"I know."
"We need the original device, the unedited files, and the chain of custody. We also need to determine whether the department's own camera system captured the incident."
"It should have."
"Should have?"
Walter looked toward the ceiling.
"Mercer positioned himself between me and the camera when he first started questioning me. I noticed it."
Cross's expression changed.
"You noticed that?"
"I spent twenty-two years working around communications systems. People who want to avoid being recorded tend to develop habits."
"Did he know about your device?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
Walter took a breath.
"He didn't know where it was. Whether he suspected I was recording him, I can't say."
Cross wrote something down.
"All right."
Walter looked at him.
"Mr. Cross, I need to ask you something."
"Go ahead."
"How much of this investigation involves the sheriff?"
Cross paused.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because Mercer wasn't behaving like a man who was worried about a traffic stop. He was angry before he even started questioning me. He knew my name. He knew where I had been. And he seemed more interested in finding out what I knew than in asking about the vehicle."
Cross closed his notebook.
"That's consistent with some information we already have."
"What information?"
"I can't discuss the entire investigation yet."
Walter nodded.
"Then let me ask it another way. Is this about the missing equipment?"
Cross looked at him carefully.
"Yes."
Walter leaned back.
"Then Hollister knows."
"We suspect he may have knowledge of the people involved."
"That's not the same thing."
"No. It isn't."
Walter looked down at his hands.
"Don't make that mistake."
Cross waited.
"Don't assume the sheriff is the whole operation just because he's the one wearing the badge."
The prosecutor's attorney glanced at Cross.
"Why do you say that?"
Walter raised his head.
"Because Mercer wasn't asking questions like someone trying to solve a crime. He was asking questions like someone trying to find out what I had already discovered."
Cross studied him.
"What did you discover?"
Walter hesitated.
He had promised Thomas Reed that he would not share unverified information outside the investigative team. But the situation had changed. He was now sitting in a room where a county sheriff had allegedly assaulted him to obtain information about the very matter under investigation.
"I saw a vehicle outside the old storage facility," Walter said. "A black utility truck. No company markings. It had a temporary plate, but I recognized the equipment mounted behind the cab."
"What equipment?"
"A communications relay."
Cross looked up.
"Military?"
"Not necessarily. The design is used in several sectors. But the mounting assembly was unusual. It matched the configuration of a system that disappeared during the transfer."
The attorney leaned forward.
"Did you photograph it?"
"No."
"Did you record its registration?"
"No."
"Then how do you know it was connected?"
Walter looked at him.
"Because I built part of the original configuration."
The room fell quiet.
Cross slowly closed the folder.
"Mr. Hayes, why didn't you mention that before?"
"Nobody asked."
The prosecutor's attorney looked at Cross.
"That changes the scope of the interview."
Walter nodded.
"It should."
Cross stood.
"I'm going to make a call."
He stepped outside.
Walter remained in his chair, listening to the distant sounds of the station. A telephone rang somewhere near the front desk. A printer started and stopped. Someone laughed briefly, then became quiet.
It was an ordinary police station.
That was what made the situation so unsettling.
People were still making coffee. Someone was probably completing paperwork. A patrol car was likely returning from a routine call.
And behind one of the doors, a deputy had assaulted an elderly man because he wanted to know what that man had discovered.
Walter closed his eyes.
He had seen misconduct before. He had seen men in uniform use their positions to intimidate people who could not defend themselves. He had also seen good officers risk their careers to expose it.
The difference was never the uniform.
It was what a person decided to do when nobody was watching.
Or when they thought nobody was watching.
Sheriff Vance Hollister stood in his office with the blinds closed.
Cole Mercer was seated opposite him.
Neither man had spoken for several minutes.
Hollister had removed his hat and placed it on the desk. His service weapon remained holstered, but his hand rested near the belt.
"What did he say?" the sheriff finally asked.
Mercer stared at the floor.
"Nothing useful."
"That's not what I asked."
"He said he was driving past the warehouse."
"And?"
"And he said the truck in the photographs wasn't his."
Hollister walked toward the window.
"Did you search him?"
"Yes."
"Did you find anything?"
"Identification, wallet, keys, phone."
"Anything else?"
Mercer hesitated.
"No."
Hollister turned.
"Think carefully."
Mercer shifted in his chair.
"I didn't find anything."
"Then why is a federal investigator sitting in my interview room?"