His old fear surged back, the same icy dread rooted in the case he’d never solved. He recognized the pattern instantly: the quiet escalation, the subtle threats, the suggestion of fire. This wasn’t a random warning. It was personal. Vale was telling him to back off. Sleep was impossible. Driven by a renewed urgency, Manny hurried back to the hospital well before dawn, slipping into the girl’s room. The dog was awake, pacing tight circles, its ears pinned back and muscles coiled with unease. It kept glancing toward the darkened hallway, a low whine in its throat, as if expecting danger to materialize from the shadows.
A conversation with a weary security guard confirmed his dread. The man mentioned seeing a figure earlier who matched Vale’s description, lingering near the loading bay outside. He’d slipped away into the night before anyone could approach him. The report solidified into a sinking certainty in Manny’s chest. Vale was circling, watching, waiting. The official search warrant was still grinding through the process, but Manny could wait no longer. He drove to Vale’s isolated property alone, without backup or notifying dispatch, the rules the captain had emphasized already fading in the rearview mirror.
Mud and frost crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the neglected yard, each step echoing his own profound unease. He needed answers now, not later through vague paperwork. In the grey morning light, he examined the charred skeleton of the backyard shed. The burn patterns were unmistakable—jagged trails and intense, localized pooling indicated a liquid accelerant had been used.
d been used to feed the flames deliberately. Manny traced the scorch marks with a gloved finger, reconstructing the violent scene in his mind. This was no accident; it was intentional, thorough destruction. Vale hadn’t simply snapped in a rage; he was methodically covering his tracks.
His knock on neighboring doors was met with silence and drawn blinds. Finally, after persistent appeals, a few residents spoke through cracked doors, their voices hushed. They shared fragmented, fearful comments, saying they’d heard “a boy scream” on the night the fire erupted. After that, they confirmed, no child was ever seen entering or leaving the home again. Their fear-filled eyes, darting toward Vale’s property as they spoke, told Manny everything. They suspected something terrible had happened, but their terror of the man had kept them paralyzed and silent until now.
Manny’s stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot. Max could still be out there—injured, hiding, and utterly terrified. Or the alternative, the darker possibility Manny refused to even articulate aloud, pressed like a physical weight against his thoughts. Either way, the boy hadn’t simply wandered off or run away. Something violent and definitive had happened, and Vale was clearly desperate to ensure no one ever discovered what it was.