Chapter Three — Beneath the Driver’s Seat - She Drove Him Into the Dark
By Hasnainhr
Maya read the message three times before moving. Check beneath your driver’s seat. Victor left more than one thing behind. The words sat on her phone with the quiet certainty of somebody who knew exactly where she was, what Daniel Reid had just asked her, and what Victor had done inside her car. Maya looked toward the apartment door. The locks were still engaged. The corridor beyond remained silent. Nothing moved behind the curtains, but she suddenly felt as though the entire flat had windows.
She typed a reply, deleted it, then tried again. Who are you? Her thumb hovered above send. She imagined the message travelling to a phone somewhere nearby. Perhaps downstairs. Perhaps inside another apartment. Perhaps in a car parked across the street. She deleted it again. Whoever was contacting her already knew more than she did. Confirming that she was frightened would give them something else.
Instead, Maya called Luke.
He answered on the fourth ring with a groan. “If this is about Sunday lunch, I surrender. I’ll eat the spinach.”
“Where are you?”
Luke went quiet. “Home. Why?”
“You sure?”
“Considering I’m currently looking at my ceiling, yes.”
“Lock your door.”
Another silence. “Maya?”
“Just do it.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That word means the opposite when you say it like that.”
Maya walked toward the window but stopped before reaching it. “Did anyone contact you tonight?”
“About what?”
“Anything unusual. Unknown calls. Messages.”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’d probably remember being contacted by a mysterious stranger at three-thirty in the morning.”
She closed her eyes briefly. Victor had asked about Luke. Daniel had known Luke’s name. If the anonymous caller knew Maya’s address and movements, there was no reason to assume they knew nothing about her family.
“Maya,” Luke said, more serious now. “What’s going on?”
“I had a passenger tonight.”
“You said that already.”
“He left something in my car.”
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That doesn’t sound possible.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Call the police.”
“I already spoke to a detective.”
“And?”
Maya thought of Daniel standing outside her door, asking whether Victor had left a phone, documents, money or an electronic device. Far too specific. She thought of his reaction when she mentioned Victor’s warning. She thought of the anonymous message arriving almost immediately after he left.
“And I’m still figuring it out.”
Luke sat up; she could hear the movement through the phone. “Do you want me to come over?”
“No.”
“I’m twenty minutes away.”
“Exactly. Stay where you are.”
“Maya—”
“If somebody contacts you about me, don’t answer questions. Don’t tell them where I am. Call me first.”
“This is officially not normal.”
“I know.”
“Are you in danger?”
Maya looked at the final message again.
Victor left more than one thing behind.
“I don’t know.”
Luke swore quietly. “That’s worse than yes.”
“I’m fine right now.”
“You always say that.”
“I know.”
“Send me your location.”
“I’m home.”
“Send it anyway.”
She did.
Luke made her promise to call within an hour. Maya agreed because arguing would take longer.
After ending the call, she stood in the kitchen and considered her options.
The sensible one was obvious: call Daniel, tell him about the message and let police search the car.
The problem was that someone had known Daniel came upstairs almost immediately after he left. Either the anonymous sender was watching the building or someone inside Daniel’s investigation had told them.
Daniel himself had warned her he did not trust everyone working the case.
Victor had warned her not to trust Daniel.
And now an unknown person wanted Maya to go alone into an underground garage and reach beneath her driver’s seat.
Everything about that was stupid.
She grabbed her keys.
Apparently stupidity was becoming contagious.
Before leaving, Maya opened the camera application connected to her apartment building’s resident system. The underground garage feed was basic and grainy, designed mainly for residents checking whether the gate was open. She cycled through three camera angles.
Priya’s SUV remained parked.
Maya’s Camry sat in its bay.
No people visible.
She watched for another thirty seconds.
Nothing.
She slipped a heavy metal torch from the kitchen drawer into her jacket pocket. It was not much of a weapon, but it was better than walking down with her phone and optimism.
The lift ride felt longer than before.
Maya stood against the back wall and watched the numbers descend. Nine. Eight. Seven. At five, the doors opened.
Nobody entered.
She stared into the empty corridor until the doors closed again.
By the time she reached the basement, her pulse had climbed.
The garage appeared ordinary.
Concrete pillars. Fluorescent lights. Painted numbers. A faint smell of oil and damp tyres.
Maya stepped out.
The lift doors closed behind her.
She immediately regretted letting them.
Her Camry stood twenty metres away.
She walked toward it slowly, checking the rows between vehicles.
Nothing moved.
She unlocked the car from several metres away.
The lights flashed.
No alarm.
Maya opened the driver’s door and looked underneath the seat without reaching in.
Darkness.
She switched on the torch.
A small object had been taped to the underside of the seat frame.
Black plastic.
Rectangular.
About the size of two matchboxes.
Maya stared at it.
Not a phone.
Not another USB.
She crouched.
A thin green light blinked once.
Then went dark.
Her stomach dropped.
Tracker.
She had seen enough crime shows to recognise the possibility, though the real thing looked disappointingly ordinary.
Maya took a photograph before touching it.
Then another from farther back.
She pulled on disposable gloves from the cleaning kit in her boot and carefully peeled the object free.
A magnetic GPS tracker.
No brand visible.
No markings.
Someone had attached it where a casual inspection would never find it.
Victor?
Or someone else?
Maya looked toward the garage entrance.
If the tracker had been active during the ride, somebody could have followed her without staying close enough to be seen.
The black SUV might not have been guessing her turns.
It could have known exactly where she was.
Her phone buzzed.
Maya nearly dropped the tracker.
Another message.
Now you understand why they found you.
She stared at the words.
Then typed without thinking.
Who put this there?
This time she sent it.
The reply came almost instantly.
Wrong question.
Maya’s jaw tightened.
Then what is the right one?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
Ask when it was placed.
Maya looked at the tracker again.
Her car had been parked outside several locations tonight. Passengers had opened rear doors. Victor had been alone with the back of the seat while she drove. Anyone could have attached it earlier.
She checked the dashcam footage in her memory.
The cabin camera might show something.
Then another message appeared.
Do not take it upstairs.
Maya looked around.
The sender knew she had found it.
Were they seeing her?
She lifted her head toward the garage cameras.
One mounted near the ceiling pointed generally toward her parking row.
Could someone have access to the building system?
She stepped behind the Camry, out of the camera’s direct view.
Another message arrived.
Good. You learn quickly.
Maya’s skin went cold.
She immediately switched off her own phone.
For three seconds she stood perfectly still.
Then she realised the obvious.
If the sender was watching through the building camera, turning off her phone changed nothing.
If they were tracking her phone, it changed everything.
She removed the SIM tray, switched the device on airplane mode and left it powered down.
Then she looked at the tracker.
She needed evidence.
She needed distance.
And she needed to know whether Victor had put it there.
Maya wrapped the device inside a cleaning cloth and placed it in an empty metal coffee tin from the boot. She closed the lid.
A crude shield, maybe useless.
Better than holding it.
She returned upstairs using the stairs instead of the lift.
By the fifth floor, she regretted that decision.
By the ninth, she was sweating.
Luke had sent three messages while her phone was off.
You okay?
Maya?
Call me.
She answered before he could ring again.
“I’m fine.”
“You vanished.”
“Phone issue.”
“You promised an hour. It’s been twenty minutes and somehow I’m already annoyed.”
Maya locked the apartment behind her. “I found a tracker under my car seat.”
Silence.
Then Luke said, “You found a what?”
“A GPS tracker.”
“No. I heard you. I was giving reality a chance to correct itself.”
Maya placed the metal tin on the kitchen counter.
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m not joking. Call the police.”
“I might.”
“You might?”
“There are complications.”
“What complications could possibly outrank a tracker attached to your car?”
Maya rubbed her forehead.
She wanted to tell him everything.
She also knew Luke well enough to know he would come over immediately, police or no police.
“I need you to stay out of this.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I have.”
Luke exhaled sharply. “You sound like Mum.”
“That is deeply offensive.”
“Good. Be offended and call the police.”
“I’ll call you soon.”
“Maya—”
She hung up.
Then she opened the laptop and returned to the dashcam footage.
If the tracker had been attached during Victor’s ride, the cabin camera might reveal him leaning beneath the front seat.
She started from the Langford.
Victor entered.
Briefcase in his left hand.
He placed it beside him.
Maya watched in real time, refusing to skip.
For the first ten minutes, Victor barely moved except to look behind them.
Then, while Maya was stopped at a traffic light, he bent forward.
Her pulse increased.
Victor reached toward the floor behind the passenger seat.
But not the driver’s seat.
He picked up something.
A charging cable.
Nothing.
Maya continued.
Twenty-three minutes into the ride, during the moment the black SUV first appeared, Victor shifted across the rear seat.
His body disappeared partially from the cabin camera.
Maya paused.
Rewound.
Victor’s right hand moved toward the underside of her seat.
There.
He was doing something.
The movement lasted less than five seconds.
Then he sat back.
Maya enlarged the frame.
Something dark was visible between his fingers.
The tracker.
Victor had placed it.
Maya stared at the screen.
Why would a frightened man being followed attach a tracker to the car carrying him?
Unless it was not meant to help his pursuers find him.
Unless it was meant to help someone find Maya later.
The thought was worse.
She replayed the moment.
Victor did not look nervous while attaching it.
He looked deliberate.
Prepared.
He had entered the Camry carrying a device he intended to hide beneath her seat.
Which meant the ride had never been random.
Daniel had already told her that.
Victor specifically requested Maya Carter.
The question was why.
Maya opened a new browser tab and searched Victor’s name together with hers.
Nothing.
She tried Hale Urban Group and Carter.
Hundreds of irrelevant results.
She added her father’s name.
Michael Carter.
Nothing.
Her father had died eight years earlier after a stroke. He had worked in insurance most of his life and, as far as Maya knew, had never crossed paths with billionaires, property developers or homicide detectives.
She searched Luke.
Nothing.
Her mother.
Nothing.
Then she remembered Victor asking whether Luke depended on her.
Not what Luke did.
Not where he lived.
Whether he depended on her.
That sounded less like curiosity now and more like assessment.
Maya opened the photograph again.
Sophie Hale smiling beside her father.
DON’T TRUST DANIEL.
Why put that warning on the back of a family photograph instead of a blank piece of paper?
Maybe because the photograph itself mattered.
She scanned it at high resolution and enlarged the background.
Sydney Harbour.
Outdoor charity event.
Tables.
Guests.
Nothing obvious.
Then Maya noticed a man standing behind Victor, half obscured by another guest.
Dark hair.
Younger.
Maybe Daniel Reid.
She zoomed further.
The image became grainy.
Could be him.
Could be anyone.
Maya searched the original fundraiser gallery.
Several photographs loaded.
Victor.
Sophie.
Politicians.
Hospital executives.
Donors.
She scrolled.
Then stopped.
Daniel Reid appeared in one photograph.
Not in uniform.
Not with police.
He stood beside Victor Hale, holding a drink.
They were talking.
The article was dated six years earlier.
Maya leaned closer.
Daniel had told her he knew Victor professionally.
Technically true.
But homicide detectives did not usually attend charity fundraisers as part of an investigation that had not yet happened.
She clicked the image source.
Caption:
Victor Hale, Detective Daniel Reid and businessman Adrian Mercer attend the annual Children First Gala.
Adrian Mercer.
Maya searched the name.
Property investor. Former business partner of Victor Hale. Board member at Hale Urban Group until four years earlier.
Then lawsuits.
A public falling-out.
One article described Mercer accusing Victor of concealing financial information during a partnership restructure.
Another reported that the case settled privately.
Maya looked back at the gala photograph.
Three men standing together.
Victor.
Daniel.
Adrian.
Daniel had known Victor socially enough to attend the same table.
Why hide that?
Her phone rang.
Not the anonymous number.
Daniel Reid.
Maya let it ring twice before answering.
“Hello?”
“You found something.”
Maya’s grip tightened. “That’s an interesting opening.”
“I’ve called three times.”
“My phone was off.”
“Why?”
“Battery.”
A pause.
“You’re still a bad liar.”
Maya stared at the laptop photograph of him beside Victor.
“What do you want?”
“Someone accessed the traffic-camera network using credentials linked to a contractor approximately twenty minutes ago.”
Maya said nothing.
Daniel continued. “Your building sits inside the search area they pulled.”
Her skin prickled.
“So?”
“So I think someone is trying to watch you.”
Maya glanced toward the curtains.
“Interesting theory.”
“Close them.”
“They’re already closed.”
Another pause.
“Good.”
Maya looked at the metal coffee tin.
“Detective, when did you first meet Victor Hale?”
Silence.
Not long.
Long enough.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because you said professionally.”
“I did.”
“You attended a charity gala with him six years ago.”
Daniel was quiet again.
Maya continued, “There’s a photograph.”
“I know.”
“You seemed friendly.”
“We were not.”
“Then why were you drinking together?”
“Because photographs lie.”
“So do detectives.”
Daniel exhaled slowly. “Maya, whatever you’re doing right now, stop.”
“That sounds like advice from someone who doesn’t want questions.”
“It’s advice from someone who knows what happens when civilians start investigating homicide cases using search engines.”
“Do they find inconvenient photographs?”
Daniel ignored that.
“Did you go back to your car?”
Maya froze.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t.”
She closed her eyes.
Again.
He was extremely good at that.
Daniel’s voice sharpened. “What did you find?”
Maya looked at the tracker.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Decide every person asking for information is your enemy.”
“Victor seemed to think you were.”
Silence.
Then Daniel said, “Victor thought many things in the last forty-eight hours.”
That caught her.
“What happened forty-eight hours ago?”
“I can’t discuss it.”
“Of course.”
“Maya.”
“What?”
“If Victor left a tracker in your vehicle, do not destroy it.”
Her blood went cold.
She stood.
“I never said tracker.”
Daniel went silent.
Maya whispered, “How did you know?”
No answer.
“Daniel.”
His voice returned, quieter now.
“Because we found another one.”
“Where?”
“I need you to bring yours to me.”
“Where did you find the other one?”
“Maya—”
“Where?”
Daniel hesitated.
Then: “On Victor.”
She stared at the wall.
“What?”
“A tracking device was concealed inside the lining of his coat.”
Maya sat slowly.
“Same type?”
“I don’t know what yours looks like.”
“Small black rectangle. Magnetic base. Green indicator.”
Daniel swore under his breath.
Same type.
Maya understood before he said it.
Victor had carried at least two trackers.
One attached to himself.
One deliberately attached to Maya’s car.
“Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
“Who was tracking him?”
“Unknown.”
“Who was supposed to track me?”
Daniel did not answer.
Maya’s stomach tightened.
“You know.”
“No.”
“You know something.”
“I know Victor was planning something tonight.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not believable.”
“It’s unfortunately true.”
Maya looked at the dashcam still paused on Victor reaching beneath her seat.
“He requested me specifically.”
“Yes.”
“He planted a tracker in my car.”
“Apparently.”
“He left me money and—”
She stopped.
Too late.
Daniel heard it.
“Money?”
Maya closed her eyes.
“Forget that.”
“How much?”
“I didn’t say money.”
“You did.”
“It was hypothetical.”
“Maya.”
She ended the call.
Daniel immediately rang again.
She ignored it.
Then a text arrived.
Do not touch the cash.
Maya stared at the message.
He knew.
Another message followed.
And do not connect the USB to anything.
Her heart kicked harder.
Daniel knew about the USB too.
She called him back.
He answered instantly.
“How do you know?”
“Maya—”
“How do you know exactly what Victor left?”
Daniel said nothing.
“You asked me about money and electronic storage when you were here. Now you know there’s a USB. How?”
“I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
“I need you somewhere secure first.”
“I’m in my apartment.”
“No, you’re not secure.”
Maya looked toward the door.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel’s voice lowered. “Get away from the windows.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Because the tracker you found may not be the only device in your car.”
A sound came from the kitchen.
Soft.
Electronic.
Beep.
Maya slowly turned.
The metal coffee tin sat on the counter.
Another beep came from inside it.
Then faster.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“The tracker is making noise.”
His voice changed instantly.
“Move away from it.”
Maya stepped backward.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Leave the apartment.”
“You just told me not to go anywhere.”
“Plans changed. Take nothing except your phone and keys.”
The beeping stopped.
Maya stared at the tin.
Silence.
Then her apartment lights went out.
Everything went black.
“Maya?” Daniel’s voice came through the phone. “Maya, answer me.”
“I’m here.”
“Get into the corridor now.”
A heavy sound came from the other side of her apartment door.
Not a knock.
Something touched the handle.
Maya stopped breathing.
The handle moved once.
Slowly.
Someone was trying it.
Daniel heard her silence. “What’s happening?”
Maya whispered, “Someone’s outside.”
The handle moved again.
Then a man’s voice came through the door.
“Maya Carter?”
Not Daniel.
Not anyone she knew.
“Building security,” the man said. “We have an electrical fault. I need you to open the door.”
Maya looked at the dead lights.
Daniel’s voice came urgently through her phone. “Do not open it.”
The man outside knocked.
Three times.
“Maya? We need to evacuate this floor.”
Daniel said, “Go to the balcony.”
“What?”
“Now.”
“The balcony?”
“Fire escape on the adjoining building. I’m downstairs.”
Maya moved through the dark apartment.
Behind her, the stranger knocked harder.
“Maya, open the door.”
She reached the balcony.
Unlocked it.
Cold rain hit her face.
Nine floors below, headlights filled the street.
Daniel’s voice came through the phone.
“Look down.”
Maya did.
A dark sedan had stopped beside the entrance.
Daniel stood outside it, looking up toward her balcony with his phone pressed to his ear.
For one second, relief hit her.
Then movement inside Daniel’s car caught her eye.
Someone sat in the passenger seat.
A woman.
Light hair.
Pale face.
Maya recognised her from Victor’s photograph.
Sophie Hale.
Victor’s daughter was sitting inside Detective Daniel Reid’s car.
Daniel had said nothing about her.
Nothing.
Behind Maya, the apartment door shuddered beneath a heavy impact.
Daniel looked up.
“Maya, whatever you do, don’t go back inside.”
Maya stared down at Sophie.
Sophie lifted her head.
Their eyes met across nine floors.
Then Sophie raised one finger to her lips.
A warning.
Be quiet.
And with her other hand, hidden from Daniel’s view, she held up a piece of white paper against the passenger window.
Three handwritten words covered it.
HE KILLED VICTOR.