“I know lots of people.”
“You said you didn’t.”
“Memory improves under pressure.”
Mercer gestured for me to keep him talking.
I asked:
“Why did you call?”
“Because I’m giving you one chance.”
“To do what?”
“Take your old-man pride, pack a suitcase, and leave Oak Hollow.”
I looked at Mercer.
He nodded.
“Why?”
Wade’s voice became quieter.
“Because there are things happening here you don’t understand.”
“My son understood.”
Another silence.
Then Wade said something I did not expect.
“Your son understood too late.”
Mercer leaned toward the phone.
I asked:
“What does that mean?”
“It means Michael thought he knew who the monster was.”
“You.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“He thought it was me.”
Wade breathed out.
“I almost wish it had been.”
The line went dead.
Mercer stared at the telephone.
I asked:
“You believe him?”
“No.”
But he did not sound certain.
That frightened me more than anything Wade had said.
The next morning, Oak Hollow woke up angry.
Not courageous.
Not yet.
Angry.
Photographs of my bloodied face had spread through town.
Somebody posted video from the diner.
Not the hidden camera.
A customer’s phone.
Wade could be seen pulling me from the booth.
The clip ended before federal agents arrived.
By breakfast, people had watched it thousands of times.
By nine, local television vans lined Main Street.
By ten, the state attorney general announced a review.
By eleven, Sheriff Wade Hollister held a press conference.
He stood on the courthouse steps flanked by Deputies Boone and Pike.
Rusk was absent.
Wade claimed I had “acted aggressively.”
He said my fall was “unfortunate.”
He called the federal investigation “politically motivated.”
Then he looked directly into the cameras.
“I have served Oak Hollow with integrity for thirty-one years.”
I was watching from Mercer’s temporary command room inside a federal building forty miles away.
June sat beside me.
She snorted.
“Integrity.”
Mercer ignored the television.
He had been awake all night analyzing Michael’s files.
At 11:17, an analyst found the first major break.
A spreadsheet contained coded payments.
Initials.
Dates.
Amounts.
W.H.
S.R.
E.B.
T.P.
Wade Hollister.
Samuel Rusk.
Earl Boone.
Travis Pike.
No surprises.
Then another set of initials appeared repeatedly.
D.M.
The room became silent.
I looked at Mercer.
His name was Daniel Mercer.
One analyst said quietly:
“Sir.”
Mercer did not move.
The payments to D.M. totaled $486,000 over twelve years.
June stared at him.
I stood.
Mercer raised one hand.
“Walter.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know.”
“Those are your initials.”
“I know what my initials are.”
One of the agents moved subtly toward the door.
Mercer noticed.
“Do not.”
The room tightened.
I felt older suddenly.
More tired.
I thought about Michael’s funeral.
Daniel standing beside me.
Daniel calling every Memorial Day.
Daniel arriving at Ruby Lane.
Daniel knowing exactly when to appear.
“Were you the leak?”
His face went white.
“No.”
“Did my son suspect you?”
“Yes.”
The answer hit harder than a denial.
Mercer continued.
“I knew he had concerns. I didn’t know how deep.”
“Did you take money?”
“No.”
“Then who is D.M.?”
“I don’t know.”
An analyst looked up.
“Sir, there’s more.”
A property deed appeared on the screen.
A warehouse outside Tulsa had been purchased through a shell corporation.
Its registered manager:
Diane Mercer.
Daniel’s wife.
Nobody spoke.
Daniel closed his eyes.
I whispered:
“Your wife?”
He opened them.
“Diane has been dead for six years.”
“How?”
“Cancer.”
The analyst continued.
“The corporation was formed thirteen years ago.”
While Michael was alive.
While Daniel was investigating.
Mercer sat down.
He looked suddenly like a man watching his entire past rearrange itself.
“I never knew.”
One of his agents asked:
“Sir, where did your wife work?”
Daniel answered slowly.
“Department of Defense auditing.”
Nobody breathed.
The analyst typed.
A personnel file appeared.
Diane Mercer had audited logistics contracts.
Including Blackridge Industrial.
The same network Michael uncovered.
I stared at Daniel.
“Your wife was involved?”
His eyes stayed on the screen.
“I don’t know.”
Then the door opened.
Two federal internal affairs agents entered.
Daniel looked at them.
The older one held out his credentials.
“Special Agent Mercer, step away from the computer.”
June whispered, “Oh Lord.”
The agent continued:
“You are being temporarily relieved pending investigation into financial ties connected to this case.”
Daniel stood.
He did not resist.
He removed his weapon.
His badge.
Placed both on the table.
Then he looked at me.
“Walter, listen to me.”
The internal affairs agent moved between us.
“That’s enough.”
Daniel raised his voice.
“Michael’s card is the key.”
They took his arms.
“Daniel!”
He looked back.
“Do not trust the initials.”
Then they led him away.
And for the second time in two days, everything I thought I understood collapsed.
Wade disappeared that afternoon.
His cruiser was found near Blackridge Pass.
Empty.
Driver’s door open.
Blood on the steering wheel.
No body.
The town exploded with theories.
Some believed he had run.
Some believed federal agents had taken him.
Some said he had been killed by his own partners.