Page 60 of Dead Air
Lawson leaned closer to the laptop. Blackwell's voice maintained professional control while incorporating an urgency previous episodes lacked.
"Yesterday, I received an encrypted file from an anonymous source within the Savannah Police Department. The file contained an audio recording never entered into evidence. A voicemail left on Detective Landry's phone the night before her murder."
Claire scribbled notes on her legal pad. Lawson remained motionless, every sense focused on Blackwell's words.
"I will play this recording unedited. The voice belongs to Detective Ray Hutchinson."
Static crackled through the laptop speakers. A male voice emerged through the electronic distortion. Ray Hutchinson's distinctive drawl, slightly slurred as if speaking through alcohol or extreme emotion.
"Monica, it's Ray. We need to talk. Things have gone too far. They know about us. Know what you've been investigating. I can't protect you anymore. Meet me tomorrow night. Usual place. Eight p.m. Come alone. No Lawson. Not if you want to survive this. I'm sorry about everything. So damn sorry."
The recording ended. Silence filled both the broadcast and Claire's living room. Lawson's hands gripped her knees with white-knuckle pressure. The voicemail confirmed what Blackwell had suggested in earlier episodes—Monica and Ray's relationship extending beyond professional boundaries.
"This voicemail never appeared in the official evidence." Blackwell's voice returned after the momentary silence. "Never mentioned in the investigation reports. Never presented during case reviews. Deliberately suppressed to maintain the official narrative."
"She's building toward something bigger." Fiona whispered. "Setting the foundation for the main revelation."
Blackwell continued. "The meeting referenced occurred twenty-four hours after this voicemail. Not at eight p.m. as suggested, but at eleven p.m. Not at their 'usual place' but at the abandoned warehouse where Detective Landry died."
"Why change the time and location?" Claire's question hung in the air.
"Detective Hutchinson's suicide note confessed to arranging Monica Landry's murder." Papers shuffled again. Blackwell cleared her throat before continuing.
"Yet, an examination of handwriting from the suicide note shows inconsistencies with Hutchinson's known writing samples. Evidence of forgery appears upon expert analysis. Someone wanted his confession to appear genuine while silencing him permanently."
"Shit." The word escaped Lawson involuntarily. "She's saying the confession was legitimate, but the suicide was murder."
"Which means—" Claire began.
"Which means Hutchinson killed Monica, then someone killed him to prevent further revelations." Fiona completed the thought. "Tying up loose ends."
Blackwell's voice grew more intense. "The second recording I received yesterday provides final confirmation. An audio file extracted from Detective Hutchinson's personal cloud storage. Created two days before his death. His actual confession, in his own words, unaltered and unabridged."
"She has Ray confessing on tape." Claire's expression showed rare surprise. "Recorded before his murder."
Lawson felt her pulse quickening. After five years pursuing shadows and suspicions, concrete evidence finally emerged. Ray Hutchinson's confession would close Monica's case with certainty rather than a convenient narrative.
"Before playing this recording, context remains essential." Blackwell's broadcast continued. "Detective Hutchinson worked in the Narcotics division during the period when Monica Landry investigated departmental corruption. Evidence suggests he participated in protecting certain drug operations while eliminating competition. Financial records show unexplained deposits to offshore accounts linked to his identity."
"The recording you're about to hear contains Detective Hutchinson's actual confession. His admission to participating in Monica Landry's murder under direction from someone within the department leadership. The identity of this individual?—"
A loud crash interrupted Blackwell mid-sentence. Something heavy falling against a microphone or recording equipment. Muffled voices emerged through the broadcast—at least two people besides Blackwell herself.
"What the hell are you—" Blackwell's voice cut off abruptly.
Scuffling sounds filled the broadcast. Objects falling. A chair scraping across the floor. A door slamming with enough force to distort the audio levels.
"Get away from me!" Blackwell's voice returned, distant from the microphone. Fear replaced professional control. "Tom said?—"
Another crash. Glass breaking. A scream, cut short. Heavy footsteps approached the microphone.
"You shouldn't have trusted him." A male voice. Too distorted to identify. "Some mentors betray their students."
The broadcast cut to silence. The audio visualization waves flatlined across the screen. Seconds later, an automated message appeared: "Technical difficulties. Broadcast temporarily suspended."
Lawson, Claire, and Fiona sat frozen in shock. The laptop speakers emitted soft static as the Dead Air website attempted to reestablish connection.
"Did we just—" Fiona broke the silence first.
