults always told children to think when what they really meant was obey.
Eleanor stepped between them.
“There may be another way.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What way?”
“Walter's apartment.”
Renley felt something turn inside her chest.
She had not returned since the day he died.
Vincent immediately understood.
“If Walter planted the key in a meal bag, he expected Renley to see something first.”
“Or remember something,” Eleanor said.
Twenty minutes later, they left through a service tunnel beneath the mansion.
Renley had no idea houses could have tunnels.
She also had no idea six armed men could move so quietly.
Vincent brought only Marcus.
“Too many people attract attention.”
Renley looked at him.
“You're a mafia boss.”
Vincent gave her a sideways glance.
“Who told you that?”
“One of your guards has your newspaper picture on his phone.”
Marcus almost smiled.
Vincent did not.
Walter's apartment building was dark when they arrived.
Police tape still crossed the hallway.
Renley stopped outside the door.
For a moment, she saw him again.
Sitting beside the window.
Waiting for soup.
Waiting for Thursday.
Vincent unlocked the apartment with a small ring of keys.
Renley stared.
“You had a key?”
“Walter gave it to me twenty years ago.”
“He lived here two years.”
“He kept the same lock.”
That answer made Renley uncomfortable.
Inside, nothing had moved.
The chair.
The blanket.
The small lamp.
The unfinished crossword on the side table.
Renley walked toward the kitchen.
Her eyes filled.
Vincent stayed near the door.
He did not look like a mafia boss anymore.
He looked like a man entering the bedroom of someone he'd loved and hated at the same time.
Renley noticed a stack of meal receipts on Walter's counter.
Every Thursday.
Every delivery.
Her deliveries.
She began flipping through them.
Soup.
Bread.
Chicken stew.
Vegetable pasta.
Then she noticed something.
Each receipt had one letter circled.
Different weeks.
Different letters.
“Vincent.”
He came over.
Renley arranged the receipts by date.
T.
R.
A.
I.
N.
S.
T.
A.
T.
I.
O.
N.
Marcus read it.
“Train station.”
Vincent moved quickly.
“Anything else?”
Renley searched.
Walter had kept dozens of receipts.
Another set of circles.
R.
E.
D.
L.
O.
C.
K.
E.
R.
Marcus cursed softly.
“Locker 317.”
Vincent stared at Renley.
“He wasn't leaving the clues for me.”
Renley understood.
“He was leaving them for the delivery person.”
“For you.”
Her chest tightened.
“Why me?”
A floorboard creaked behind them.
Marcus spun around, gun raised.
Nothing.
Then Renley noticed Walter's old radio sitting on the windowsill.
Its power light was on.
“That wasn't on before.”
Vincent walked toward it.
Static hissed.
Then a recorded voice filled the apartment.
Walter Pike.
Renley stopped breathing.
“If you're hearing this, I'm dead.”
Nobody moved.
Walter's voice continued.
“Renley, I'm sorry.”
Tears flooded her eyes instantly.
“I wanted to tell you the truth. Every Thursday, I almost did.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“But knowing the truth too early would have made you a target.”
A pause.
Then Walter said:
“Vincent, if you're standing beside her, you have one chance to do something decent with your miserable life.”
Marcus looked away to hide a smile.
Vincent did not.
Walter continued.
“Locker 317 does not contain proof of the massacre.”
Vincent opened his eyes.
“It contains proof of who ordered it.”
Static cracked.
Then Walter's voice became quieter.
“And Vincent... it was someone you still trust.”
Marcus and Vincent looked at each other.
Renley's skin went cold.
Walter added one final sentence.
“If Claire is still alive, don't let her reach the locker first.”
Renley lunged toward the radio.
“What does that mean?”
The recording ended.
Then Marcus's phone vibrated.
Signal had returned.
One text message.
He read it.
His face went white.
Vincent grabbed the phone.
The message contained only a photograph.
Claire Hart.
Renley's mother.
Standing inside a train station.
Directly beneath a sign.
LOCKERS 300–350.
Timestamp:
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11:43 P.M.
Seventeen minutes before midnight.
