Evelyn looked again at the notebook entries she had photographed earlier.
“If that's true, we may have two related cases. Samuel's death and Michael's death.”
“That's what we're trying to establish.”
“Did Pike identify who altered the records?”
Walsh hesitated.
“He named Sheriff Harlan.”
Evelyn remained silent.
“Pike also says Harlan was not acting alone,” Walsh added. “He believes someone outside the department helped arrange the transfer of the evidence.”
“Who?”
“He didn't provide a name. He said he would only explain it in a formal interview with counsel present.”
Evelyn nodded slowly.
“That may be sensible. We shouldn't pressure him into making statements without understanding his legal position.”
Walsh studied her.
“Do you believe him?”
“I believe he knows something. That is not the same as believing everything he says.”
Evelyn rose and walked toward the window.
Below, two investigators were speaking with a uniformed officer near the entrance. A delivery van passed through the intersection, splashing water across the curb.
“Catherine, we need to find Marcus before Harlan realizes how much Pike has told us.”
“Agreed.”
“And I want protection considered for Helen Price and Thomas Bell. If they have original records, they may be in danger.”
“We've already assigned an investigator to contact Helen. We haven't reached Bell yet.”
“Then make that a priority.”
Walsh took out her phone.
Before she could make the call, another agent appeared at the door.
“Agent Walsh, we've got a possible sighting.”
Walsh turned.
“Where?”
“A driver reported seeing a teenage boy walking along County Road Nine, approximately three miles from the depot. The description matches Marcus. The driver said the boy appeared injured and was carrying something beneath his jacket.”
Evelyn moved toward the door.
“Did the driver stop?”
“No. He reported it after hearing the county alert.”
“Which direction was the boy traveling?”
“North, toward Mercer Street.”
Thomas Bell's repair shop was on Mercer Street.
Evelyn and Walsh exchanged a look.
“Get a team to the area,” Walsh ordered. “Approach carefully. He may be frightened and may not trust anyone wearing a uniform.”
Evelyn grabbed her jacket.
“I'll go with you.”
Walsh shook her head.
“Your involvement could complicate the operation. You're a potential witness to the detention, and we need to keep the investigation properly structured.”
“I understand.”
“Then stay here. If we find him, I'll make sure he knows you are safe and that he can speak with you when appropriate.”
Evelyn forced herself to stop.
Walsh was right.
The desire to reach Marcus immediately was understandable, but the investigation could not be guided by emotion alone. They needed to find him without putting him at further risk.
“Bring him back safely,” Evelyn said.
Walsh nodded and left.
Evelyn remained by the desk, staring at the photograph of Marcus entering the depot.
He had trusted the federal government enough to contact them.
He had trusted the law enough to ask for help.
And now he was alone somewhere in Bellhaven, carrying a notebook that powerful people had spent years trying to bury.
She could only hope that the evidence he carried would lead them to him before anyone else did.
Marcus reached Mercer Street shortly after noon.
His knee hurt with every step, and his clothes were damp from the wet vegetation beside the road. He had stopped twice to rest, once behind a closed warehouse and once beneath the overhang of a small roadside business.
Each time a vehicle slowed nearby, he felt his heart jump.
He had no idea whether Pike had already reported his escape.
He had no idea whether Harlan had ordered officers to search the roads.
He only knew that he needed to reach Thomas Bell.
The repair shop stood between a bakery and a shuttered travel agency. Its front window displayed several radios, a broken television, and a collection of old electronic components.
A hand-painted sign above the entrance read:
BELL ELECTRONICS — REPAIRS, RESTORATION, AND DATA RECOVERY
Marcus stopped across the street.
The shop looked exactly as he remembered it, except that the paint around the door had begun to peel.
He crossed the road and tried the handle.
Locked.
A handwritten notice said the shop would open at one.
Marcus checked the time on a digital display inside the bakery.
It was twelve forty-seven.
Thirteen minutes.
He could wait.
But waiting in the open felt dangerous.
He moved toward the narrow passage between the repair shop and the neighboring building. There, sheltered from the street, he sat on an overturned plastic crate and removed the notebook from beneath his shirt.
He opened it to the page with Thomas's address.
Beneath the address, he noticed a line he had overlooked earlier.
If I cannot come myself, ask him about the blue envelope. Do not mention the recording until he confirms the phrase.
Marcus frowned.
His father had written a phrase somewhere else in the notebook, but he had not found it yet.
He began searching through the pages.
A few minutes later, he heard a key turning in the front door.