Mercer smiled.
“We're checking businesses along the road.”
“You brought the mayor?”
Vale stepped forward.
“It's Founders Weekend. I'm helping with the search.”
Warren stared at him.
He had lived in Fairview Falls for thirty years.
He had never seen a mayor personally search a motorcycle garage for a missing child.
Reese came outside.
Mercer's eyes narrowed.
“Is she inside?”
Neither Warren nor Reese answered.
Mercer's voice hardened.
“If you're knowingly preventing officers from reaching a missing child—”
“She doesn't want to go with you,” Reese said.
Silence.
Vale looked at Mercer.
Mercer looked at Reese.
Then Mercer smiled.
“She’s seven.”
“Still heard her pretty clearly,” Reese said.
Mercer's jaw tightened.
Then Avery appeared behind Warren.
She gripped the doorframe.
Mercer saw her.
“Avery.”
The girl went pale.
Vale took one step backward.
Avery looked at him.
Not Mercer.
The mayor.
Her fingers tightened.
Then she pointed.
“That’s him.”
Warren turned.
Vale's face became empty.
Avery whispered again.
“Him.”
Vale laughed nervously.
“Sweetheart, I think you're confused.”
Avery stepped behind Warren.
“You locked the door.”
Vale stopped smiling.
Mercer moved forward.
“All right. That's enough.”
Warren stepped into his path.
“No.”
“Move.”
“No.”
Six bikers appeared behind Warren.
Nobody threatened the chief.
Nobody touched him.
They simply stood there.
Mercer looked at the men.
Then toward Avery.
Then toward Vale.
And something changed in his eyes.
Fear.
Real fear.
Warren noticed.
The chief wasn't protecting the mayor.
He was afraid of him.
Reese pulled out her phone.
“State police are coming.”
Mercer looked at her.
For one second, Warren thought the chief might reach for his weapon.
Instead, Mercer stepped backward.
Then he turned.
And ran.
That was when Warren knew this was much bigger than a missing child.
Much bigger than a frightened seven-year-old.
And much darker than anyone in Fairview Falls could imagine.
Missouri State Police arrived twenty-eight minutes later.
By then, Iron Haven's parking lot looked like the beginning of a war.
Three state vehicles.
Two local patrol cars.
Mayor Vale's sedan.
Mercer's SUV.
And twelve motorcycles.
Detective Lena Ortiz stepped out of the lead vehicle.
She was in her early forties, calm, observant, and completely unimpressed by the collection of leather vests waiting for her.
She looked at Warren.
“Who is in charge?”
Warren pointed toward Avery.
“Her.”
Ortiz's expression softened.
“Then let's start with her.”
Avery stayed with Reese and Dr. Hart.
Everyone else was separated.
Vale immediately demanded an attorney.
Mercer was nowhere to be found.
Warren answered questions.
“How did she arrive?”
“We don't know.”
“Did she say where she came from?”
“No.”
“Vehicle?”
“No.”
“House?”
“No.”
Ortiz glanced toward the break room.
“Her mother reported her missing this morning.”
Warren frowned.
“This morning?”
“Eight twelve.”
“How long was she missing?”
“Since last night.”
“Where's her mother?”
“Hospital.”
Warren's expression changed.
“What happened?”
“Single-car accident.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Can she talk?”
“No.”
Ortiz lowered her voice.
“Her mother, Laura Cole, was seriously injured. Avery was apparently in the vehicle.”
Warren stared at her.
“Then how did the girl get here?”
“We don't know.”
Inside the break room, Avery had been given paper and crayons.
She drew carefully.
First a circle.
Then a square.
Then an X.
Ortiz knelt beside her.
“What is this?”
“The floor.”
“What floor?”
“The room.”
“What room?”
Avery looked toward Reese.
Reese nodded.
“You can tell her.”
Avery swallowed.
“The room under the big house.”
“What big house?”
“The one with the flags.”
Warren immediately understood.
Vale House.
The mayor's mansion.
It stood on a hill overlooking Fairview Falls.
During Founders Weekend, enormous American and Missouri flags were hung from its balconies.
Ortiz asked gently.
“Were you there?”
Avery nodded.
“With your mother?”
Another nod.
“Why did you go there?”
“Mom had papers.”
“What papers?”
“I don't know.”
“Why did she take them?”
Avery rubbed the purple line around her wrist.
“She said she found something.”
“What?”
“Names.”
“What kind of names?”
Avery whispered.
“Kids.”
Reese felt a chill.
“How many?”
“Lots.”
Ortiz sat back.
“What happened?”
Avery's breathing changed.
Reese immediately said, “That's enough.”
But Avery grabbed her sleeve.
“No.”
“You don't have to.”
“I want to.”
She looked at Ortiz.
“Mom told him she was going to tell everybody.”
“Mayor Vale?”
Avery nodded.
“He got mad.”
“What happened?”
“He took Mom's phone.”
“Then?”
“They argued.”
Avery squeezed her eyes shut.
Then she whispered something nobody expected.
“Chief Mercer helped us.”
Warren stared.
“What?”
“He opened the back door.”
Ortiz leaned forward.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why were you afraid when he came?”
Avery looked confused.
“I wasn't.”
Reese froze.
“You said the man with the gold badge.”
Avery nodded.
“He told me to find the gold badge.”
Silence.
Ortiz slowly leaned back.
“Who told you?”
“Chief Mercer.”
The entire meaning changed.
Avery had never been warning them about Mercer.
She had been searching for him.
“Why didn't you want us to call the police?” Reese asked.
“Because he said don't call the station.”
“Why?”
“Someone there tells the mayor everything.”
Ortiz stood.
“Where is Mercer?”
Nobody knew.
His SUV remained outside.
He had disappeared through the rear gate.
Meanwhile, Vale remained under observation but could not be arrested without evidence.
Then Warren remembered Avery's drawing.
The square.
The X.
The floor.
“You need a warrant for Vale House,” he told Ortiz.
“I know.”
“How long?”
“Longer than I want.”
Avery heard them.
She tugged Reese's sleeve.
“The parade.”
Reese bent down.
“What about it?”
“Mom said tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow what?”
Avery's eyes widened.
“He's going to make it disappear tomorrow.”
“What?”
“The papers.”
At 1:17 that morning, state investigators entered Vale House.
The mansion was dark.
Elegant.
Expensive.
Perfect.
Everything about it suggested respectability.
They searched the office.
Bedrooms.
Garage.
Basement.
Nothing.
At 2:06, Ortiz noticed something strange.
One basement tile didn't match the others.
She tapped it.
Hollow.
The tile came up.
Underneath was a steel box.
Inside the box were dozens of files.
Birth certificates.
Medical records.
Photographs.
Court documents.
Adoption papers.
School records.
Bank statements.
And photographs of children.
Many children.
Too many.
Ortiz stared at the first photograph.
A boy of approximately six years old.
The photograph had been taken at a birthday party.
On the back was a date.
And a name.
The name had been crossed out.
Underneath it was another name.
A different child.
Ortiz opened another file.
Then another.