Chapter 19: The First Lead
November 19, 2008 - Evening - Tedd's Apartment
My phone rang at eight PM.
Lorelei's voice was tight, controlled excitement barely contained. "I found something."
I set down the case file I'd been reviewing. "What?"
"Safe Harbor. It's a women's shelter in Sacramento, been operating since the nineties. I visited today posing as a volunteer applicant." She paused. "Four women checked in between 2001 and 2005. Then they just... vanished."
The System activated immediately.
[ **ANALYZING: LORELEI STATEMENT** ]
[ **CRITICAL INFORMATION DETECTED** ]
[ **PATTERN PROBABILITY: 84% - VICTIM SELECTION PROCESS** ]
[ **RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE INVESTIGATION** ]
[ **ENERGY: 68/100** ]
"Vanished how?" I asked, already pulling up my encrypted files.
"No forwarding addresses. No contact with families. The shelter has records of their intake, but nothing about where they went after leaving. I asked the director about it—tried to sound casual, like I was just curious about success rates—and she got uncomfortable. Said privacy laws prevent them from tracking former residents."
I cross-referenced the dates with my victim timeline. Two of the five women I'd identified—Miranda included—fell within that window. The pattern was there, screaming.
"What's the director's name?"
"Patricia Marsh. She's been running the place since 2000." Lorelei's voice dropped. "Tedd, this could be it. The connection we've been looking for."
"Safe Harbor. Red John's hunting ground. He finds vulnerable women, gains their trust, then..."
"Can you get me access?" I asked. "I need to see the facility, talk to Marsh, review whatever records she'll share."
"I have a volunteer orientation scheduled for Friday. Said my husband might want to join—couples volunteering is apparently popular." A pause. "You okay being my fake husband for a day?"
"Absolutely."
November 21, 2008 - Morning - Safe Harbor Women's Shelter
The shelter occupied a converted house in a quiet Sacramento neighborhood.
Two stories, white paint slightly faded, security cameras visible but not intrusive. A sign on the lawn read "Safe Harbor: Support, Resources, Hope." The kind of place designed to look welcoming, non-threatening.
Lorelei and I walked in together, her hand in mine, playing the concerned couple wanting to give back. The receptionist directed us to Patricia Marsh's office on the second floor.
Marsh was mid-fifties, graying hair pulled back, professional blazer over practical slacks. Her smile was warm but practiced—someone who'd comforted hundreds of traumatized women and learned to maintain boundaries.
"Mr. and Mrs. Colen, thank you for your interest in volunteering." She gestured to chairs across from her desk. "We always appreciate couples willing to help."
I let Lorelei take lead on the conversation—she was better at the social infiltration, had practiced this cover story across six other shelters. I just nodded, smiled, activated the System.
[ **ANALYZING: PATRICIA MARSH** ]
[ **CONFIDENCE: 73%** ]
[ **STRESS BASELINE: MODERATE (JOB-RELATED)** ]
[ **DEDICATION TO WORK: HIGH** ]
[ **ENERGY: 66/100** ]
"We're interested in helping with administrative work," Lorelei said. "Filing, organizing records, maybe helping with resource coordination."
Marsh nodded. "Administrative volunteers are invaluable. Our records need constant attention—intake forms, resource databases, follow-up documentation."
"Do you track outcomes?" I asked, keeping my tone curious rather than investigative. "Success rates for women who complete your program?"
The shift was subtle. Marsh's smile tightened fractionally, her posture straightened defensively.
[ **ANALYZING: STRESS RESPONSE** ]
[ **STRESS MARKERS: 67% WHEN DISCUSSING FORMER RESIDENTS** ]
[ **DEFENSIVE POSTURE: DETECTED** ]
[ **SUBJECT KNOWS SOMETHING** ]
[ **ENERGY: 64/100** ]
"We respect privacy," she said carefully. "Once women leave Safe Harbor, we don't follow up unless they initiate contact. Many of our residents are fleeing abusive situations—tracking them could compromise their safety."
Reasonable answer. Legally sound. But the System caught the micro-expressions underneath—fear, guilt, something unresolved.
"Of course," Lorelei said smoothly. "That makes sense. We just want to help where we can."
The conversation continued—volunteer schedules, training requirements, background checks. By the time we left an hour later, we were officially registered as Safe Harbor volunteers starting December 1st.
In the parking lot, Lorelei turned to me. "She's hiding something."
"I know. Did you see how she reacted when I asked about former residents?"
"Defensive. Almost guilty." Lorelei opened the car door. "Think she knows more than she's saying?"
"I think she suspects something's wrong but can't prove it. Or doesn't want to admit it."
November 21, 2008 - Afternoon - Tedd's Apartment
The volunteer records spread across my kitchen counter.
Lorelei had convinced Marsh to share historical volunteer information—"so we can understand the culture"—and we'd spent the afternoon combing through names, dates, shift logs. Looking for patterns.
And there it was.
February 2003. Miranda Martins. Volunteer intake form, neatly filled out. She'd worked Tuesday and Thursday evenings, helping with childcare for residents' children. Four months of consistent service.
Last shift: April 24, 2003.
Disappeared: May 14, 2003.
Lorelei's hands trembled, holding her sister's intake form. The handwriting was familiar to her—Miranda's distinctive loops on the M's, the way she dotted her i's with small circles.
The System provided cold analysis.
[ **ANALYZING: TIMELINE CORRELATION** ]
[ **MIRANDA MARTINS: VOLUNTEERED SAFE HARBOR FEB-APRIL 2003** ]
[ **DISAPPEARED: MAY 2003** ]
[ **PROBABILITY: 91% - VICTIM ENCOUNTERED KILLER AT SHELTER** ]
[ **PATTERN: VOLUNTEER/RESIDENT INTERACTION = SELECTION PROCESS** ]
[ **ENERGY: 61/100** ]
"Red John used the shelter. Either volunteered himself, worked there, or had access somehow. He found Miranda there, built trust, then killed her weeks later."
"This is it," Lorelei whispered. "This is where she met him."
I moved beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "This is real progress. We're getting closer."
"Four other women." She set down the form, pulled up the missing person records. "Lisa Chen, 2001. Sarah Martinez, 2002. Jennifer Wallace, 2004. Diane Foster, 2005. All stayed at Safe Harbor. All vanished."
I cross-referenced with my victim files. Lisa Chen and Jennifer Wallace matched two of the murders I'd already identified. The other two—Sarah Martinez and Diane Foster—I'd need to research separately.
"The pattern's there," I said. "Safe Harbor is his hunting ground. Was, at least. The last disappearance was 2005. He might have moved on, found new locations."
"Or he's still watching." Lorelei's voice was tight. "Waiting for the right victim."
The thought made my stomach drop. If Safe Harbor was still active in Red John's network, and we were about to start volunteering there...
"We're walking into his territory. Announcing our presence. If he's paying attention, he'll notice."
"We need to be careful," I said. "Very careful. No obvious investigating, no asking too many questions. Just observe, document, and stay safe."
She nodded, but her expression was determined. "I'm not stopping. Not when we're this close."
"I wouldn't ask you to stop. Just... promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise."
November 23, 2008 - Evening - CBI Headquarters
I compiled everything in the empty bullpen.
Safe Harbor Women's Shelter. Four confirmed disappearances, 2001-2005. Miranda Martins volunteered there February-April 2003. All victims fit similar profiles—women who helped other women, volunteers or residents at the shelter.
The pattern was undeniable. But I couldn't take this to Lisbon, couldn't open an official CBI investigation. Because explaining how I'd obtained this information meant revealing the off-books investigation I'd been running for months.
"And if I reveal that, Jane will dig deeper. He'll want to know why I was investigating specifically. The whole house of cards collapses."
My phone buzzed. Text from Lorelei.
Lorelei: Thank you. For taking this seriously. For believing me.
Me: Always. We're in this together.
Lorelei: I love you.
The words hit different in text—more deliberate, more permanent than spoken admission. She'd written it down, made it real.
Me: I love you too. See you tomorrow?
Lorelei: My place. 7 PM.
I closed the files and leaned back. Three months since transmigration. The investigation had grown from vague show knowledge to concrete evidence, from protecting Lorelei's future to genuinely caring about her present.
The System provided final updates.
[ **INVESTIGATION PROGRESS: SAFE HARBOR CONNECTION CONFIRMED** ]
[ **VICTIM PATTERN: IDENTIFIED** ]
[ **RED JOHN HUNTING GROUND: PROBABLE** ]
[ **WARNING: INVESTIGATION APPROACHING DANGEROUS SUBJECT** ]
[ **RED JOHN CASE CONNECTIONS DETECTED** ]
[ **RECOMMEND EXTREME CAUTION** ]
[ **ENERGY: 59/100** ]
The warning was clear. The System recognized what my corrupted meta-knowledge couldn't—we were entering Red John's territory, tracking a serial killer who'd remained invisible for years. The danger was escalating.
And Lorelei would be volunteering at Safe Harbor in eight days, walking into the monster's shadow with nothing but my protection between her and harm.
"I won't let him have her. Whatever it takes."
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