“Elias, listen carefully. We believe Keller knows someone is talking. Wherever you are, leave.”
Mercer held out his hand for the phone.
I ignored him.
“Who’s talking?”
Daniel paused.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
“Do you trust Mercer?”
Another silence.
Then Daniel said, “No.”
I ended the call.
Mercer stared at me.
I said, “Neither do I.”
“Good.”
That surprised me.
He moved toward the cabinet.
“You shouldn’t trust anyone yet.”
“Including Daniel?”
“Especially Daniel.”
I took one step toward him.
“Careful.”
“You came here because you recognized the phrase.”
“Yes.”
“Sam recognized it too.”
“From where?”
Mercer removed another folder.
Inside was a transcript.
Twenty-three years old.
A witness statement from a truck driver named Franklin Cobb.
The driver claimed two officers had stolen cash and illegal pills from his vehicle.
Before leaving, one officer said:
CONSIDER THE THEFT FORGOTTEN.
At the bottom of the transcript was the interviewing investigator’s name.
Daniel Ross.
I read it twice.
“Daniel interviewed hundreds of witnesses.”
“Yes.”
“That proves nothing.”
“No.”
Mercer turned the page.
The next document was dated three months later.
A complaint from another county.
Same phrase.
Interviewing investigator:
Daniel Ross.
Next.
Another victim.
Same phrase.
Daniel Ross.
I felt anger rising.
“That still doesn’t mean—”
“Look at the dates.”
I did.
Each complaint had been filed before Sam’s death.
Each disappeared from the final corruption file.
“Where did you get these?”
“County archives. Copies. Microfilm. Records people forgot existed.”
“You’re saying Daniel removed them?”
“I’m saying somebody did.”
My voice lowered.
“And the account?”
Mercer tapped the eight-digit number.
“Six years ago, I finally traced the institution after a merger exposed old routing records.”
“To who?”
“A shell company.”
“Owned by?”
“Another shell company.”
“Adrian.”
He looked at me.
“The controlling trustee was Daniel Ross’s father.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Daniel’s father died forty years ago.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Unless someone used a dead man’s identity.”
I backed away.
For thirty-four years, Daniel had been there.
When Sam died.
When Rebecca got cancer.
When I retired.
At Claire’s graduation.
At my grandson’s baptism.
At Rebecca’s funeral.
A thousand memories rose at once to defend him.
“That isn’t proof.”
“No,” Mercer said. “It’s why I waited.”
“For twenty-three years?”
“I waited because every time I got close, somebody disappeared, retired, transferred, or died.”
He looked toward Sam’s file.
“I have spent half my life trying to find evidence strong enough that the wrong man couldn’t bury it.”
Before I could answer, a loud crack sounded from the outer hallway.
Then shouting.
Mercer moved instantly.
“Down.”
Another crack.
Not a gunshot.
Breaking glass.
A receptionist screamed.
Mercer opened a desk drawer and pulled out his service pistol.
I hated how familiar the sight made me feel.
“Stay here.”
“I’m not one of your civilians.”
“You are now.”
He moved toward the door.
Then the fire alarm began.
Strobes flashed red.
Smoke rolled beneath the office door.
Mercer cursed.
“That’s not an accident.”
We stepped into the hall.
A trash container near reception was burning violently.
Employees were evacuating.
Sprinklers activated.
Water crashed from the ceiling.
Through the glass entrance doors, I saw a gray SUV accelerating from the parking lot.
“Keller?” I shouted.
Mercer looked.
“Yeah.”
Then he ran.
I followed.
The SUV disappeared onto the street.
Mercer stopped beneath the rain.
“What was he doing here?”
I looked toward his office.
The answer hit us together.
“The files.”
We ran back inside.
Smoke.
Water.
Chaos.
Mercer’s office door stood open.
The cabinet had been emptied.
Sam’s file was gone.
So were the bank records.
Everything.
Except one page lying soaked beneath the desk.
WATCH THE FRIEND.
Daniel arrived twenty-seven minutes later.
He came furious.
Not concerned.
Furious.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted at Mercer.
Mercer stood dripping wet in the hallway.
“I wasn’t the one who set my building on fire.”
Daniel looked at me.
“You.”
“Good afternoon.”
“I told you to stay away.”
“Yes.”
“This is not a game.”
“I agree.”
“Then start acting like it.”
Mercer laughed.
Daniel turned.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
Mercer stepped closer.
“Just interesting how quickly Keller knew which office to search.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you suggesting?”
“I didn’t suggest anything.”
I watched them.
Two men who had supposedly spent twenty-three years on opposite sides of a buried case.
Daniel had authority.
Mercer had fear.
But only one of them looked surprised that Keller had come for the files.
It was Daniel.
Or he performed surprise better.
Mara Bennett entered carrying a plastic evidence bag.
“Chief.”
Inside was a black object.
A small remote ignition device.
“Found behind the reception desk.”
Daniel swore.
“Prints?”
“Probably none.”
“Cameras?”
Mercer laughed again.
Daniel snapped, “What?”
“Exterior cameras went offline seven minutes before Keller arrived.”
Daniel’s face became still.
“Inside access?”
“Has to be.”
Daniel turned toward Mara.
“Lock this building down. Nobody leaves until state investigators clear them.”
Mara nodded.
Then she looked at me.
Just for a second.
There was something in her eyes.
A warning.
That evening, she found me alone near the parking lot.
“Mr. Vance.”
“Elias.”
She glanced around.
“Not here.”
We walked behind the building.
Rainwater dripped from the gutters.
Mara kept her voice low.
“Daniel ordered me to take your phone.”
I looked at her.
“Did he?”
“He said it might contain relevant communications.”
“Reasonable.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he specifically asked whether Mercer had sent you anything.”