Chapter 5: Document Delve

*Claire*

I can hardly believe my eyes. Just by glancing through the initial documents, I see Nathaniel is practically a member of the police force while being an independent contractor. His name is mentioned in dozens of cases – all of which are no longer cold or pending cases.

I feel shocked and a subtle doubt that I am working at the right place. If they allow some guy who is practically a stranger to have access to these documents – regardless of whether he completed the training or not – what else might be slipping through the cracks?

I spend the better part of two hours reading about Nathaniel Ballard.

I learn he is not from Detroit or Michigan. He is actually from the New England area in Maine. He had his own business and did not work for an agency where he used to live. He earned his license to be a private investigator here in Michigan prior to coming to the precinct and offering his assistance.

He graduated with a double bachelor’s degree in criminal justice and English literature. At this, I roll my eyes. He evidently was accepted into law school but declined. No reason was given for why he declined. Figures. Probably a goodie two shoes who thinks he is above the law and does not need to study it or play by the rules.

I read through the newspaper clips, digital media clips, and even a few online blog links. I read about the internal investigation my fellow officers performed on him, even going so far as to listen to the recorded interview slash interrogation on Nathaniel as if I were listening to a crime podcast. The more I listen, the more I am sure there is something up with this guy.

His answers are too smooth. His tone is unwavering, sounding almost rehearsed. Had he done something like this before? He had to be experienced in asking questions, but answering them with this kind of precision? The guy had to have a mind like a steel trap.

Page after page, I comb through, taking notes with each document. It gets to the point where I open up a word document and begin making notes. I make note of the cases he worked on as well as his so called “contributions.” I also start listing things that can be points of concern for our precinct’s security.

I find the list begins to compile very quickly for things he did that helped solved cases and, much to my frustration, find there are fewer things he could potentially be charged with.

I flip to one page and begin to read about one of the cases Nathaniel involved himself in about a year ago. The person said that a loved one – an older woman – went missing without a trace, but money was still being removed periodically from her accounts and her bills were being paid. The older woman lived alone on the edge of the precinct’s jurisdiction.

With only that information, Nathaniel was able to find out that the woman was abducted while taking out her trash and was killed in a cabin on a remote property in Wisconsin. The perpetrator hoped to slowly siphon the woman’s funds from her accounts, making it seem like she was still alive.

Nathaniel was the one who broke that case.

There was another case of a young man found dead in an alley. He was well-to-do and should not have been in such a bad part of the neighborhood. Good college student. Promising business career. Squeaky clean on the surface and then some.

The young man’s case went cold for three years and was re-opened at the suggestion of Nathaniel. The private investigator was on the case for a mere three days before discovering the truth behind why the young man was murdered with no additional information from the precinct than where he was found, the weapon, and a list of names.

Turns out, the young man was killed on campus on the roof of the business building; and it was that business degree of his got him into trouble. He was working as a sports broker, placing bets and trading stock on behalf of his fellow students.

The business the young man ran, which his family did not know about, went under very quickly, but his skill at trading money between his clients and siphoning some for himself backfired. The business thrived until everyone wanted their payouts and, obviously, the kid made one too many people mad.

Nathaniel found the lost murder weapon as well as the crime scene with practically no information.

There were dozens of other cases where, somehow, Nathaniel managed to find information that someone should not have known – unless they had insider information.

I also know something is off about how quickly he found out what happened to these people. There are too many coincidences where Nathaniel was in the area or managed to find information and evidence that was overlooked or not present at all for me to be comfortable.

I wonder at some point while sifting through the files why I am so keen on going after this guy. He was doing some good, sure. He helped bring people to justice. Wasn’t that what I stood for? Wasn’t that why I trained and studied and worked? Justice?

The answer was an obvious yes. I guess what really burned me was that I spent the better part of my education studying and training hard. I dedicated countless hours of my life to studying and preparing to be a police officer. Now, he saunters in with free reign and thinks he can continue like this?

Perhaps I’m frustrated that he did think he could strut around outside of the law. Am I angry that I could not do the same?

I wave the notion away. No. That is absolutely ridiculous. A society needs law and order – and Nathaniel was breaking the rules just by being here.

I stare at the document I had been working on for the past two hours. I decide I needed a break. I stand and stretch, grabbing the cup of stale coffee I was drinking this morning to throw away in the break room. There is an oily film on the top of the black, liquid caffeine, which makes my insides churn. Gross.

I step into the break room and take a few minutes to pace and think. I’m continually thinking that this guy is taking too much of my time. I reluctantly make my way back to my desk and open the report Wates told me to work on.

I touch the plastic keys on the keyboard, letting the grooves catch the pads of my fingers. Now that I’m ready to work on an actual case, I feel at a loss for words. I tilt my head back and forth again, side to side, in an effort to crack it once more.

Thankfully, it works this time. The satisfying crack of my vertebrae sends relief down my spine. Finally! I use this mental momentum to start typing something – anything – knowing that it will be easier once I start putting words on the page.

There is still something in the back of my mind tugging my attention back to Nathaniel Ballard, but I maintain focus.

An hour passes and I’m finally able to concentrate on my actual work when I hear my radio going off. There is another case about the Drainer. Another body was found under a bridge near the park.

Everyone begins rushing out to secure the area and I am right there with them. Wates, sadly, gets to the cruiser before I do. I prepare myself for the worst again. Why could we not catch this guy in time?

I turn off the switch in my head, preparing myself for what we will encounter. The line of police cars speed down the highway before slipping onto the back roads. Something makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. We pull in and already I can see the body by the bridge.

It is now that I see something that brings a smile to my face and what I feel justifies the two hours of research I did earlier. Standing nearby, just over the body, is my number one suspect – Nathaniel Ballard.