Chapter 3 - The Voices in the Dark
The plastic evidence bag lay on the stainless steel tray in the hospital consultation room.
Inside it sat Barnaby.
His belly had been carefully opened along the back seam by the county forensics technician. Beside the plush toy rested the tiny black micro-SD card, no larger than a fingernail, connected to a forensic tablet via a high-speed reader.
Dr. Cole, Detective Vance, and an attorney from the District Attorney’s office named Claire Montgomery stood crowded around the screen. I sat in a wheelchair, my mother standing in the doorway under the watchful eye of a female deputy. Sarah looked like a ghost, her face drained of color, her fingers picking nervously at the hem of her cardigan.
“Emily,” Claire Montgomery said, her voice gentle yet fiercely professional. “Before we play this, I need you to confirm: did you record these conversations yourself, in an environment where you were a participating party?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Every single one.”
Claire nodded to the technician. “Play track twenty-four.”
A burst of static hissed from the speakers, followed by the clinking of ice against a crystal glass. Then, a voice filled the room—loud, vicious, and unmistakably Richard.
*“You think you’re smart, don’t you? Looking at me like that over dinner.”*
My own recorded voice followed, trembling and small: *“I didn’t do anything, Richard. I was just passing the salt.”*
*“You rolled your eyes, you little bitch. Just like your deadbeat father used to do before he rotted in the dirt.”*
A sickening smack echoed through the speaker. A sharp cry. The sound of furniture overturning.
*“Richard, please! Stop! She didn’t mean it!”* That was my mother’s voice on the tape, weeping, desperate.
*“Shut up, Sarah! If you say another word, you’re sleeping in the garage tonight! And you, Emily—get up. Get up off the floor before I give you a real reason to cry!”*
More heavy thuds. The sound of someone choking on their own breath.
In the hospital room, Dr. Cole’s jaw tightened until the muscles bulged against his skin. Detective Vance’s hands curled into tight fists.
Sarah let out a strangled sob and covered her face, dropping to her knees. “Turn it off… please, God, turn it off…”
“No, Mrs. Halston,” Claire Montgomery said coldly, turning around to face her. “Do not look away. This is what you allowed to happen under your roof for three years. And this isn't even the worst of it.”
The technician advanced to track thirty-one.
A different tone this time. Richard’s voice was lower, slurred slightly by scotch, speaking on a phone call while I had hidden my burner phone inside a bookshelf nearby.
*“I don’t give a damn about the county inspector, Frank. Tell him the foundation concrete on the St. Jude bridge project is rated 4000 PSI. He signs off on it, or I release the photos of him and that girl at the Atlantic City resort. I own him. I own the building commission. And if the girl talks? Look at her. A bruised teenager whose own mother calls her a liar. Who is anyone going to believe? A civic leader, or a crazy girl who falls down stairs?”*
The room went dead silent.
Detective Vance let out a slow whistle. “Well, well. Domestic felony assault, witness tampering, and public corruption on municipal infrastructure contracts. Emily, you didn't just give us a case for child abuse.”
Claire Montgomery smiled a razor-sharp smile. “You just handed us the entire Halston empire on a silver platter.”
Before anyone could say another word, the consultation room door swung open. A junior officer hurried in, looking anxious.
“Detective Vance? We’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?”
“Judge Sterling just signed an emergency bail order and an injunction. Richard Halston is out. And he just filed a restraining order barring Dr. Cole and Child Protective Services from retaining custody of Emily, citing parental custody through her mother.”
All eyes swung to Sarah.
Sarah was still trembling, clutching her purse. In her hand, her phone illuminated with a text message that had just popped onto her screen:
May you like
*BRING HER HOME RIGHT NOW, SARAH. OR YOU’LL END UP IN A DITCH TOGETHER.*
***