Page 21 of Logan’s Way

Angus made notes, keeping his hand steady. “Did you ever find out who helped her?”

“No. And honestly, I stopped pushing. Elena was safe, and that’s what mattered. Sometimes victims need to keep their secrets if that’s how they process the trauma.” A slight softening in Hammond’s voice. “Is Elena okay? Is that what this is about?”

“As far as I know, she’s fine. This is really just record verification.”

“Good. She deserved peace after everything.” Hammond paused, then added, “The whole case was unusual. Volk disappeared right before we recovered Elena and two other girls. The FBI investigation fell apart without him, but the victims were saved. Sometimes you take the win even when you don’t understand how you got it.”

“You mentioned the case was unusual. In what way?”

“The timing, mostly. Volk vanished from a motel, and within weeks his entire network started cooperating. Like someone had removed the fear that kept them silent.” Hammond’s tone turned thoughtful. “I remember thinking someone had done what we couldn’t—made those girls safe when the system was still building evidence and filing motions. But I never put that in my official notes.”

“Why not?”

“Because officially, I was supposed to encourage cooperation with law enforcement. Document everything. Follow procedure.” A quiet laugh. “But unofficially? Sometimes people need help that doesn’t come with badges and warrants. And sometimes caseworkers know when not to ask questions.”

Angus wrote that down. Then: “Did anyone else ever ask about this case? Anyone looking for the same information I am?”

“Not that I remember. Why?”

“Just being thorough. Thank you for your time, Ms. Hammond. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Sure. Good luck with your verification.”

The call ended. Angus set his phone down and looked at his notes. Sandra Hammond had confirmed what the file suggested: Someone had intervened in Elena Martinez’s situation. Someone Elena had protected even when cooperating would have helped build a case against her traffickers. Someone whose identity Hammond had never pushed Elena to reveal, because sometimes the kindest thing a caseworker could do was know when not to ask.

It was the first human corroboration of the pattern Angus had been piecing together. Not proof that Logan was involved. Not even proof that the intervention was illegal. Just confirmation that something had happened outside official channels, and that people who’d witnessed it had chosen not to document what they’d seen.

Scout lifted his head, as if considering whether anything required his attention, then rested it again when Angus remained still. A car passed outside. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. The evening carried on, calm and unremarkable.

Angus thought about calling Hammond back, and asking follow-up questions about timing, details, and whether she’d heard of similar cases. But he’d gotten what he needed—confirmation that the pattern was real and that someone close to it had chosen silence over documentation.

Next, he’d⁠—

His phone rang.

An Arizona number. Angus answered. “Sheriff Reid.”

Silence. Then: “This is Sandra Hammond. I need to clarify something about our conversation.”

Her voice had changed. Tighter. Careful.

“Of course,” Angus said. “What would you like to clarify?”

“I may have overstated some details. When you mentioned Elena Martinez, I thought I remembered the case clearly, but after we hung up, I reviewed my own records and realized I was confusing it with another placement.”

Angus sat very still. “You were confusing it?”

“Yes. The case you described—Elena claiming someone helped her—I don’t actually have documentation of that. I must have been thinking of a different client.” The words came quickly, rehearsed. “I apologize for the confusion. I shouldn’t have spoken without checking my files first.”

“Ms. Hammond⁠—”

“I need to go. Please don’t contact me again about this matter. I was mistaken, and I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

A click ended the call.

Angus stared at his phone. The call had lasted maybe ninety seconds. Long enough for Hammond to retract everything she’d said an hour ago. Long enough to establish that she’d made a mistake and no longer wanted to discuss it.

But not long enough to actually review any files. Not long enough to genuinely confuse one case with another. Just long enough to deliver a message someone had told her to deliver.