Chapter 13 - The Woman Who Approved Everyone
Karen Voss had never had a sister in Arizona.
That was the first lie we uncovered.
The second was bigger.
Karen Voss had never legally existed.
By sunrise, Morales had assembled every available record connected to the woman who had worked at Evergreen Elementary for nine years.
Driver’s license.
Tax documents.
Rental agreements.
Employment forms.
Everything led back to a birth certificate belonging to a baby who had died in Idaho in 1968.
Katherine Vale had built Karen Voss from a dead child’s identity.
Then she had walked into a school and made herself indispensable.
“She didn’t just approve Gregory,” Morales said.
We were sitting inside a conference room at Portland Police headquarters with three federal agents and two school district investigators.
“She approved fourteen volunteers over nine years.”
Agent Reeves slid a folder across the table.
“Four are dead. Three can’t be located. Two used false Social Security numbers. One disappeared after an Amber Alert in Sacramento.”
“And the others?” I asked.
“Seem clean.”
“Seem?”
Reeves nodded grimly.
“At this point, that word matters.”
A map covered one wall.
Red pins marked cities connected to Gregory’s aliases.
Portland.
Spokane.
Boise.
Sacramento.
Reno.
Bend.
Eugene.
Every location sat close to an interstate corridor.
Easy movement.
Easy disappearance.
“What are 17, 4, and 12?” I asked.
Morales pointed toward three folders.
“We think they’re identifiers. Seventeen may represent a network region. Four could be the safe-house number. Twelve might be the person assigned.”
“Gregory?”
“Possibly.”
My phone vibrated.
Clara.
I stepped into the hallway to answer.
“Are you both okay?”
“We’re under police protection.”
“How’s Liam?”
“Scared.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course he was.
The child had spent six years learning that safety could disappear overnight.
“He heard one officer say Gregory’s name,” Clara continued. “Jack, he wants to talk to you.”
A moment later, Liam came on the line.
“Officer Dunham?”
“Hey, Deputy Thomas.”
He didn’t laugh.
“Is Gregory coming back?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Silence.
Then he whispered, “The white van came before.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What white van?”
“The one outside school.”
“Liam, when?”
“When we lived with Gregory.”
My heart began pounding.
“Tell me everything you remember.”
“He used to take me somewhere in a white van. I thought it was a doctor.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened there?”
“People took pictures.”
My stomach dropped.
“What kind of pictures?”
“Normal ones. Standing against a wall. Holding a number.”
Morales appeared in the doorway, watching my face.
“Did you ever hear names?”
Liam stayed quiet for several seconds.
“One lady.”
“What lady?”
“She smelled like peppermint.”
I looked at Morales.
“Did Gregory call her anything?”
“Miss Katherine.”
Everything became still.
“Liam, you’re doing great. Do you remember anything else about the building?”
He breathed slowly.
“There was a red bird painted on the wall.”
“A bird?”
“Like a hawk. Or eagle.”
“Inside?”
“Outside, near the door.”
I covered the phone and whispered to Morales, “Red bird logo. White van. Katherine took him there.”
She immediately began searching.
Then Liam added something.
“There was a train.”
“A train station?”
“No. I heard trains all night.”
A warehouse district.
Rail lines.
Red bird logo.
Within twenty minutes, a federal analyst found a possible match.
Redwing Industrial Storage.
A closed shipping company near the Columbia River rail yards.
The company had dissolved seven years earlier.
Its property owner?
A shell corporation connected to one of Gregory’s aliases.
Reeves ordered surveillance before a search team moved.
We arrived near dusk.
The warehouse looked abandoned.
Broken windows.
Faded sign.
Rust across the loading docks.
But when agents cut the chain on the side entrance, we discovered fresh tire marks inside.
Someone had been there recently.
Morales swept her flashlight across the concrete.
A painted red bird stretched across the far wall.
Liam had remembered perfectly.
Behind a locked office door, we found a room containing old camera equipment, measuring charts, and numbered boards.
Most files were gone.
Someone had cleaned the place carefully.
Almost.
In a cabinet beneath a sink, I found a child’s plastic bracelet.
Pink.
A name had been written across it in permanent marker.
EMILY.
Reeves stared at it.
“Could be anything.”
“No.”
I turned the bracelet over.
A date was printed beneath the name.
Five years earlier.
Morales searched the national missing-child database.
Her expression changed.
Emily Carter.
Missing from Boise at age four.
Never found.
The room went silent.
Then one of the agents called from upstairs.
“You need to see this!”
We raced toward the stairs.
On the second floor, beneath peeling wallpaper, someone had carved dozens of small marks into the plaster.
Names.
Initials.
Dates.
Children had been here.
At the center was one fresh message written in black marker.
KATHERINE HAS THE LEDGER.
May you like
BENEATH IT:
FIND HER BEFORE THEY DO.
