Chapter 3 - THE TICKING CLOCK
By 2:00 AM, the Miller residence was swarming with forensic investigators, floodlights illuminating the backyard and the guesthouse in a harsh, theatrical glare.
Inside the main house, Dr. Naomi Grant had arrived via police escort to examine Laura. The shock and trauma had triggered early contractions, and Laura sat on her living room sofa with an IV line taped to her arm, breathing heavily while a paramedic monitored her blood pressure.
Elena sat in the kitchen with Sergeant Mara Ellis, laying out a map of Westbridge County on the oak dining table.
"Daniel’s phone pinged off a tower near the Blackwood Creek Bridge at 11:45 PM," Mara reported, pointing a pen at a dense, wooded area six miles north of the house. "That was thirty minutes before Noah walked into the station with the baby."
"He had thirty minutes to dispose of a bleeding woman and get back into his bed before Laura woke up," Elena calculated, her mind racing through the timeline. "Dr. Grant said Mia suffered a severe placental tear during the birth based on the blood found in the guesthouse. Without emergency surgery, she has less than three hours before she bleeds out."
"We searched his truck," Mara added, her voice heavy. "The blood on the tailgate matches the baby's DNA profile. We found a shovel in the truck bed... but it was dry. No dirt."
Elena stood up, pacing toward the kitchen window that looked out over the lit-up guesthouse. "He didn't bury her. He didn't have time. He left her somewhere where he thought she wouldn't be found before morning."
She walked back into the living room, stopping beside Laura’s sofa. Laura looked up, her face pale, her blue eyes hollowed out by grief.
"Laura," Elena said softly, kneeling beside her. "I need you to think. Does Daniel own any property near Blackwood Creek? A cabin? A storage unit? A family member's home?"
Laura swallowed hard, shaking her head weakly. "No... nothing like that. His family lives in Ohio."
"Think, Laura," Elena urged gently. "Did he ever mention going hunting? Fishing? Any place he went alone on weekends?"
Laura’s eyes suddenly widened. She gripped the edge of the sofa cushion so hard her knuckles turned white.
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"The old lumber mill," Laura whispered, her breath catching. "His father used to own a share in the abandoned Westbridge Sawmill off Route 9. Daniel went there last month... he said he was checking the property lines for a potential sale."
Elena snapped her head toward Mara. "Route 9 runs right past Blackwood Creek. Get the K-9 unit and three patrol vehicles. Now!"
