His Nanny Mate - Season 4 Episode 22

Ella

The meeting had been far more intense than I’d anticipated. The courthouse’s grandeur, with its marble floors and tall pillars, had done little to cushion the impact of Westbrook’s verbal blows.

As we exited the grand, double doors, the change in environment was immediately noticeable. From the stifling intensity inside, we were met with an unexpected chill. The sky had turned a somber shade of gray, with raindrops starting to patter, as if the heavens shared in our melancholy.

“Ella,” Logan began, his voice hoarse from the discussions, the umbrella already in hand, warding off the steadily falling rain. His face looked drawn, every drop of rain that splattered against it emphasizing his deep-set lines of worry.

I took a deep breath, feeling the moisture in the air, the weight of the day pressing down.

“Logan, with this information, we need to check with the police. We need to see that bullet casing. If it has a serial number or any defining mark, and it doesn’t match any of the guns in your possession or of your men, it’s a lead. And a damn good one at that.”

He looked at me, the cold rain painting streaks on his face. Without a word, he extended the umbrella towards me, silently inviting me beneath its shelter.

“Listen,” he said, “I didn’t want to say this earlier, but the police in this city aren’t… the cleanest.. They have ties. We need to be careful what we ask for.”

Pulling my coat tighter, I stepped closer, finding refuge under the umbrella. “That’s exactly the reason why we need to get to the bottom of this. If there’s corruption and foul play at work here, we have to uncover it.”

A pause settled between us, filled only with the sound of rain and the distant hum of the city. “You know,” he murmured, “you don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here with you.”

His sincerity took me by surprise. We had been allies, even something akin to friends, for a little while now, but this level of trust was new.

“Logan, I appreciate it, but you don’t need to come with me,” I said. His jaw set with determination. “No,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of the rain pattering against the umbrella, “I do.”

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The cold wind nipped at my face as Logan and I approached the police station. It was one of those buildings that loomed large and intimidating against the gray backdrop of the early evening sky.

Faded bricks stacked upon each other with age told stories of countless cases, some solved and some forever lost in the constant march of time.

“Logan,” I began, clutching the edge of the photograph tightly, “there’s just no way they would have missed it. That bullet casing was glaringly obvious. Right there in the open, next to the bloodstain.”

Logan, his trench coat flapping lightly with the wind, took a moment before answering. “It doesn’t make sense, Ella. I’ve seen sloppy work before, but this is beyond that. Almost like…” He hesitated, eyes narrowing. “Like it was intentionally overlooked.”

I stopped, forcing him to turn to me. “Intentionally? But why?”

Logan sighed deeply, the weight of the unsaid hanging between us. “You know why. But let’s find out, just to be sure.”

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, we entered the precinct. The air was thick with a mix of strong coffee and old paperwork. It buzzed with life as officers darted around, some huddled in deep conversations, while others were glued to their phones, updating families or working leads.

“I never get used to this place,” I admitted under my breath, scanning the room for any familiar faces.

“Not exactly a tourist attraction,” Logan quipped, guiding me towards the counter where a middle-aged officer was seated..

“We need to check the evidence related to the recent homicide on Parker Street,” Logan informed him without preamble.

The officer looked up, his eyes scanning us both, sizing us up. “And who might you be?”

“Ella Morgan,” I said, introducing myself before Logan could, “and this is my client. I’m his attorney. We have reasons to believe there’s been a lapse in evidence collection.”

I handed the officer one of my business cards, and he took it, his eyes scanning it. The officer smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Oh really? And what would that be?”

Without uttering a word, I handed him the photograph. His eyes darted to the picture, then back to us, the smirk vanishing.

“This bullet casing.” I pointed at the image. “Where is it?”

The officer frowned. “Give me a moment,” he said, getting up. He disappeared into a room. behind the counter.

Minutes felt like hours. My heart raced. The hum of the precinct was now an annoying buzz in my ears. Finally, the officer returned, his face graver than before.

“It’s not there,” he admitted. “I can’t find any record of this casing.”

Logan’s face darkened. “How is that possible? Your guys were all over that crime scene.” The officer shrugged. “Mistakes happen.”

“This isn’t just a mistake,” I snapped. “Someone’s life hangs in the balance. So, tell me, who was the officer in charge of collecting evidence at the scene?”

After a brief pause, the officer replied, “Daniels. Officer Daniels.”

I could see Logan visibly stiffen beside me. “Can we speak to him?” he asked. The officer shook his head. “He’s off duty. Won’t be back till tomorrow.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Logan and I exchanged glances. I could feel there was: more to the story.

“Is there something we should know about Officer Daniels?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

The officer at the desk seemed to struggle, clearly debating with himself whether to speak or stay silent. After a tense moment, he leaned closer. “Look,” he began, glancing around to ensure no one was within earshot, “Daniels… he’s a bit of a wildcard. Been on the force a long time. Some say he’s got… ties.”

“Ties?” I questioned.

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“To some not-so-nice people,” he finished. “But that’s all I’ll say, ma’am. And you didn’t hear it from me. Understood?”

Logan pulled me aside before I could say anything. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. “We need to be careful, Ella. If Daniels is involved…”

“Involved in what?” I pressed. He looked at me, anguish evident in his eyes. “Ella, Daniels is known for being corrupt. He’s the guy the Mafia goes to when they want things hidden.”

My heart sank. The implications of what Logan was suggesting were vast and terrifying. If the Mafia was meddling with evidence, then our fight wasn’t just against a potentially crooked cop and a jerk of a lawyer, but someone far more sinister.

And if the mafia was the one who had this cop hide evidence, then that likely led to one person.

Harry.

“Thank you, officer,” I said to the man behind the desk, who merely nodded, a silent understanding passing between us.

As Logan and I stepped out into the pouring rain, the weight of our discovery pressed down upon us. The city around us continued with its hustle and bustle, unaware of the dark secrets hidden in its alleys and precincts.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” Logan murmured, staring off into the distance.