Detective Alvarez did not let anyone leave Melissa's house until he had photographed every page of the black notebook.
The process took nearly an hour.
Travis watched from the kitchen doorway while Alvarez turned pages with gloved fingers. Each sheet carried the same compressed handwriting: names, property values, deployment dates, family circumstances, abbreviated observations that reduced complicated lives to weaknesses somebody could exploit.
Nine entries were detailed.
Six others consisted only of names and addresses.
Three had been crossed out.
Beside Daniel Reese's name was a small check mark.
Beside another man's name, Kurt had written PAID 20.
Travis assumed twenty thousand dollars until Hale reminded him not to turn assumptions into facts.
One entry bothered him more than the rest.
M. DONOVAN.
An address outside Springfield.
E-6.
WIFE / 2 KIDS.
KUWAIT OCT-MAY.
TITLE SINGLE.
NEXT.
The final word had been boxed.
"Next," Travis said.
Alvarez looked up.
"I see it."
"He's scheduled."
"We don't know what that notation means."
"We know enough."
Alvarez closed the notebook.
"We know enough to find Donovan."
That was different.
And useful.
Within twenty minutes, investigators identified Staff Sergeant Marcus Donovan.
He was currently in Kuwait.
The house in Kurt's notebook belonged to him.
His wife, Jenna, and their two children still lived there.
Travis felt a familiar anger.
Kurt had apparently already selected another family before finishing with his.
Alvarez contacted military authorities rather than calling Donovan directly. The coordination frustrated Travis until his father reminded him that waking a deployed soldier with half-understood information could create its own disaster.
"Facts first," his father said.
Travis gave him a tired look.
"You planning to put that on your grave?"
"If you'll finally listen to it."
Kaylee had fallen asleep against Travis's chest.
Her weight made his left arm numb.
He refused to move her.
Bethany sat across the room, watching them.
Every few minutes her phone lit with calls from Kurt.
She did not answer.
Seventeen calls.
Then twenty-one.
Then messages.
WHERE ARE YOU.
CALL ME.
YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE DOING.
THEY'LL BLAME YOU.
The last message was different.
I CAN FIX THIS.
Bethany stared at it.
Travis saw something pass through her expression.
Not temptation.
Recognition.
"He's said that before," she whispered.
"When?"
"Whenever something became bad enough that I started questioning him."
She put the phone facedown.
"He'd cause the problem, then become the person who could fix it."
Hale looked at her.
"Keep every message."
"I will."
A call came shortly after eight.
Kurt's Ram had been found.
It sat abandoned behind a closed farm-supply store seven miles from Travis's house.
The keys were gone.
No Kurt.
No red folder.
A traffic camera showed a silver sedan entering the lot shortly after the Ram.
The sedan left three minutes later.
Investigators were trying to identify it.
"Darren?" Travis asked.
"Possible," Alvarez said.
Bethany shook her head.
"Darren drives a white van."
"Owns one?"
"I've seen it."
That did not exclude the sedan.
But another possibility emerged.
Someone else might be involved.
Travis disliked that thought.
Kurt and Darren were already enough.
At 8:47, Alvarez received confirmation that military authorities had reached Marcus Donovan.
Donovan called back from Kuwait.
His voice came through the speaker rough with fatigue.
"You're telling me some guy has my house written in a notebook?"
Alvarez answered carefully.
"Your name and property address appear in materials recovered during an unrelated investigation."
"Why?"
"We're determining that."
Donovan was silent.
Then he asked, "What guy?"
"Kurt Voss."
Another silence.
Longer.
"Jenna knows a Kurt."
Travis looked at Bethany.
She closed her eyes.
Alvarez asked, "How?"
"I don't know. Friend from somewhere."
"Have you spoken to him?"
"Once."
"When?"
"Video call. Couple months ago."
"What did he want?"
"Nothing. He walked through the kitchen while I was talking to Jenna."
Travis felt sick.
The pattern was repeating.
Alvarez asked whether Jenna was currently home.
Donovan believed she was.
Police were dispatched for a welfare check.
Donovan's breathing became audible.
"Is my family in danger?"
"We don't currently have evidence of an immediate physical threat."
"That's not what I asked."
Alvarez paused.
"No evidence of one."
Travis respected the precision even though he hated it.
Donovan asked what Kurt had done to the other family.
Nobody answered immediately.
Then Travis spoke.
"He moved into my house."
Alvarez looked at him but did not stop him.
"Who are you?"
"Travis Hale."
"Military?"
"Army."
"Deployed?"
"Fort Sill assignment."
"What did he do?"
Travis looked at Bethany.
She nodded faintly.
"He became involved with my wife while I was gone. Got access to my records. Used forged documents involving my property and daughter. Someone also applied for credit in my name."
Donovan swore.
Then he became very quiet.
"My tax file is at home."
Travis understood immediately.
"So was mine."
Donovan said something away from the phone, probably to another soldier.
Then he returned.
"I want Jenna out of that house."
Alvarez said local deputies were already approaching.
The wait lasted eleven minutes.
It felt longer.
Then Alvarez's phone rang.
He listened.
"Mrs. Donovan and both children are safe."
Everyone exhaled.
"But?"
Travis had heard the change in Alvarez's voice.
The detective looked at him.
"Kurt isn't there."
"Good."
"Mrs. Donovan says she hasn't seen him in four days."
Bethany frowned.
"Four days?"
"She says they had an argument."
"About what?"
Alvarez listened to the deputy relaying information.
Then he looked at Bethany.
"Apparently Kurt asked whether she knew where her husband kept the deed."
Bethany covered her mouth.
Marcus Donovan heard.
"Son of a—"
His voice disappeared briefly.
When he returned, the anger had sharpened.
"Jenna told him?"
Alvarez answered.
"According to the deputy, she told Kurt to leave."
Travis felt unexpected relief.
The plan had failed.
At least there.
But Alvarez continued listening.
Then his face tightened again.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"The deputy found a package on the Donovans' porch."
"From Kurt?"
"No return address."
"What package?"
Alvarez repeated what he heard.
"A padded envelope containing photocopies of Staff Sergeant Donovan's property records."
Travis looked toward the black notebook.
Kurt had already obtained them.
Donovan's voice dropped.
"How?"
Nobody knew.
Alvarez asked the deputy to secure the envelope.
Travis stood carefully, keeping Kaylee asleep against his shoulder.
"If Jenna never gave him the papers, he got them somewhere else."
Hale nodded.
"Possibly public records."
"Tax returns aren't public."
"Do we know he has those?"
"No."
"Then separate what we know."
Travis hated that she was right.
Bethany suddenly stood.
"The red folder."
Everyone turned.
"What about it?" Alvarez asked.
"Kurt kept photocopies of IDs from the notebook people."
"Yes."
"But I saw something else."
She pressed both hands against the table, concentrating.
"There were pages behind the licenses."
"What kind?"
"I only saw the corners."
"Bethany."
"I'm trying."
Her eyes closed.
"Military-looking forms."
Travis felt his pulse accelerate.
"What forms?"
"I don't know."
He nearly reacted to the phrase.
She opened her eyes.
"Wait."
She looked directly at him.
"They had grids. Boxes. Social Security numbers, maybe."
"Could you recognize a leave-and-earnings statement?"
"Maybe."
"Personnel forms?"
"I don't know."
Hale interrupted before Travis could push harder.
"She shouldn't identify something she didn't actually see."
Alvarez agreed.
"We'll show her examples later."
Bethany nodded gratefully.
Travis carried Kaylee into the living room.
He laid her on the sofa and covered her with a blanket.
Her hand closed around his index finger.
He remained bent beside her.
For months, he had thought the worst consequence of being away was missing moments.
Birthdays.
Fevers.
Ordinary mornings.
Now he understood another vulnerability.
Absence created space.
A person who understood military schedules could know when a homeowner was hundreds or thousands of miles away.
A spouse might be isolated.
Paperwork might sit unattended.
Routine could become intelligence.
His phone vibrated.
His father had sent a photograph.
Travis opened it.
A car.
Silver sedan.
"Where'd you get this?"
His father looked over.
"My doorbell camera."
Travis enlarged the image.
Timestamp: two weeks earlier.
The silver sedan sat outside his father's house.
"Why was it there?"
"I assumed somebody turned around."
"Two weeks ago?"
"Apparently."
Alvarez came over.
Travis showed him.
The plate was partially visible.
Enough characters to compare.
Alvarez sent it to investigators.
Bethany stared at the photograph.
"I've seen that car."
"Where?"
"At our house."
"When?"
"The day Darren moved the boxes."
"Who drove it?"
She shook her head.
"I never saw."
Travis looked at his father.
"Why your house?"
The old man understood before Travis finished asking.
The green metal box.
Copies of Travis's property records.
Old financial documents.
His father went pale.
"I need to go home."
Alvarez blocked the idea immediately.
"No."
"Those records are in my basement."
"We'll have officers check."
"My entire filing system—"
"Can wait."
The old clerk looked furious at being ordered away from his own records.
Travis almost appreciated the irony.
At 9:31, officers reached his father's house.
No forced entry.
Doors secure.
Windows intact.
Then the basement was checked.
The green metal box remained where his father had left it.
Locked.
Nothing obvious disturbed.
His father relaxed slightly.
Travis did not.
The silver sedan had still been there.
Why?
At 9:44, the plate comparison returned.
The vehicle from the farm-supply store and the one photographed outside his father's house were the same.
Registered owner:
Marla Jean Keene.
The expired notary whose seal appeared beneath Travis's forged signature.
Nobody in Melissa's kitchen spoke for several seconds.
The forgery had just acquired a driver.
And Kurt's operation had acquired another person.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Expired Notary Claimed Kurt Had Stolen Her Seal, Until a Parking-Lot Camera Showed Who Had Actually Driven Him Away
After Nineteen Hours on the Road, Travis Found Another Man Wearing His Robe and Answering His Front Door
Part 9 of 28
