The words blurred.
"Why do you have it?"
Kincaid reached inside the folder.
Another document appeared.
This one was handwritten.
Daniel's handwriting.
Messy.
Slanted.
Familiar.
He had written my name once in the margin of a map exactly like that when we were twenty.
My hands began to shake.
Kincaid said softly, "He mailed this to me three weeks before he died."
I unfolded it.
Bob,
I'm tired of fighting people who believe a uniform means they don't have to listen. I don't want Hank dragged into this. He has carried enough for one lifetime.
But if this happens to somebody else, don't let them tell you it was just a misunderstanding.
It wasn't.
Mercer knew my paperwork was valid.
He simply didn't care.
The worst part wasn't losing the car.
It was realizing he enjoyed making me prove I deserved the space.
I read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
The final line was almost illegible.
If my boy ever becomes the kind of man who treats people this way, somebody needs to stop him too.
My eyes lifted.
"Kincaid."
He nodded slowly.
"Daniel knew Tyler wanted to become a police officer."
I stared at the paper.
"He wrote that?"
"Yes."
"Before Tyler even joined?"
"Yes."
A knock came at the door.
Ortiz opened it.
One of her agents whispered something.
Her expression sharpened.
"What?"
She stepped into the hallway.
Kincaid and I sat in silence.
Finally I whispered, "Daniel's son."
"Yes."
"And he just did the same thing to me that Mercer did to Daniel."
"Almost exactly."
I felt something I had no name for.
Anger.
Grief.
Disbelief.
A terrible symmetry.
As though history had waited seventeen years to repeat itself in the cruelest way possible.
I looked at Daniel's letter.
If my boy ever becomes the kind of man who treats people this way, somebody needs to stop him too.
Ortiz returned.
"There's more."
I almost laughed.
"Of course there is."
She placed a tablet on the table.
"We just received preliminary data from Desert Valley Recovery."
"That fast?"
"They're cooperating."
"Why?"
"Earl Dawson called the owner from the parking lot."
I smiled despite myself.
"Earl."
"He told them federal agents were on-site and advised them not to delete anything."
"What did they find?"
Ortiz tapped the screen.
A spreadsheet appeared.
Tow dates.
Vehicle numbers.
Officer names.
Referral codes.
Payments.
My eyes moved down the list.
Tyler Griggs appeared repeatedly.
So did Mercer.
Beside several rows were initials.
PM.
TG.
Then dollar amounts.
Kincaid leaned closer.
"Kickbacks?"
"Possibly."
My stomach sank.
Daniel's son wasn't merely repeating the cruelty.
He might have been profiting from it.
Ortiz swiped to another page.
"But that's not the part I wanted you to see."
She enlarged an old scanned line.
April 17, 2008.
Daniel Griggs.
Tow authorization.
Referring officer:
P. Mercer.
Beside it was a handwritten notation.
FEE WAIVED BY T. GRIGGS.
I stared.
"What does that mean?"
Ortiz shook her head.
"I don't know."
Kincaid's face changed.
"Tyler would've been seventeen."
"Exactly."
A strange silence filled the room.
I looked at Daniel's complaint.
Then the towing record.
Then at Kincaid.
"You're telling me Tyler was there?"
"We don't know."
Ortiz's phone buzzed.
She looked down.
Then at us.
"We're about to."
Tyler Griggs was sitting in another conference room when I entered.
He had removed his sunglasses.
Without them, he looked younger.
And far less certain.
Captain Mercer was gone.
Ortiz had separated them.
Tyler's badge and service weapon had been temporarily secured while the investigation proceeded.
He sat with both hands on the table.
When he saw me, his jaw tightened.
"What is he doing here?"
Ortiz said, "Mr. Delaney asked to speak with you."
"I didn't."
"No," I said. "I asked."
His eyes moved to Kincaid.
Then back to me.
"What do you want?"
I set Daniel's letter on the table.
Tyler froze.
No confusion.
Recognition.
That told me everything.
"You know that handwriting."
His face drained.
"Where did you get that?"
"Kincaid."
Tyler looked at him.
"Who are you?"
Robert answered quietly.
"Your father's friend."
Tyler's lips parted.
I sat across from him.
"I was too."
He stared.
I reached into my wallet.
Behind my driver's license, I kept an old photograph.
I'd carried it so many years the edges had turned soft.
I slid it across the table.
Three Marines sat on ammunition crates beneath a canvas awning.
Kincaid.
Me.
Daniel Griggs.
Tyler stared at his father.
His whole face changed.
Not much.
Just enough to reveal the child inside the uniform.
"I've never seen this."
I pointed.
"That's your dad."
"I know."
"That was taken about four hours before he saved my life."
Tyler looked up.
"What?"
"A mortar round landed behind our position. I caught metal through the side. Couldn't stand. Your father crossed open ground to reach me."
I tapped the photograph.
"He dragged me nearly forty yards."
Tyler said nothing.
"Then he went back for another Marine."
His eyes fell to the photograph.
I continued.
"He was the bravest man I ever knew."
Tyler swallowed.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because this morning you looked at me and decided I was nothing."
His face hardened defensively.
"I made a mistake."
"No."
He looked up.
"You made decisions."
He flinched.
I put Daniel's complaint beside the photograph.
"Your father came here in 2008."
Tyler stopped breathing.
"You know that."
He didn't answer.
"Mercer had his car towed."
Tyler's eyes moved toward Ortiz.
She remained near the wall.
I leaned closer.
"Your father's walker was inside."