The Devil’s Witness

CHAPTER III:The suspect

Lucas’ POV

By eight the next morning, Lucas had already decided he hated Dorian Voss.

Not that he had particularly liked him before but there was something deeply irritating about a man who could walk into his apartment after committing murder, issue an ultimatum, and leave as though they had just concluded a business meeting.

I stared at the empty space near my front door. There was no file or message.

I checked the time again, 8:17 a.m.

“He said the next day,” I muttered then my phone rang.

“Lucas.” I recognized the voice immediately.

“It was Gideon.”

“Tell me you have a good excuse.” I sighed deeply

Gideon Shaw was my editor, mentor, and on particularly stressful mornings, the closest thing I had to a disappointed father.

“I was working.”

“You were supposed to be in my office forty minutes ago.”

“I know.”

“That answer doesn’t explain why you’re not here”

“I’ll be there in twenty.” I said grabbing my jacket.

“You have ten.” That was the last thing I heard before the line went dead.

“Good morning to you too” I said staring at my phone.

I grabbed my bag and left.

The Black Vipers had been a rumor for years. It wasn't run by a faceless committee either, at the top was Victor Moretti but no one had proven this anyways.

He was 52, Italian-American, billionaire businessman and a philanthropist and the owner of several legitimate companies scattered across the city.

On paper, Victor was the kind of man politicians shook hands with and newspapers praised for his charity work but off paper, his name appeared beside some of the Black Vipers’ darkest dealings.

I had never been able to prove it and Gideon Shaw didn’t believe in rumors.

He believed in documents, photographs, bank records, and sources willing to put their names on the line.

I had spent six months collecting all four and had almost enough to publish, almost.

What I didn’t have was proof that Dorian Voss was directly involved but now I had witnessed a murder.

Unfortunately, the proof came with a gun.

…

The newsroom was already chaotic when I arrived.

Phones rang constantly, editors shouted across desks, someone had apparently forgotten to send an important email, and two reporters were arguing over whose fault it was.

That was what a normal morning looked like. I headed straight for Gideon’s office.

He was standing beside his desk with his arms crossed.

“You look terrible” He said first.

“Nice to see you too.”

“Did you sleep?”

“A little.”

“Eat?”

At least he was good with exchanging pleasantries, I dropped my bag onto the chair.

“Gideon.”

“That’s a no.”

“I’ve had a long night.”

“Lucas.” His expression changed.

I looked away but he knew me too well.

“What happened?” He asked calmly.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t insult me.”

I rubbed my forehead.

There were a dozen things I could tell him.

“I witnessed a murder, the killer found me, he offered me a job, I’m now investigating the Black Vipers from the inside.”

Instead, I said, “I have something I’m working on.”

Gideon stared at me. “Is it the Black Vipers?”

I said nothing whilst his expression hardened.

“You promised me you weren’t going to chase that story alone.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’ve been chasing it for six months.” He continued.

“I have sources.”

“You have a death wish.”

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed, it was an unknown number, I pulled it out.

A photograph appeared on the screen, a black folder sitting on a wooden table and underneath it was a message.

“Your file. Don’t lose it.” I read it and my stomach tightened immediately. It was Dorian.

Gideon watched my expression. “Who is that?”

“No one.”

“Lucas.”

“I need some air.”

“Lucas”

I was already walking away.

The photograph had been taken inside my apartment.

I knew that table, it was literally my table which meant Dorian had been there or someone working for him had.

I hated that thought. I hated even more that I was becoming accustomed to being watched.

I left the newsroom and headed home and found the folder exactly where the photograph showed it, it was on my desk.

I stared at it for several seconds before touching it. Dorian had promised information and apparently, he had delivered.

I opened the folder and on the first page was Daniel Russo’s photograph.

My chest tightened, after everything that happened, seeing his face still made my stomach turn.

Daniel had been alive less than twelve hours ago, now he was evidence, how sad!

I turned the page, his criminal history, business associates, bank accounts, known contacts.

I read every line thoroughly then I reached a list of phone numbers.

One number appeared repeatedly during the twenty-four hours before Daniel’s death.

I didn’t recognize it but beside it was a handwritten note.

“Authorized through M.V.”

I stared at the initials.

“M.V.”

My mind immediately went back to the night before.

“Don’t investigate Mara.” Dorian had said it with enough certainty to make me wonder what he was afraid I’d find.

I turned to another page and a photograph slipped from the folder and landed on my desk.

I picked it up, it was Daniel standing outside a restaurant and beside him was a woman.

She looked elegant, dark-haired and beautiful in a way that felt almost deliberate.

I recognized her immediately, Mara Voss, Dorian’s sister.

I looked back at the initials, “M.V.”

My pulse quickened, this couldn’t be a coincidence.

I reached for my phone then stopped.

Dorian had specifically warned me not to investigate his sister which meant there was something worth investigating.

If she was part of the gang, she probably knew Daniel…

I looked down at the photograph again, Daniel, Mara, the initials.

Everything was beginning to connect then my phone buzzed, another unknown number.

I opened the message.

“Stay away from my sister.”

I stared at it and thought of the i***t planting a camera in my apartment!!

I looked back at the photograph, Dorian had just given me a warning.

He had also given me a file containing the first clue that pointed directly toward Mara.

Maybe he expected me to listen or maybe he expected me to be afraid.

Unfortunately for Dorian Voss, I had never been particularly good at either.

I was the investigative journalist here and I knew my work.

I picked up my notebook and at the top of a fresh page, I wrote two words.

“Mara Voss.”

Then beneath them, “What are you hiding?”