Page 14 of Outside the Room
"Let's see what was worth destroying," he said, moving to examine their prize.
As they prepared to open the container, Isla felt a surge of satisfaction mixed with anticipation. Whatever secrets the Northern Star held, they were about to uncover them—and hopefully find the evidence that would finally bring justice for Marcus Whitman.
CHAPTER SIX
The Coast Guard cutter sliced through increasingly rough waters as they returned to Duluth with the Northern Star secured alongside, a skeleton crew piloting the fishing vessel. The storm had intensified during their operation, visibility dropping to near zero as heavy snow squalls enveloped both vessels.
In the Maple's cramped but warm galley, Isla and Sullivan examined the container they'd prevented Bradley's crew from jettisoning. Approximately two feet long and sealed with waterproof clasps, it bore no markings or identification.
"Do we open it here?" Isla asked, studying the container for any signs of tampering or booby traps—a habit from her Miami days dealing with drug cartels.
Sullivan considered the question. "Ordinarily, I'd wait for the evidence team, but given the circumstances..." He glanced meaningfully toward the room where Bradley and his crew were being held. "I don't want any surprises when we get to shore."
Isla nodded her agreement. Whatever was in the container had been worth killing for. They needed to know what they were dealing with.
With careful precision, Sullivan released the clasps and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in waterproof padding, were several small packages wrapped in vacuum-sealed plastic. The contents appeared to be white crystalline powder.
"Drugs?" Isla suggested though something didn't fit. "Seems small-scale for such a risky murder, but I’ve seen people kill each other for much less.”
Sullivan shook his head. "Not drugs. At least, not the recreational kind." He pointed to tiny markings on the packages. "These are pharmaceutical identifiers. My guess? Experimental medications or controlled prescription drugs from Canada. The markup on certain medications between Canadian and U.S. markets can make this more profitable than cocaine."
Isla examined the packages more closely, noting the professional packaging and precision of the operation. "This would align with Bradley's previous conviction for prescription drug smuggling."
"But it doesn't explain why Whitman ended up dead in a shipping container," Sullivan added, closing the case carefully. "This is a customs violation, absolutely. But murder does seem excessively reckless here.”
"Unless there's more to it than what we're seeing," Isla mused. She turned to the Coast Guard officer who'd been observing their examination. "We need to search the entire vessel as soon as we dock."
"Already arranged," the officer confirmed. "We'll have a full team ready."
Sullivan's phone buzzed—impressive considering their location, far from normal cell towers. He checked it, his expression darkening. "They found something at Whitman's residence. Multiple phones and external hard drives hidden in one of his model ships. Tech team is extracting data now."
"Hidden devices?" Isla frowned. "That suggests he didn't trust regular channels. He was building a case outside official pathways."
"Which means he suspected someone inside the system," Sullivan concluded, meeting her eyes with newfound intensity. "Someone with access and authority."
The implication hung between them: Whitman's murder wasn't just about smuggled pharmaceuticals. It was about betrayal within the ranks of the port authority itself.
Before they could discuss further, the ship's intercom crackled to life. "All hands prepare for docking procedures. Law enforcement personnel report to the bridge."
They secured the evidence container and made their way through the narrow corridors to the bridge, where Captain Reynolds was coordinating their approach to Duluth harbor through the storm. The city's lights were barely visible through the blizzard conditions, appearing and disappearing like distant stars as snow squalls moved across the harbor.
"We'll dock at the secure Coast Guard facility," Reynolds informed them. "Local PD and FBI evidence response teams are standing by."
Sullivan nodded. "We'll need to transport the prisoners separately. I don't want Bradley anywhere near the evidence until we've processed everything."
As they prepared for docking, Isla moved to a quieter corner of the bridge and called Special Agent in Charge Channing to update her on their progress. The connection was spotty, but she managed to convey the essentials: Bradley apprehended, smuggled pharmaceuticals recovered, and potential evidence of inside involvement.
"Good work, Rivers," Channing's voice crackled through the static. "Especially the boarding. Sullivan said it was your quick action that prevented evidence from being lost."
Isla glanced toward her partner, surprised that he'd credited her so specifically. Sullivan was focused on the harbor approach, giving no indication he was aware of her attention. Perhaps there was more complexity to the man than his stoic exterior suggested.
"What about Whitman's hidden devices?" Isla asked, returning to the case.
"Initial examination shows encrypted files," Channing replied. "Tech team is working on it, but Whitman was thorough. Whatever he was hiding, he didn't want it found easily."
The connection deteriorated further as they entered the harbor proper, the interference too great to continue the conversation. Isla ended the call, her mind already organizing the next steps of the investigation: processing Bradley and his crew, analyzing the smuggled pharmaceuticals, and decrypting Whitman's hidden files.
As the vessels docked at the Coast Guard facility, a convoy of law enforcement vehicles was visible through the swirling snow, their emergency lights creating eerie patterns in the white-out conditions. The coordinated response impressed Isla—Duluth's agencies clearly worked together with an efficiency that rivaled larger cities.
