Chapter 2: The Evidence Room
The deputy’s radio was still hissing when he looked at me.
“They’re asking for Caleb Vance by name.””
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then I held out my hand.
“Give me the radio.””
The deputy blinked.
“What?””
“The radio.””
“I can’t—”
“Then ask who made the call.””
He hesitated.
The voice on the radio came again.
“Unit Twelve, confirm you have Caleb Vance at Mercy General.””
The deputy pressed the transmit button.
“Confirmed.””
Static.
Then another voice answered.
“Tell him not to leave.””
My eyes narrowed.
“Who is that?””
The deputy looked at me.
“I don’t know.””
I turned toward Marcus.
“Watch Ethan.””
Marcus nodded immediately.
Laura grabbed my sleeve.
“Where are you going?””
“I need to find out why someone broke into the courthouse.””
“They said someone asked for you.””
“I heard them.””
“Caleb, the sheriff shot our son.””
“I know.””
“And now someone is breaking into the evidence room?””
“I know.””
Her fingers tightened around my arm.
“Please don’t do something stupid.””
I looked at her.
For seventeen years, Laura had known me as the man who woke before sunrise on Saturdays to make pancakes.
The man who fixed leaky faucets.
The man who drove Ethan to basketball practice when his knee hurt.
She had never seen the other version of me.
The one who had once walked through buildings where every window could hide a rifle.
“I’m going to the courthouse,” I said.
Marcus stepped forward.
“You shouldn’t go alone.””
“I won’t.””
The young deputy straightened.
“I’m coming with you.””
I looked at his nameplate.
“Deputy Cole?””
“Yes.””
“How long have you worked for Mercer?””
Cole stiffened.
“Four years.””
“Do you trust him?””
His eyes flicked toward Ethan’s room.
Then back to me.
“I trust what I can prove.””
That answer was enough.
We left the hospital together.
The courthouse was nine minutes away.
We made it in six.
The old sandstone building sat in the center of town beneath a cold September sky. Most of its windows were dark.
Except the second floor.
A light flickered behind the glass.
I stopped at the front steps.
Cole noticed.
“What?””
“That light.””
“So?””
“It wasn’t on when I left.””
He looked at me.
“You sure?””
“I mop this building every night.””
We entered through the side door.
The smell hit me first.
Bleach.
Old paper.
Polished wood.
And something metallic underneath it.
Blood.
Cole drew his sidearm.
“You smell that?””
“Yes.””
We moved down the hallway.
Every footstep echoed.
The portraits of former judges stared down from the walls.
I passed the janitor’s closet.
My mop was still lying where I had dropped it.
For seventeen years, that mop had been my cover without ever being officially called one.
No one questioned the old janitor carrying keys.
No one paid attention to which doors I opened.
No one wondered why I sometimes walked the building twice before going home.
That was exactly why I had chosen this job.
At the end of the hallway, the evidence-room door stood open.
The lock had been broken.
Cole raised his weapon.
“Stay behind me.””
I almost smiled.
“Sure.””
We stepped inside.
Three evidence shelves had been emptied.
Plastic bags and folders littered the floor.
A security monitor flashed red.
Cole stared.
“What the hell?””
I crouched beside the broken lock.
Fresh metal shavings.
Not forced with a crowbar.
Picked.
Cleanly.
Professionally.
I touched the edge.
Then looked toward the shelves.
“What was stored here?””
Cole pulled out his phone.
“I’ll check.””
“Don’t.””
He looked up.
“Why?””
“Because whoever did this wanted certain evidence, not everything.””
I stood.
“Look at the empty spaces.””
He followed my gaze.
Every missing file had something in common.
All of them were connected to Sheriff Mercer.
Cole’s expression changed.
“Internal affairs complaints.””
“Yes.””
“Use-of-force investigations.””
“Yes.””
“Sealed witness statements.””
I nodded.
“And this one?””
He lifted a plastic evidence bag from the floor.
“Ballistics.””
My eyes fixed on the label.
Case number 24-1179.
Then I saw the name.
*Ethan Vance.*
The room went quiet.
Cole whispered, “That case file was created tonight.””
I took the bag.
Inside was another shell casing.
Stamped with a caliber different from the one police had publicly reported.
I looked at Cole.
“How many weapons did Mercer fire tonight?””
“Witnesses said two shots.””
“Ethan said two.””
Cole nodded.
“So why are there three casings?””
His face drained.
“I don’t know.””
“You do.””
“No, I don’t.””
“You’re thinking it.””
Cole looked away.
I stepped closer.
“Say it.””
He swallowed.
“Someone else fired.””
“Exactly.””
A noise came from the hallway.
Cole spun.
“Stay here.””
He stepped outside.
I followed.
The hallway was empty.
Then a door at the far end slammed shut.
Cole ran.
I moved faster.
We reached the stairwell just as a shadow disappeared down the steps.
Cole shouted.
“Stop!””
The footsteps accelerated.
We followed.
Second floor.
First floor.
Basement.
The courthouse basement smelled of dust and old stone.
Cole raised his weapon.
“Show yourself!””
Nothing.
Then a metallic click sounded behind me.
I turned.
A man in black stood six feet away.
His face was covered.
His gun pointed directly at Cole.
I moved before I thought.
I grabbed Cole by the vest and yanked him sideways.
The shot cracked through the basement.
The bullet struck the concrete wall.
Cole fired back.
The masked man vanished behind the storage shelves.
“Stay here!”” Cole shouted.
“No.””
We split.
I took the left side.
Cole took the right.
The basement was full of narrow aisles.
Old court records.
Broken furniture.
Boxes of archived files.
I heard footsteps.
Too light.
Too fast.
The intruder wasn’t running away.
He was leading us.
I stopped.
Cole continued another ten feet before realizing I wasn’t behind him.
“Caleb?””
“Wait.””
Silence.
Then the lights went out.
Complete darkness.
Cole cursed.
“You have a flashlight?””
“No.””
I did.
A small one clipped inside my belt.
I turned it on.
The beam swept across the floor.
Fresh blood.
A trail leading toward the records room.
Cole saw it.
“He’s hurt.””
“Maybe.””
We followed.
The blood ended at an old service door.
It stood slightly open.
Cole reached for the handle.
I grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.””
He looked at me.
“Why?””
“Because if he wanted us dead, he would have waited.””
Cole stared at the door.
“What are you saying?””
“I’m saying he wants us to find something.””
I pushed the door open.
Inside was a tiny room packed with obsolete filing cabinets.
One drawer was open.
A single folder rested on top.
No label.
I picked it up.
Cole whispered.
“What is that?””
I opened it.
The first page was a photograph.
Sheriff Dale Mercer.
Standing beside a teenage Ethan.
My stomach tightened.
“What the—”
Cole leaned closer.
The photograph wasn’t from tonight.
It was dated three weeks earlier.
Ethan was standing outside Livingston High School.
Mercer was beside him.
And between them was another man.
A man I recognized.
Not from the courthouse.
Not from the sheriff’s department.
From somewhere else.
Somewhere I had hoped I would never see again.
Cole noticed my face.
“Who is that?””
I didn’t answer.
The man in the photograph was wearing civilian clothes.
But his posture gave him away.
Military.
Special operations.
Someone who knew how to stand still while watching every exit.
Cole touched the photograph.
“Caleb?””
I turned the page.
There was a typed report beneath it.
Three paragraphs.
I read the first line.
Then the second.
By the third, my hands were shaking.
*SUBJECT: ETHAN VANCE*
*STATUS: POTENTIAL LEVERAGE*
I stopped breathing.
Cole looked at me.
“What does that mean?””
I flipped the page.
There were more photographs.
Ethan leaving school.
Ethan at basketball practice.
Ethan buying food at a gas station.
Ethan walking home.
Someone had been watching my son.
For weeks.
Maybe months.
Cole whispered, “This is surveillance.””
I nodded.
“By who?””
I kept turning pages.
Then I found the final photograph.
It showed me.
Standing outside the courthouse.
Wearing my faded work shirt.
Holding my mop.
The caption beneath it read:
*CALEB VANCE — FORMER OPERATIVE — RETIRED.*
Cole slowly looked at me.
“You’re not a janitor.””
I closed the folder.
“No.””
“Then who are you?””
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.
Laura.
I answered immediately.
“Laura?””
Her voice was trembling.
“Caleb, something just happened.””
“What?””
“The doctors moved Ethan.””
“Why?””
“I don’t know.””
“Where?””
She began crying.
“Caleb, there was a man here asking for him.””
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What man?””
“I don’t know his name.””
“Describe him.””
“He was wearing a black jacket.””
I looked at the photograph in my hand.
My pulse dropped.
The same man.
“Laura, listen carefully.””
“What?””
“Do not leave Ethan’s room.””
“I’m already outside it.””
“Go back inside.””
“Caleb—”
“Now.””
There was silence.
Then Laura whispered something that made my blood turn cold.
May you like
“The man just walked into Ethan’s room.””
The line went dead.
