Perhaps to intimidate him.
Perhaps to delay him.
Or perhaps for something much worse.
The cuffs had been an abuse of power.
But they might also have been part of a larger plan.
And that possibility changed everything.
By midnight, the Bellmont Police Department was surrounded.
Not by protesters.
Not by reporters.
By federal agents.
Unmarked vehicles filled the parking lot.
Agents moved through the building with sealed warrants.
Computers were being secured.
Evidence rooms were locked.
Phones were collected.
The atmosphere had changed completely.
Officer Dalton sat alone in a small interview room.
No uniform.
No weapon.
No badge.
He looked exhausted.
Judge Reed entered.
Dalton looked up.
"You came back."
Reed pulled out a chair.
"I did."
"Why?"
"Because I want to ask you one question."
Dalton looked away.
"What?"
"Who called you?"
Dalton's jaw tightened.
"I told them I don't remember."
"I don't believe you."
Dalton stared at him.
"You think I planned all this?"
"No."
That answer surprised him.
Reed continued.
"I think you made a mistake."
Dalton swallowed.
"But I also think someone took advantage of your mistake."
Silence.
Reed leaned forward.
"Who contacted you?"
Dalton looked toward the camera.
"Is this being recorded?"
"No."
"How do I know?"
"You don't."
Dalton laughed bitterly.
"That's the problem."
Reed waited.
Finally Dalton spoke.
"Someone called the patrol car."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Male or female?"
"Male."
"What did he say?"
Dalton rubbed his face.
"He said there was a suspicious man near the municipal building."
"Description?"
"Dark suit. Gray hair."
Reed nodded.
"What else?"
"He said the man might be carrying confidential documents."
"Did he give you my name?"
"No."
"Did he tell you to arrest me?"
Dalton hesitated.
"No."
"What did he say?"
Dalton looked at him.
"He said to make sure the man didn't leave."
Reed's expression hardened.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Did you contact dispatch?"
"Yes."
"Did dispatch have a record of the call?"
"Probably."
Reed stood.
"That's enough."
Dalton looked up.
"Judge?"
Reed stopped.
"I didn't know who you were."
"I know."
"I wouldn't have done this if I'd known."
Reed looked at him.
"That's precisely why you need to understand what happened."
Dalton said nothing.
Reed walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he turned.
"Authority doesn't become dangerous only when someone knows who they're dealing with."
Then he left.
Outside, Marcus Hale was waiting.
"Anything?"
Reed shook his head.
"Not yet."
Hale handed him a file.
"Dispatch records."
Reed opened it.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then stopped.
"There."
Hale leaned closer.
"What?"
"The call didn't come from the public."
"Then where?"
Reed pointed to the number.
"An internal line."
Hale's face changed.
"Police station?"
"Yes."
Mercer joined them.
"Who has access?"
Hale stared at the number.
"Command staff."
Reed looked at him.
"How many?"
"Six."
Mercer frowned.
"Can you narrow it down?"
Hale nodded.
"We can check the internal routing."
They walked into the operations room.
An analyst pulled up the call logs.
Five minutes later, the name appeared.
Everyone became silent.
The call had originated from a secure administrative office.
The office belonged to Sergeant Victor Cole.
Reed stared at the screen.
Hale whispered:
"That's impossible."
Mercer shook his head.
"No."
He looked toward the interrogation corridor.
"It's exactly what we were afraid of."
Cole had not merely supervised the arrest.
He had apparently initiated it.
But why?
The answer came moments later.
Federal agents found a hidden storage drive inside Cole's office.
It contained copies of confidential evidence reports.
Financial records.
Witness statements.
Photographs.
And a list of names.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Jonathan Reed.
Another name appeared beside it.
Marcus Hale.
And beneath both names was a handwritten note:
Delay them until Friday.
Hale stared at it.
"What happens Friday?"
Reed's expression became grim.