Critical Exposure

Officer Maxine Wallace rested her fingers on her weapon's grip. A muscle twitched deep in her throat, steady as a clock's tick. Her nerves trilled with the sense of approaching danger. Ridiculous. There was no reason for her to feel so uneasy. As far as the job's duties went, this was a simple task; assist the Maryland State Police by executing a search warrant; gather evidence of whatever crimes the president of chemical-research company Cranesbrook Associates had committed that had caused him to kill people to cover them up. Not just people, a state police detective. Determination hardening in her gut, Maxie peered through the office door. She focused on the stain in the anteroom near the glass doors. The cream carpet was still rusty red where Cranesbrook president, Sid Edmonston's, blood had seeped into the fibers and saturated the pad. She could smell it, too. That coppery, fleshy odor only came with blood and death. She was glad the scumbag himself was in the morgue. She was glad Rand McClellan, Detective Richard Francis's partner, had been the one to fire the shots. It was only right that Rand had delivered justice for his partner's murder. It was right Sid Edmonston would never see a trial. The bastard didn't deserve to live after all he'd done. The whole mess had started with some kind of lab accident, sending two men to the Beech Grove Clinic mental hospital and leaving one man missing. A lab accident that Sid Edmonston had been desperate to cover up. And if any of Edmonston's files and personal papers contained clues as towhathe was trying so hard to hide, it was important Maxie get them to the state police barracks as soon as possible. She pulled her gaze from the bloodstain and shivered. Now that the evidence team had moved to the lab where the accident had occurred, it was quiet in this corner of the administrative wing. Almost too quiet. If she didn't know Officer Woodard was out in the hall securing the scene, she'd believe she was all alone. She fitted her fingers in the cutout handles of a cardboard file box and hoisted it to her hip. Backing and turning in the tight space, she bumped against the wall. The wall shifted, almost dumping her on the floor. What in the hell...' She set the box down and knelt to study the wall. Sure enough, there was a loose panel. She wouldn't have noticed it, not even if she'd been looking. But with the panel skewed where she'd hit it with her hip, she could spot it easily. Pressing her fingertips against a corner, she pried the loose chunk of drywall free. A small space between the studs hid a thin plastic case. She pulled out a pair of latex gloves. Her fingers trembled at first, making it difficult to get the gloves on her hands. Finally managing, she pulled the DVD case from its hiding spot. Factory lettering marked the face of the disk. A recordable DVD. Lab 7 was scrawled beneath it in black marker. And a date. The date of the lab accident. Was this the missing surveillance video from the security cameras in Lab 7? The video that showed what really happened that day? It had to be. A surge of adrenaline replaced her unease. If this was what she thought it was, she might have just found what the state needed to put this case to bed. She keyed the microphone on her uniform. "Four two four eight." "Four two four eight, go ahead." "I'm at Sid Edmonston's office at Cranesbrook Associates. I've found what looks like surveillance footage hidden inside a secret compartment in the wall. A detective with the state might want to get out here. Right away." "Ten-four, four two four eight." She turned off the mike, not bothering to hide her grin. Why should she? This was a major find. Major enough to possibly win her a commendation. And besides, no one was watching. She could turn cartwheels across the spacious office and no one would know. The light padding sound of a footfall on carPeterson, Ann Voss is the author of 'Critical Exposure', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373887262 and ISBN 0373887264.