“Why would the mayor order something like that?”
“Because Reed had discovered where the money was going.”
“What money?”
Whitmore looked toward the envelope.
“The redevelopment fund.”
Lawson slowly sat down.
The eastern industrial district had been the center of a major redevelopment project. Millions of dollars had been allocated to renovate abandoned factories, build affordable housing, and create new public facilities. The project had been praised as the biggest economic opportunity Brookhaven had seen in decades.
But there had been rumors for years that the contracts were being manipulated.
Several companies had received payments for work that was never completed. Others had been awarded contracts despite having no employees or equipment. Complaints had been filed, audits had been requested, and then everything had gone quiet.
If Thomas Reed had discovered that police resources were being used to protect the people behind the scheme, his death might have been more than a concealed crime.
It might have been the key to the entire corruption network.
Lawson looked at Whitmore.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I don't want to be the next person who disappears.”
“You helped them.”
“I know.”
“You falsified reports. You harassed people. You participated in the cover-up.”
Whitmore's face tightened.
“I know what I did.”
“Then don't expect sympathy.”
“I'm not asking for sympathy. I'm asking for a chance to tell the truth before someone decides I'm no longer useful.”
Lawson studied him carefully.
“Where is the recording?”
Whitmore pointed to the envelope.
“That's a copy. The original is somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Who does?”
“Mitchell knew. Harrington probably knew. The mayor may have known. But the person who made the recording hid the original before he died.”
“Who made it?”
Whitmore hesitated.
“A detective named Paul Mercer.”
Lawson recognized the name.
Mercer had been a respected investigator who had worked in Brookhaven for more than twenty years. He had retired unexpectedly shortly after the Thomas Reed incident. His departure had been described as a personal decision.
“He died three years ago,” Lawson said.
“That's what they told everyone.”
“What do you mean?”
Whitmore leaned forward.
“I saw him two months ago.”
Lawson's eyes narrowed.
“Where?”
“At a diner outside the county line. He approached me. He said he had been watching what was happening with Marcus Bennett and the investigation. He told me that if the old case ever came back into the light, I needed to make sure the eighth recording reached someone who couldn't be bought.”
“And you waited until now?”
“I didn't know whether to trust you.”
Lawson looked at the envelope.
“You still don't.”
“No,” Whitmore admitted. “I don't.”
Before Lawson could respond, his desk phone rang.
Both men looked at it.
The caller identification displayed a private number.
Lawson let it ring twice before answering.
“Chief Lawson.”
A familiar voice came through the speaker.
“Harold. We need to speak.”
Lawson's face went pale.
It was Mayor Caldwell.
“Good evening, Mr. Mayor.”
“Is anyone with you?”
Lawson glanced at Whitmore.
“No.”
A brief silence followed.
“Good,” Caldwell said. “I understand you've received something that doesn't belong in your possession.”
Lawson felt his stomach tighten.
“I don't know what you're referring to.”
“Don't insult me, Harold. I have been very patient with this department. I've defended you in front of the council. I've protected your budget. I've supported every reform you've claimed to introduce.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to bring me the recording.”
Lawson's fingers tightened around the telephone.
“Why?”
“Because it contains material that could be misunderstood.”
“Material concerning Thomas Reed?”
The silence on the other end lasted several seconds.
Then Caldwell spoke again.
“You should be careful with names.”
Lawson looked at Whitmore.
Whitmore was watching him with a terrified expression.
“I think the people of Brookhaven deserve to know what happened,” Lawson said.
The mayor's voice became colder.
“The people of Brookhaven deserve a functioning city. They deserve jobs, security, and stability. They do not deserve to have their lives destroyed because a few people have decided to turn old rumors into a political circus.”
“Was Thomas Reed murdered?”
The question hung between them.
Caldwell did not answer immediately.
Instead, he said, “You have until tomorrow morning.”
“For what?”
“To decide whether you want to remain chief of police.”
The line went dead.
Lawson slowly lowered the receiver.
Whitmore took a step backward.
“He knows.”
“Yes,” Lawson said quietly. “He knows.”
“And he'll come after the recording.”
Lawson looked toward the office door.