Not dramatically.
Professionally.
“Are you safe?”
I touched the towel June had pressed into my hand.
“No.”
Another silence.
“What happened?”
I told him.
Not everything.
Just enough.
When I finished, Daniel Mercer said four words.
“Do not leave there.”
Wade laughed from across the diner.
“You hear that, everybody? Walter’s calling in the cavalry.”
I kept the phone to my ear.
Mercer continued.
“Is Hollister still present?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That word caught my attention.
Good.
Not unfortunately.
Not stay away from him.
Good.
“Daniel?”
“Walter, listen carefully. Do not confront him. Do not warn him. Do not let anyone remove anything from that building.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
Then toward Wade.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll explain when I arrive.”
The call ended.
Fourteen minutes later, the three black SUVs appeared.
And that was when Sheriff Wade Hollister’s smile finally began to disappear.
Special Agent Daniel Mercer entered Ruby Lane Diner with two men behind him.
He looked older than I remembered.
More gray at the temples.
More weight in his face.
The same eyes.
Daniel had served with my son, Michael, in the Navy before joining federal investigations.
Michael had been dead for nine years.
Daniel still called every Memorial Day.
That was why I had his number.
At least, that was what I believed then.
Mercer stopped beside me.
“Mr. Grady?”
I nodded.
He offered his hand.
“Special Agent Daniel Mercer.”
Then, loudly enough for the room to hear:
“Federal Naval Investigative Service.”
Wade stood.
“Federal what?”
Mercer looked toward him.
“Which one of you is Sheriff Wade Hollister?”
“You know damn well who I am.”
Mercer’s expression did not move.
“That wasn’t my question.”
Something almost invisible happened then.
People began looking at Wade.
Not away from him.
At him.
It was the smallest rebellion imaginable.
But Wade felt it.
He straightened.
“You’re in my county.”
Mercer nodded.
“I noticed.”
“You got a warrant?”
“For what?”
Wade hesitated.
Mercer took one step closer.
“Interesting question to ask before I’ve told you why I’m here.”
Boone looked at Pike.
Pike looked toward the door.
Wade recovered quickly.
“I’m sheriff. Federal people walk into my town acting mysterious, I ask questions.”
“And I answer the ones relevant to you.”
Mercer turned toward me.
“Walter, who assaulted you?”
Wade laughed.
“Assaulted? He fell.”
The diner remained silent.
Mercer looked at June.
“Ma’am?”
June swallowed.
Her hands were still shaking.
For twenty years, she had watched Wade control the room.
Then she looked at me.
Something hardened in her face.
“He didn’t fall.”
Wade’s jaw tightened.
June continued.
“Sheriff Hollister pulled him out of the booth.”
Nobody breathed.
Mercer nodded once.
“Anyone else see that?”
For several seconds, no one moved.
Then a truck driver at the counter raised his hand.
“I did.”
An elderly rancher followed.
“Me too.”
Then a woman near the window.
“He threw him down.”
Wade stared around the room.
“You people better think carefully.”
That sentence ended him.
Not legally.
Not yet.
But something more important broke.
Because everyone heard it.
Daniel Mercer heard it.
His agents heard it.
June heard it.
The truck driver heard it.
And for the first time, Wade’s intimidation happened in front of men he could not intimidate.
Mercer turned to one of the agents.
“Record the names of every witness.”
Wade stepped forward.
“This is ridiculous.”
Mercer faced him.
“Sheriff, take one more step toward a witness and I will interpret it as interference.”
Wade stopped.
Boone whispered, “Sheriff.”
“Shut up.”
Mercer’s eyes moved toward Boone.
“Deputy, did you witness the incident?”
Boone went pale.
Wade answered for him.
“No.”
Mercer continued staring at Boone.
“I asked the deputy.”
Boone’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Pike looked sick.
That was when a fourth vehicle pulled into the parking lot.
White sedan.
County plates.
District Attorney Samuel Rusk climbed out.
Wade visibly relaxed.
That should have warned me.
Rusk had been district attorney for sixteen years.
He and Wade hunted together.
Their wives chaired charity dinners together.
Their children had gone to the same private college.
If Wade was a fist, Rusk was the glove that made the punch look respectable.
He came through the door already angry.
“What the hell is going on?”
Wade smiled again.
“Sam.”
Mercer looked from one man to the other.
Rusk flashed his credentials.
“District Attorney Samuel Rusk. This sheriff is acting within local jurisdiction, and unless you have a federal warrant, you need to stop disrupting this business.”
Mercer smiled for the first time.
It was not a pleasant smile.
“Mr. Rusk, your arrival is remarkably convenient.”
“I was called.”
“By whom?”
Rusk glanced at Wade.
Too quickly.
Mercer noticed.
So did I.
Rusk changed direction.
“What agency did you say?”
“Federal Naval Investigative Service.”
“This is not a naval facility.”
“No.”
“There’s no naval installation within eighty miles.”
“Correct.”
Rusk spread his hands.
“Then what possible jurisdiction—”
Mercer interrupted.
“Walter Grady’s son was Commander Michael Grady.”
The room became still again.
Rusk’s face changed.
Not much.
But enough.
I saw it.
So did Mercer.
Wade did not.
He looked irritated.
“What does his dead son have to do with any of this?”
Daniel Mercer turned slowly toward him.
“That is what I came here to find out.”