Page 38 of Guess Again

Milwaukee, Wisconsin Sunday, July 27, 2025

ETHAN DROVE INTO THE ABANDONED SECTION OF THE MENOMONEE River Valley in the heart of Milwaukee, crossed the freight tracks like he had last time, and sped down the decrepit road, his Jeep Wrangler bouncing through the potholes until he found Warehouse #9.

He grabbed a flashlight from the middle console and retrieved his Beretta from the glove compartment, which he tucked into his waistband as he approached the warehouse door.

He turned the knob and pushed it open.

The squeaky hinges echoed into the empty space as the warehouse breathed hot air through the doorway that put an immediate glaze of sweat on Ethan’s face and neck.

He walked into the dark space, shined his flashlight around to make sure it was empty, and then turned his attention to the southeast corner where he saw a loft high in the rafters.

He hurried over, looking up at the landing twenty feet above him.

A ladder hung down from a metal grate, the bottom rung at Ethan’s eye level.

He pulled on the ladder to test its strength, and when he was convinced that the old, rickety thing would support his two-hundred-pound frame, he pulled himself up and climbed the rungs to the loft above.

When he made it up to the landing of the loft, he shined his flashlight around to see a metal footlocker set in the corner.

He climbed the rest of the way onto the jetty and crawled to the box.

He examined it for signs of a booby-trap or any other indication that opening the top would bring him bodily harm—something he’d never put past Francis Bernard.

Finally, Ethan lifted the lid and shined his light inside.

He saw two items resting at the bottom of the footlocker.

The first was an 8x10 photo.

Ethan squinted in the darkness.

The photo was of a young woman standing in a room and handcuffed to a door.

She was holding a copy of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, the front page of which held yesterday’s date.

Ethan examined the photo for another moment before retrieving the second item from the footlocker.

It was a copy of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, opened to an article covering the details of a local Milwaukee woman who had gone missing weeks earlier in June.

Her name was Portia Vail.

Ethan looked back at the 8×10 and knew he was looking at the missing woman.

And that somehow, from the confines of solitary confinement at a maximum-security prison, Francis Bernard was responsible for her abduction.

When Ethan lifted the article to read the details, an index card fell from the pages of the newspaper.

It slipped through the metal grating and floated to the warehouse floor below.

With the photo of the missing woman in hand, Ethan scampered down the ladder, jumped the final few feet, and landed hard.

He found the index card and shined his light onto it to read the message written in steady block lettering.

Hurry, Special Agent Hall.

Callie Jones is dead and buried, but the clock is tic tic ticking on this one . . .