Chapter 15 - The Bloodhound
By dawn, the police tape fluttered violently in the river breeze. Detective Marcus Cole leaned against his unmarked cruiser, a lukewarm paper cup of coffee in his hand, watching the crime lab technicians dust the charred hull of *The Solace*.
Marcus had been the lead detective on Richard’s original fraud case. He was a tired-looking man in his late forties with a razor-sharp mind and a personal distaste for wealthy men who thought criminal laws were merely suggestions.
"Thermal footage confirms a white male, six-foot-one, approximately one hundred and ninety pounds, limp in the left leg from an old meniscus surgery," Detective Cole said, glancing over his notepad at me and Julian. "Matches Richard Harrington’s exact gait. He dropped the accelerant canister in the water near slip four. Divers are pulling it out right now."
"Can you arrest him?" I asked, wrapping Julian’s oversized wool coat tighter around my shoulders. "He violated his bail conditions. He’s within five hundred feet of me."
"His lawyer, hired by Arthur Vance, already filed an alibi affidavit claiming Richard was at a private dinner at the Norfolk Yacht Club until midnight," Cole said with a grimace. "Ten wealthy donors signed off on it. It’s bogus, but until the lab pulls Richard's DNA off that canister or pulls cell tower pings, a magistrate won't revoke his bail without a direct warrant."
"Then let's give you something Vance can't buy his way out of," I said firmly.
I opened my leather satchel and pulled out a manila folder containing high-resolution scans of my father’s microfiche records, combined with the Harborstone tax filings Julian and I had decoded the night before.
"What's this?" Cole asked, taking the folder.
"Thirty years of money laundering between Arthur Vance and Richard Harrington's shell corporations," I said, pointing to the transaction ledgers. "Richard didn't burn Julian’s boat just out of petty vengeance. *The Solace* had an old lockbox welded beneath the bilge—left there by the previous harbor master. In it were the physical paper manifests from the Baltimore port authority showing Vance’s illegal steel shipments. Richard thought the manifests were still aboard."
Cole flipped through the pages, his sleepy eyes suddenly widening. "Where did you get these bank account numbers?"
"My father," I said softly. "He knew Vance would come for our family eventually. He kept the master keys."
Julian stepped up beside me, placing a warm hand on the small of my back. "The Hampton Maritime Charity Gala is tonight at the Harbor Center. Vance Holdings is the primary sponsor. Richard is scheduled to give the keynote address to launch their new venture capital fund."
Cole looked up from the documents, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his tired face. "He wants an audience to announce his resurrection."
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"Then let's make sure he gets one," I said, cold determination burning through every fiber of my being. "I want the arrest warrant signed before he steps onto that stage."
***
