Page 54 of Fatal Fame
Mia's phone buzzed with a Facebook notification that made her stomach drop. It was another message from the Ivy Riversaccount, this one more specific and threatening than the previous contact.
Enjoying the festival? Blue jacket, dark jeans, standing near the bandstand with a drink in your hand. You're making this very easy for someone who wants to keep track of your activities. Might want to be more careful about where you go and who you talk to.
The message proved that her surveillance was ongoing and sophisticated, conducted by someone with real-time access to her location and activities. Mia fought the urge to scan the crowd for watchers, understanding that visible paranoia would only confirm that the psychological pressure was working.
Before she could reply, the account was deactivated.
What kind of mind games were they playing with her?
She finished her drink with deliberate calm and moved toward a different section of the festival, using the crowd for concealment while thinking through the implications of the escalated threat. Someone was tracking her movements closely enough to describe her clothing and location within minutes of observation, which suggested either electronic surveillance or human watchers positioned throughout the festival.
The realization that she was under active surveillance added urgency to her investigation while also increasing the personal risks she was taking. Each conversation, each meeting, each step deeper into the conspiracy was being monitored by people who'd already demonstrated their willingness to kill to protect their secrets.
But the threats also confirmed that she was getting close enough to the truth to make someone nervous, which meant her amateur investigation was producing pressure that professional law enforcement hadn't achieved.
Evening brought cooler temperatures and the dispersal of festival crowds back to homes and hotels throughout the HighPeaks area. Mia drove home with the windows cracked, letting mountain air clear her head while she processed the day's discoveries and prepared for whatever information Rishi might provide about the missing evidence.
Her phone rang at 8:15, displaying the number Rishi had given her for secure communication. She pulled into a parking lot behind a closed restaurant to take the call without distractions.
"I found something," Rishi said without preamble, his voice tight with the kind of professional concern that suggested significant discoveries. "The latex glove from the Hale scene was never properly processed for DNA analysis."
Mia felt her pulse quicken. "Why wasn't it processed?"
"According to the chain of custody log, it was marked for analysis but somehow never made it to the lab. The paperwork shows multiple delays and administrative complications that kept pushing the testing further down the priority list."
"Deliberately?"
"Hard to say for certain, but the pattern suggests someone with influence over evidence processing wanted that analysis delayed indefinitely."
“And the DNA from under the nails?”
“That was processed. There just wasn’t anyone in CODIS.”
Mia thought about the implications of a piece of evidence being systematically buried within the official investigation. "Is there any way to get the glove tested now?"
"That would require authorization from the investigating officer, which means your father would have to request the analysis as part of his current investigation into Pierce's disappearance."
The irony wasn't lost on Mia—the evidence she needed required her father's cooperation, but getting that cooperation would mean revealing her involvement in an investigation he'dspecifically ordered her to avoid, and telling him that she knew about this could get Rishi fired.
"Anything else in the files that seems suspicious?"
"Several pieces of physical evidence that were collected but never properly analyzed. Blood samples that were logged but not tested, fingerprint cards that were filed but not processed through AFIS, DNA swabs that disappeared somewhere between collection and analysis."
The scope of the evidence suppression was larger than Mia had imagined, suggesting a systematic effort to prevent certain discoveries rather than random bureaucratic incompetence.
"Rishi, this has been incredibly helpful. I know you took risks to get this information."
"I'm glad I could help, but I need you to understand that I can't do this again. Any more inquiries about this case would definitely trigger questions I couldn't answer without compromising both of us."
“Understood.”
“And Mia. You can’t tell anyone what I told you.”
“You have my word.”
Mia thanked him and ended the call, sitting in the darkened parking lot while considering what she'd learned. The evidence existed but remained unprocessed, hidden within the official system by someone with enough influence to manipulate bureaucratic procedures.
The question was whether she could find a way to get the glove analyzed without revealing her investigation to her father, or whether she'd have to risk a confrontation that might end her involvement in the case entirely.
