The deputy did not apologize. He did not call for medical assistance. He simply returned to his side of the table and began arranging the photographs as though nothing had happened.
Walter swallowed.
A small line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
"Are we finished?" he asked.
Mercer looked at him.
"Not even close."
The door opened.
A second deputy appeared.
"Mercer. Sheriff wants you in his office."
Mercer frowned.
"Tell him I'm busy."
"He said now."
Mercer looked at Walter, then toward the doorway.
"Don't move."
Walter glanced at the handcuffs.
"I wasn't planning to."
Mercer pointed a finger at him.
"You keep that attitude up, and I'll make sure you spend the night on the floor."
Then he walked out.
The second deputy remained by the door for a moment. He looked at Walter's swollen cheek, then at the photographs scattered across the table.
"Are you okay?"
Walter gave him a tired look.
"Does it look like I'm okay?"
The deputy hesitated.
He was young, probably no older than twenty-five. His uniform was clean, his belt equipment looked new, and there was a nervousness in his expression that suggested he had not been working in the department for very long.
"Do you need medical?"
"I need a lawyer."
The deputy nodded slightly.
"I'll tell the desk."
He closed the door.
Walter waited until the footsteps faded.
Then he moved.
It was not an easy movement. His wrists were still cuffed behind him, and his left shoulder throbbed whenever he tried to shift his weight. But he managed to lean backward far enough to reach the small object clipped beneath the rear seam of his shirt.
A tiny black microphone.
He pressed it once.
A faint vibration answered.
The recording light was not visible from the front.
Walter lowered his head.
For the first time that evening, he allowed himself a small, exhausted smile.
He had not been recording Mercer because he wanted revenge.
He had been recording because he had expected something like this.
Three weeks earlier, Walter had received a phone call from a former Navy colleague named Thomas Reed. Reed had retired twelve years before and was now working as an independent investigator for a federal oversight office.
Reed had asked Walter to help verify a matter involving missing equipment from a government storage facility.
At first, Walter had refused.
He was retired. He had no interest in becoming involved in another investigation, especially one that might bring trouble to his daughter.
But Reed had explained that several pieces of encrypted communications equipment had disappeared during a transfer between facilities. The serial numbers were connected to an old procurement record, and someone had apparently been using the equipment to intercept communications belonging to private contractors and government personnel.
The equipment had not simply vanished.
Someone had been moving it.
Someone had been protecting the people involved.
And one of the vehicles appearing repeatedly in the records belonged to a private security company whose owner had close ties to Sheriff Hollister.
Walter had not believed the connection at first.
Then he recognized a name in the documents.
Cole Mercer.
The deputy had previously worked as a security contractor at the same storage facility.
Walter had known him years earlier, although Mercer probably did not remember him. The young man had been involved in a security incident during a military equipment transfer. Walter had filed a report about missing inventory and unauthorized access.
The report had disappeared from the local contractor's records.
Now, years later, the same name had appeared in a new investigation.
Reed had asked Walter to meet him in Pine Ridge to confirm a vehicle identification number and identify an individual in an old photograph.
Walter had agreed.
He had not expected to be arrested.
He certainly had not expected Mercer to recognize him.
But the moment the deputy saw Walter's identification, something had changed.
The arrest had become personal.
And Walter had begun to suspect that the sheriff's department knew more about the investigation than it was supposed to.
That was why he had activated the recording device before entering the station.
He had also informed his daughter.
Commander Tessa Hayes was serving in the United States Navy. She was not involved in local law enforcement, and she had no authority to command a county sheriff. Walter knew that perfectly well.
But she had access to the appropriate military legal and investigative channels.
She had also warned him that if he encountered any attempt to intimidate him into surrendering evidence, he should not argue.
He should document everything.
Walter had followed that instruction.
And now he was waiting.
A few minutes later, the door opened again.
This time, two people entered.
The first was a tall man in a charcoal suit. He carried a leather folder and had a small silver badge clipped to his belt.
The second was an older man wearing a dark sheriff's uniform.
Sheriff Vance Hollister.