Chapter 2 - The Call Before I Arrived
Judge Carter locked Courtroom 3B.
That frightened me more than Vance grabbing my wrist.
Judges do not lock courtrooms in the middle of the morning without a reason.
She pulled the blinds over the narrow windows in the doors and told her clerk, Margaret Sloan, that no one was to enter.
Then she faced me.
“Tell me exactly who knew about today.”
I placed the briefcase on counsel table but kept my hand on it.
“You, my attorney David Mercer, and Deputy Chief Hale.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“What about Officer Vance?”
“I’ve never spoken to him.”
Judge Carter folded her arms.
“Yet he knew your name.”
“Yes.”
“And apparently knew what you were carrying.”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the doors.
“Then someone told him.”
I already knew that.
What I did not know was how high the information leak went.
Seven months earlier, my assignment had seemed almost boring.
A municipal oversight committee hired me to conduct a routine compliance audit after several defense attorneys complained that evidence disclosure dates did not match police records.
I expected paperwork errors.
Instead, I found evidence numbers that led nowhere.
One missing file became six.
Six became nineteen.
Then forty-three.
Eventually I identified eighty-seven cases containing unexplained alterations.
The cases shared one strange characteristic.
Whenever a discrepancy threatened to trigger internal review, somebody corrected the electronic record afterward.
Not before.
After.
As if someone knew exactly when investigators were looking.
That required access.
High-level access.
Judge Carter pointed toward my briefcase.
“Show me.”
I unlocked it.
Inside were six folders and three encrypted drives.
Judge Carter leaned forward.
“What am I looking at?”
“Seven months of evidence.”
I opened the first folder.
“Original seizure logs compared with modified database records.”
The second.
“Internal access histories.”
The third.
“Body-camera metadata.”
Then I removed a small black drive.
“And audio.”
Judge Carter stared at it.
“Where did you get the recordings?”
“Anonymous source.”
“Reliable?”
“I verified portions independently.”
“What do they contain?”
“Conversations between officers discussing how to change evidence records before outside review.”
“Vance?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
I hesitated.
That was the question I had hoped not to answer until my attorney arrived.
Judge Carter noticed.
“Ms. Brooks.”
“Someone referred to only as ‘Chief.’”
Silence.
“There are several chiefs in the department,” she said.
“I know.”
“Can you identify which one?”
“Not conclusively.”
She exhaled.
“Play it.”
I inserted the drive into an isolated laptop I had brought specifically for this purpose.
The recording began with static.
Then Vance’s voice.
I had listened to it perhaps fifty times.
I still felt cold every time.
“We’ve got another request on the Dawson file.”
Another male voice answered.
“Then fix the timestamp.”
“That won’t solve the inventory problem.”
“It doesn’t have to. It only has to survive Friday.”
Vance again.
“And Brooks?”
A pause.
My own name.
Then the unidentified voice.
“She won’t be a problem.”
Judge Carter stopped the recording.
“When was this recorded?”
“Eleven days ago.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“You had already been identified.”
“Yes.”
“And you still came here alone?”
“My attorney was supposed to meet me downstairs.”
Judge Carter looked at the clock.
It was 9:17.
“Where is he?”
I took out my phone.
Three missed calls.
All from David Mercer.
I called immediately.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Judge Carter reached for the courthouse phone.
Then someone knocked.
Three sharp knocks.
We both froze.
“Judge Carter?” a man called.
I recognized the voice.
Deputy Chief Robert Hale.
Judge Carter looked at me.
Neither of us moved.
“Your Honor?”
Another knock.
“I understand there was an incident involving one of my officers.”
Judge Carter whispered to her clerk.
“Call courthouse security. Quietly.”
Then she opened the door only several inches.
Hale stood outside.
He was fifty-four, gray-haired, polished, and almost unnaturally calm.
“Judge.”
“Deputy Chief.”
“I heard Officer Vance was detained.”
“He was.”
“May I ask why?”
“You may ask.”
Hale smiled.
Judge Carter did not answer.
His eyes moved past her.
They found me.
Then the briefcase.
“There you are, Ms. Brooks.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“You told me yesterday.”
“I told you I had a court appointment.”
His smile remained.
“Of course.”
“Not which courtroom.”
The smile faded slightly.
Judge Carter opened the door wider.
“Why did you call my chambers this morning?”
Hale looked at her.
“Routine concern.”
“You told my clerk Ms. Brooks would not be arriving.”
“I said she might be delayed.”
“No. You said she would not arrive.”
Hale paused.
“Perhaps there was a misunderstanding.”
“There wasn’t.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Hale looked at my wrist.
“What happened?”
“Vance happened.”
He sighed.
“Daniel can be overly aggressive.”
“He tried to confiscate court evidence.”
“That’s troubling.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
His eyes hardened.
“I’ve worked in law enforcement for thirty-one years, Ms. Brooks. Very little surprises me.”
A courthouse deputy appeared behind him.
Judge Carter opened the door.
“Deputy Chief, I am ordering you to remain outside this courtroom until further notice.”
Hale stared at her.
“On what basis?”
“Judicial security.”
His eyes returned to my briefcase.
“Of course.”
He stepped backward.
But before leaving, he looked at me.
“You should call your attorney.”
“I tried.”
Something almost imperceptible crossed his face.
Then he walked away.
I felt sick.
Judge Carter noticed.
“What?”
“He knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That David isn’t answering.”
Judge Carter immediately instructed her clerk to contact Mercer’s office.
Thirty seconds later, Margaret looked up.
“His assistant says he left forty minutes ago.”
“For here?”
“Yes.”
“Did he arrive?”
Courthouse security checked the entrances.
No.
Judge Carter ordered them to check the parking structure.
Five minutes later, her phone rang.
She listened without speaking.
Then slowly lowered the receiver.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Mercer’s car is in the garage.”
“And David?”
“They can’t find him.”
My blood went cold.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A text message.
I opened it.
There were only nine words.
STOP THE HEARING OR YOUR LAWYER DOESN’T COME HOME.
Attached was a photograph.
David Mercer sat in a chair somewhere dark, his wrists bound.
May you like
And standing behind him was someone wearing a police uniform.
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