Chương 8
“You two always talk like this?”
“Yes,” Marcus said.
“No,” I said.
He glanced at me.
“See?”
The man came out carrying a gray plastic storage tote.
The lid was secured with two strips of duct tape.
My mother inhaled sharply.
“Frank used those.”
I looked at her.
“Those what?”
“Same bins.”
“That proves nothing.”
“I know what my husband bought.”
Harper opened the rear door of the blue pickup.
The man put the tote inside.
That ended the argument about waiting.
I took out my phone.
Marcus caught my wrist.
“State first.”
“I know.”
I called the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation main number I had written down earlier.
The first person transferred me.
The second asked for the county.
The third asked whether a crime was currently in progress.
“Yes.”
“What kind of crime?”
“Possible destruction or removal of evidence connected to an assault and suspected public corruption.”
There was a pause.
“Ma’am, are you law enforcement?”
“No.”
“Are you at the scene?”
“Across the road.”
“Are you in immediate danger?”
“Not currently.”
“Then do not approach.”
“I don’t intend to.”
Marcus looked at me.
I looked away.
The woman took my name, phone number, location, and a short description of what we had observed.
When I gave Sheriff Harper’s name, her tone changed.
Not dramatically.
Professionally.
“Do not contact the sheriff.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“We are notifying appropriate personnel.”
“How long?”
“I can’t give you that.”
Across the road, Harper climbed into his cruiser.
The pickup started.
“We may lose them.”
“Do not follow if doing so creates risk.”
The blue pickup rolled toward the gate.
Marcus was already memorizing its direction.
I ended the call.
“We follow.”
“No.”
I turned to him.
“No?”
“We have the plate.”
“Partial plate.”
“I got the full plate when he backed out.”
“You didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t ask.”
My mother made an irritated sound.
“Children.”
Neither of us answered.
The pickup turned east.
Harper went west.
That split mattered.
“Which one?” I asked.
Marcus looked at the departing vehicles.
“Neither.”
I stared at him.
“We stay with the unit.”
“Why?”
“Because if Harper wants us to chase a truck carrying one tote, what else is inside?”
I hated how quickly that made sense.
My mother unbuckled.
“No.”
I reached between the seats.
“Sit down.”
“Sam is in there.”
“We don’t know that.”
“He was there and now he isn’t.”
She opened her door.
I caught the back of her sweater.
“Mom.”
“Get your hand off me.”
“Not until we know Harper is gone.”
“He is gone.”
“You do not know who else is there.”
She twisted enough to look at me.
“I am not waiting in a van while another person gets hurt because of us.”
The because of us stopped me.
Marcus opened his door.
“I’ll go first.”
I followed.
My mother did too.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
We crossed the road quickly.
The gate remained open.
A camera above the office door followed us with a small mechanical turn.
Good.
At least one system was working.
“Sam?” I called.
No answer.
The office door was unlocked.
Marcus entered first.
The room smelled of burnt coffee and printer toner.
A desk chair had been overturned.
A ceramic mug lay shattered beside a filing cabinet.
My mother said Sam’s name again.
Something knocked behind the interior door.
I moved toward it.
Marcus raised one hand.
He opened the door.
Sam Patel was sitting on the floor of a narrow supply closet with his wrists bound in front of him using a plastic zip tie.
A strip of silver tape covered his mouth.
My mother pushed past us.
“Oh, Sam.”
His eyes widened when he saw her.
Marcus removed the tape carefully.
Sam immediately started coughing.
“Water,” he managed.
My mother found a bottle on the desk.
His hands shook too badly to hold it.
She steadied the bottle against his mouth.
“What happened?”
Sam drank before answering.
“Harper said they had a warrant.”
“Did they?”
“I asked to see it.”
“And?”
“He said don’t be difficult.”
“That was his warrant?”
Sam gave a breathless laugh.
“Apparently.”
Marcus crouched beside him.
“Who restrained you?”
“The other man.”
“Did Harper help?”
“No.”
“Did he stop him?”
Sam looked at Marcus as if the question offended him.
“He closed the closet door.”
I photographed the zip tie before Marcus cut it.
Then I photographed the broken mug, overturned chair, office doorway, and visible camera positions.
Sam rubbed his wrists.
“They took the recorder.”
“What recorder?”
“Security system.”
My stomach dropped.
“The cameras?”
“Still mounted.”
“Footage stored locally?”
“Main unit behind the desk.”
He pointed.
An empty metal bracket remained where a black recording box had been.
Marcus stood.
“Cloud backup?”
Sam looked at him.
“For the new cameras, yes.”
Relief came too quickly.
Then Sam added, “I think.”
“You think?”
“The installer set it up.”
“Do you know the login?”
“My daughter does.”
“Where is she?”
“Raleigh.”
“Call her.”
Sam reached for his phone, then stopped.
“They took it.”
My mother handed him hers.
He stared at the screen for a second.
“I don’t know her number.”
It was such an ordinary modern problem that nobody spoke.
“I haven’t dialed it in ten years.”
Marcus nodded.
“Email?”
“On my computer.”
We found the desktop unplugged.
Sam crouched beside it.
“Hard drive’s gone.”
The side panel hung open.
They had not come only for unit 214.
“They knew exactly what to take,” I said.
Sam looked at me.
“They knew more than that.”
“What?”
He sat in the desk chair and rubbed his wrists again.
“Harper asked me where Frank’s second unit was.”
My mother went very still.
“Second?”
Sam nodded.
“I told him there wasn’t one.”
“Was there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sam.”
“I inherited this place from my uncle four years ago.”
His voice rose defensively.
“I don’t know every arrangement he made.”
Marcus leaned against the desk.
“Did Harper believe you?”
“No.”
May you like
“What did he say?”
Sam looked toward my mother.
