Chapter 2 - The Race to the Rabbit
“What’s in the room, Emily?” Detective Vance asked fifteen minutes later.
He had returned to the room alone. In the hallway, two uniformed officers stood guard outside my door. Through the small glass window, I could see my mother pacing frantically, her phone pressed to her ear, speaking in rapid, hushed tones—no doubt calling Richard’s high-priced defense attorneys.
“Evidence,” I croaked, trying to sit up. A lightning bolt of agony tore through my fractured ribs, forcing me back onto the pillows. “Audio recordings. Six months of them. He keeps a safe in his study, but my evidence isn’t in his safe. It’s inside a stuffed rabbit under my bed.”
Detective Vance’s eyes widened. He exchanged a sharp look with Dr. Cole.
“Emily,” Vance said, pulling his chair closer. “Richard Halston’s attorney, Arthur Campbell, just showed up at the precinct. He’s already filing motions claiming an unlawful detention. Without an official search warrant specifically listing that electronic device, any search of Halston’s private residence will be challenged in court. Halston was released twenty minutes ago on his own recognizance because no formal charges have been filed yet.”
My heart plummeted into an abyss. “He’s free?”
“For now,” Vance said grimly. “He was ordered not to contact you or come near the hospital. But he is legally permitted to return to his own property.”
“He’s going to destroy it,” I sobbed, the monitor chiming a frantic alarm. “He knows I keep a journal. He’s going to burn everything in my room!”
Dr. Cole took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Detective, this child has documented physical trauma consistent with felonious assault. Are you telling me you can’t secure that house?”
“I can dispatch a patrol car for a welfare check on the premises,” Vance said, already pulling his radio from his belt. “Martinez is ten minutes out. If Richard is actively destroying evidence, that creates exigent circumstances. But we need to move. Now.”
Across town, headlamps pierced the dark, winding drive of the Halston estate.
Richard didn’t enter through the front door like a man under suspicion; he strode in like an emperor reclaiming his castle. He flung his coat onto the grand mahogany console table and marched up the winding spiral staircase, his expensive leather shoes echoing like gunshots against the hardwood.
He didn't bother checking his own master suite. He went straight down the hallway to the small, cold bedroom at the far end of the corridor—my room.
He kicked the door open. It slammed against the drywall with a violent crash.
“Ungrateful little wretch,” Richard muttered through clenched teeth.
He began systematically destroying the room. He yanked the drawers out of my dresser, dumping my cheap clothes onto the carpet. He swept his arm across my desk, sending textbooks, pencils, and family photos crashing to the floor. He tore the framed picture of my biological father off the nightstand, smashing the glass under his heel.
Then, he dropped to one knee and peered beneath the bed.
Dust bunnies. An empty shoebox. And pushed deep into the far corner against the baseboard, the faded grey fur of a stuffed rabbit.
Richard sneered. “Childish garbage.”
He reached his long arm under the bed frame, his fingers brushing against Barnaby’s ear.
Suddenly, tires screeched in the driveway below. Red and blue strobes painted the walls of my bedroom in violent bursts of light. A siren gave a sharp, authoritative chirp.
Richard froze. His hand paused inches from the toy.
Downstairs, the front doorbell rang persistently, followed by heavy pounding on the double oak doors.
“Halston! Police department! Open the door!”
Richard pulled his hand back slowly. His jaw twitched. He stood up, dusted off his trousers, and kicked my bedroom door half-shut. If the police saw him in my room, it would look suspicious. He would deal with the officers, send them packing with a phone call from Campbell, and then take a can of lighter fluid to every single possession I owned.
He walked down the stairs, wearing his signature smug mask.
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He had no idea that while he was descending the staircase, Detective Vance’s partner, Officer Martinez, wasn’t waiting at the front door. Martinez had already slipped through the unlocked conservatory doors at the back of the house, his body-worn camera rolling, his flashlight cutting through the darkness straight toward the stairs.
***