“Every single one is in the dock district,” Derby said.
“Those are the fight locations,” I said. “T-Bone told us they rotate through different sections of the tunnels under the docks. Never the same spot twice in a row. Dre was mapping where each fight was held.”
“The letter-number codes could be specific access points or tunnel sections,” Derby added. “If there’s a grid system or labeling convention for the tunnel network, those codes would correspond to specific locations underground.”
“Which means when we’re ready to move on the tunnels, this notebook is our roadmap,” Jack said.
He stepped back from the board and looked at the room. “Let’s start running background checks. Every single person connected to this case—people we’ve talked to, people who’ve been named, people who are on the periphery. I want criminal histories, known associates, financial red flags, military records, the works.”
“That’s a long list,” Daniels said.
“Then we’d better get started.” Jack ticked them off on his fingers. “Victor Caruso. Terrance James. Marco Reyes. Darnell Harris. Tiana Williams. Danny King. Henry Liu from the Chinese restaurant. The woman at the vape shop?—”
“Brenda Kowalski,” Cole supplied. “I got her name from her business license.”
“Brenda Kowalski. The kid at the gym who works the front—whoever he is. Alex Watters, the old man across the hall from Dre’s apartment with the military tattoo. Everyone. If their name came up in this investigation, I want to know who they are and who they’re connected to.”
“I can run the standard databases,” Derby said. “NCIC, VCIN, court records. Give me the names and I’ll have preliminary results within the hour.”
“Margot and I can go deeper,” Doug said. “Social media connections, property records, business registrations, campaign donation records. If any of these people are linked to each other outside of what we already know, we’ll find it.”
“Do it,” Jack said. “And cross-reference known associates. If someone in Vic Caruso’s orbit connects to organized crime, I want that name tonight.”
“You got it,” Doug said.
“There’s one more thing,” Jack said, turning to Derby. “The warrant for Dre’s financials came through. Checking at King George Trust, savings at First National. Pull everything—deposits, withdrawals, transfers, patterns. But the real story is going to be in those account numbers from the back of the notebook. We need to identify who owns those offshore accounts and shell companies.”
“The domestic accounts I can trace tonight,” Derby said. “The offshore and crypto will take longer. You’ll need to file formal requests through?—”
“I am happy to assist with this,” Margot said. “I believe the term you use is Piece of Cake.”
“Legal channels, Margot,” Jack said. “Every bit of it.”
“Of course, love,” she said. “I’d never do anything…questionable.”
“I’m glad to hear,” Jack said. “Can you also model the financial architecture based on what we can legally access. Map the flow. Show me where the money goes after it leaves the fighters’ hands.”
“What about the phone records?” Daniels asked.
Jack’s jaw tightened. “Warrant’s been signed. Judge Calloway pushed it through this morning. But the phone company is dragging their feet. Their compliance department has a forty-eight-hour response window and they seem intent on using every minute of it.”
“Shocking,” Cole said dryly. “A corporation moving slowly when law enforcement needs something.”
“I’ve got a contact at the carrier’s legal office,” Daniels said. “I’ll make a call first thing tomorrow and see if I can light a fire.”
“Do that. Those records could break this open. In the meantime, we work with what we have.”
Jack moved to the board and opened a new column. “T-Bone told us the fights rotate through old tunnels under the docks. A whole network—been there since before the Civil War. Sections set up with rings, lighting, the works.”
“That tracks with what’s on record,” Derby said, already pulling something up on his laptop. “The tunnel network under the King George waterfront is well documented. The historical society has a whole section on it—walking tours, pamphlets, even a chapter in the county register.”
He projected the images on the whiteboard. A historical society website with photographs of arched brick tunnels, their walls dark with age, the floors sandy and uneven.
“The oldest section dates back to around 1720,” Derby said, warming to the subject the way he always did when research gave him something to sink his teeth into. “Scottish tobacco merchants built them to move hogsheads from the river wharfs to their warehouses without paying the port tariffs the Crown kept raising. The original tunnels were dug by indentured servants and enslaved workers, lined with locally fired brick. Some of the archways still have mason’s marks carved into the keystones—initials and dates. There’s one section the historical society photographed where someone carved a thistle and the year 1723 into the brick. The Scottish national emblem. Whoever built it wanted people to know.”
“That’s over three hundred years old,” Cole said.
“And still standing, apparently.” Derby scrolled through more images. “The passages were wide enough for a horse and cart—had to be, to move tobacco barrels. During the Civil War, both sides used them. Confederates ran supplies through to avoid Union patrols on the river, and when the Union took the area, they used the same tunnels for their own supply lines. There are accounts in the county register of a Confederate spy ring that operated out of a tunnel entrance beneath what’s now the harbormaster’s building.
