In the hallway, Diana said she would file an emergency motion and ask for review by another judge. Marcus was furious, but she reminded him that the improper bond decision was now a matter of record. A dramatic demand would not open the cell door. A properly supported motion, the neighborhood videos, and scrutiny of the underlying allegations might.
Holt passed them on his way out, looking pleased. He glanced at Marcus and said, "Maybe next time your wife will learn not to interfere with police work."
Marcus kept his hands at his sides. He thought of Angela's warning about making the fight about his pride. "Next time," he replied, "I hope the officer doing the work has a better reason for it."
He waited until Holt was out of earshot before calling Jack Morrison. "I need you to look at Vision Heights now," he said.
"They arrested my wife, and the court just set a bond that makes no sense. Mrs. Carter has letters. The neighbors have video. But we need the connection."
Jack was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Bring me what you have, and I'll tell you what I can verify. We'll start with the property records. We can follow a paper trail without inventing one."
Jack's office occupied the third floor of an aging newspaper building that still smelled faintly of printing ink. Half its desks were empty, evidence of the layoffs that had left the Metro Daily with fewer reporters than a city its size deserved. The remaining people worked under a low ceiling and fluorescent fixtures that made every late afternoon look like winter. Marcus had expected a room full of detectives and screens. He found a reporter eating vending-machine crackers while arguing with a public records portal that had frozen again.
Jack was in his late forties, sharp-eyed and careful with his language. He introduced Marcus to Daniel Reeves, a former county planning analyst who now worked as a data reporter and freelance records researcher. Daniel had spent the previous month mapping Vision Heights purchases after a resident complained that several neighbors had sold immediately after receiving repeated municipal citations. He had not been able to prove wrongdoing. What he had found was enough to make him uncomfortable.
They spread maps and sale records across a long conference table. Colored marks showed thirty-six homes acquired in eighteen months through companies with different names but overlapping officers and mailing addresses. The purchases formed clusters around proposed redevelopment corridors. In several clusters, sale prices were far below comparable homes sold before code inspections and police contacts increased.
"Below-market sales aren't crimes," Daniel said. "Some people want a quick closing. Some houses really do need repairs. The question is whether someone created the pressure that made those people sell cheaply."
He showed Marcus a timeline from a neighborhood south of the river. A retired couple had received eight citations within two months, then sold to a company affiliated with Vision Heights. Two weeks later, the citations against the property had been withdrawn or closed without the repairs that inspectors had previously demanded. Another homeowner had complained of nightly traffic stops before selling. The records did not explain why. They made the same question appear in more than one place.