Marcus stared at the screen.
Then a second message arrived.
Ask the chief of police what happened on March nineteenth.
He looked toward the courthouse, where the dark windows reflected the city lights.
The current chief of police had been the third man in the photograph he had seen earlier, standing beside Daniel and Robert Sloane on the night his brother disappeared.
The man had risen through the department's ranks, survived every investigation, and eventually taken control of the entire police force.
Chief Adrian Mercer.
Marcus had worked under him for eight years.
He had trusted him.
And now, for the first time, he wondered whether the chief had been protecting the department from the truth—or protecting the truth from everyone else.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and opened the driver's door.
"Where are we going?" Elena asked.
Marcus looked at her.
"To see the chief."
Sloane shook his head.
"That may be the most dangerous thing you could do."
Marcus started the engine.
"Then I suppose it's a good thing I've spent my entire career preparing for dangerous things."
He pulled away from the curb.
Behind them, in the abandoned courthouse, a security camera that had been disconnected for seventeen years suddenly switched on.
Its lens followed the empty corridor for several seconds before turning toward the storage room.
A man stepped out from behind a row of filing cabinets.
He was tall, dressed in a dark coat, and moving with the careful confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going.
He walked to the table where Marcus had found the toolbox.
Then he removed a small telephone from his pocket and dialed a number.
"They found the notebook," he said.
A pause followed.
"Yes. They have the letter, too."
Another pause.
The man's expression hardened.
"No, sir. I don't believe Hale knows the full truth yet."
He listened for several seconds before answering.
"Understood."
The call ended.
The man returned the telephone to his pocket and looked at the open drawer.
For a moment, he seemed almost saddened by what he had to do next.
Then he took a small bottle from his coat, poured its contents over the remaining papers on the table, and struck a match.
Flames spread across the old documents.
As the fire grew, he watched a name disappear beneath the smoke.
Samuel Reed.
He waited until the last page had burned, then walked toward the service entrance.
Before leaving, he paused beneath the broken security camera and looked directly into its lens.
"Tell Daniel," he whispered, "that his brother is finally asking the right questions."
Then he stepped into the night, leaving the abandoned courthouse behind him.
And somewhere in the city, a telephone began to ring inside the office of Chief Adrian Mercer.
Marcus had known Chief Adrian Mercer for eight years, long enough to recognize the difference between the man's public confidence and his private uneasiness.
In public, Mercer was a commanding figure. He spoke slowly, chose his words carefully, and rarely allowed anyone to see him lose control of a situation. He had become chief of police through a career that seemed almost impossibly successful, moving from detective to captain, from captain to deputy chief, and finally to the highest position in the department.
He had survived budget scandals, political disputes, and three separate internal investigations. Each time, he emerged with his reputation intact.
Marcus had once admired that resilience.
Now, as he drove toward police headquarters with Daniel's letter resting inside his jacket, he wondered whether Mercer's success had been built on something far more dangerous than talent.
Elena sat beside him, reviewing the photographs of the notebook entries. Robert Sloane had insisted on sitting in the back seat, where he could watch the road behind them.
"You should reconsider," Elena said.
Marcus kept his eyes forward.
"You've already said that."
"And you ignored me."
"I tend to do that when people tell me to avoid the person who might know what happened to my brother."
"Mercer could order you suspended before you get within ten feet of his office."
"Then I'll ask him questions before he has the opportunity."
"And if he calls security?"
Marcus gave a humorless smile.
"Then we'll discover how much he wants to keep this conversation private."
Elena closed the folder.
"There's another possibility. Mercer might genuinely know nothing about Daniel's disappearance."
Sloane leaned forward.
"He was present at the courthouse that night."
"That doesn't prove he participated in what happened."
"No," Sloane agreed. "But it proves he had an opportunity to explain himself for seventeen years and chose not to."
Marcus thought about the photograph. Adrian Mercer had been standing beside Daniel outside the courthouse, wearing a dark coat and holding a folder beneath one arm. At the time, Mercer had been a young captain assigned to administrative operations.
He had later become the department's public face.