"By Bennett?"
"I don't know."
"Then who?"
Sam paused.
"Someone inside the county sheriff's office."
Mason's jaw tightened.
"Give me a name."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because the person is still alive."
Mason looked at Leah.
She had stopped making coffee.
Daniel was standing beside the table.
All three were listening.
Sam continued.
"Meet me tomorrow. Seven in the morning. Old Mill Diner."
"You're sure?"
"No. But I think it's time somebody told you the truth."
The call ended.
Mason placed the phone on the table.
Leah approached.
"Who is Samuel Price?"
"Retired investigator. He worked on several cases involving Bennett."
"Can we trust him?"
Mason thought about the question.
"I used to."
Daniel looked toward the front door.
"That isn't reassuring."
"No," Mason replied. "It isn't."
He turned toward the hallway.
"There are two bedrooms upstairs. You and Leah can take them."
"What about you?" Leah asked.
"I'll sleep in the workshop."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"Because I want to hear anyone approaching the house."
Daniel shook his head.
"Then I'll stay with you."
Mason nodded.
"Fine."
As Leah walked upstairs, she stopped beside him.
"Mason?"
He looked at her.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For believing me."
Mason looked toward the photograph on the table.
"I don't know whether I believe everything yet."
Leah nodded.
"I understand."
"But I believe you were hurt. I believe someone lied about what happened. And I believe you deserve the truth."
Her eyes filled.
For a moment, she seemed ready to say something else.
Instead, she simply nodded and went upstairs.
Mason remained in the kitchen.
He looked at the empty hallway.
Then he turned off the light.
Outside, a vehicle passed slowly along the road.
It did not stop.
But Mason watched until its taillights disappeared.
The Old Mill Diner had been open for nearly sixty years.
It was a small building beside the highway, with red vinyl booths, a counter lined with stools, and a coffee machine that seemed older than the town itself.
Mason arrived at six forty-five.
He chose a booth near the rear window.
At seven exactly, Samuel Price entered.
Sam was seventy-one years old, with thinning white hair and a slight limp. He wore a brown coat and carried a leather briefcase.
He looked around before approaching.
"Mason."
"Sam."
They shook hands.
Sam sat down.
For a moment, he studied Mason's face.
"You look like your father."
Mason gave a humorless smile.
"Everybody says that."
"Because it's true."
The waitress approached.
"Coffee?"
Sam nodded.
Mason declined.
When she left, Sam placed the briefcase on the table.
"Before we start, I need to ask you something."
"Go ahead."
"Do you still have the photograph?"
Mason nodded.
"Yes."
"Who gave it to you?"
"Ray Mercer."
Sam's expression changed.
"Ray is alive?"
"Recovering in hospital."
"Thank God."
Mason leaned forward.
"Why?"
Sam looked toward the window.
"Because he was supposed to be dead."
Mason stared.
"What?"
"Fifteen years ago, I received a report that Ray had died in a warehouse fire."
Mason shook his head.
"That's impossible."
"I know that now."
"Who filed the report?"
Sam opened his briefcase.
"Frank Dalton."
Mason felt his stomach tighten.
"Frank is alive."
Sam nodded.
"I believe so."
"Where is he?"
"That's what I've been trying to discover."
Sam removed several documents.
One was an old police report.
Another was a photograph of a burned vehicle.
The third showed a man standing outside a courthouse.
Mason recognized the man.
Frank Dalton.
Older, heavier, but unmistakably Frank.
"Where was this taken?"
"State courthouse. Four years ago."
"Under what name?"
"Francis Delaney."
Mason studied the picture.
"Why did nobody recognize him?"
"Because nobody was looking for him."
Sam lowered his voice.
"Frank had help."
"From Bennett?"
"From someone much closer to the investigation."
Mason looked at him.
"Who?"
Sam opened another folder.
Inside was a photograph of a younger sheriff standing beside Thomas Bennett.
Mason recognized the face.
Sheriff Harold Voss.
He had served Blackwater County for twenty-two years.
He was respected, well-liked, and famous for organizing charity rides for children.
Mason had shaken his hand several times.
He had once helped the sheriff repair a motorcycle.
"Voss?"
Sam nodded.
"He was a deputy when your father died. He handled the original investigation."
Mason stared at the photograph.
"You're saying he covered it up?"
"I'm saying he had access to the evidence."
"That's not the same thing."
"No. But it's a place to start."
Sam leaned closer.
"Your father had discovered that Bennett's company was moving stolen equipment. He also discovered that someone was using the sheriff's office to erase records."
Mason looked at the documents.
"What happened on September 3?"
Sam took a breath.
"Your father met Arthur at a warehouse."
"Why?"
"To exchange documents."
"Which documents?"
"The original shipment records. They contained the names of every company involved."
Mason frowned.
"Then why was Bennett there?"
"Because Arthur had already informed him."
Mason stared.
"Arthur betrayed my father?"
Sam shook his head.
"That's what the official report said."
"What do you believe?"
Sam looked directly at him.
"I believe Arthur was trying to protect your father."
Mason leaned back.
"Then who was responsible?"
Sam hesitated.
"Your mother."
Mason froze.
The diner suddenly seemed very quiet.
He stared at Sam.
"What did you say?"
Sam looked down.
"Your mother was at the warehouse that night."
Mason shook his head.
"She wasn't."
"She was."
"My mother was home."
"That's what she told you."
Mason stood.
"Don't do this."
Sam remained seated.
"I wish I didn't have to."
"You're telling me my mother was involved in my father's death?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Sam opened another folder.
Inside was a photograph of Evelyn Cole.
She was standing beside a police car, holding a small child.
Mason recognized himself.
He was perhaps six years old.
His mother was looking toward someone outside the frame.
Sam placed another photograph beside it.
This one showed the warehouse on the night of September 3.
A vehicle stood near the entrance.
Mason recognized it.
His father's truck.
Then he noticed the figure standing beside the driver's door.
His mother.
Sam spoke quietly.
"Your mother went there because she knew your father was in danger."
Mason stared.
"How?"
"Arthur called her."
"Why?"
"Because he had discovered that Frank Dalton was planning to kill your father."
Mason looked down.
"And?"
"Your mother arrived too late."
He closed his eyes.
Sam continued.
"Your father was already dead when she got there."
Mason's hands tightened.
"Who killed him?"
Sam looked at him.
"Frank."
Mason felt the room tilt.
"Why?"
"Because your father refused to give him the documents."
"And Arthur?"
"Arthur was shot while trying to escape."
Mason stared.
"Where was Bennett?"
"At the warehouse."
"Then why wasn't he arrested?"
Sam's expression became bitter.