Marcus nodded.
Thomas connected the recorder to an old computer and examined the device without pressing play.
“We should document the condition of this equipment before accessing it,” he said. “Your father was meticulous. If we can preserve the original files and their available metadata, it will be easier for investigators to assess them.”
Marcus watched him work.
“Did you know what was on it?”
“Only part of it.”
“What part?”
Thomas looked at him.
“The voice of your father.”
Marcus's throat tightened.
“My father's voice?”
“Yes.”
Thomas turned the computer screen toward him.
“There are two recordings stored on the device. One appears to be a copy of a dispatch transmission. The other is a short audio file your father made himself.”
“Can we hear them?”
“We can, but we should make a documented copy first. And if the federal investigators are already looking into your disappearance, we need to contact them.”
Marcus hesitated.
“How do I know they won't hand everything back to Harlan?”
Thomas studied him carefully.
“You don't know yet. Trust must be earned, Marcus. But you can choose people who are willing to verify the evidence rather than simply demand that you believe them.”
He picked up his phone.
Before he could dial, a vehicle stopped outside the shop.
Both men turned toward the window.
A dark SUV had pulled to the curb.
The driver's door opened.
Aaron Pike stepped out.
Marcus felt the blood drain from his face.
Thomas immediately moved between him and the front door.
“Stay back.”
Pike approached the entrance and knocked twice.
Then he looked directly through the narrow gap in the blinds.
“Marcus,” he called. “I know you're in there.”
Thomas reached for his phone.
Pike raised both hands.
“I'm not here to take him anywhere. I need to talk to him.”
Marcus stepped toward the workbench.
“Why should I believe you?”
Pike looked through the glass.
“You shouldn't believe me just because I'm asking you to.”
He glanced toward the street.
“The sheriff knows you've escaped. He's sending people to look for you. If they find you before the federal agents do, I don't know what they'll do.”
Thomas remained beside the door.
“Then why did you bring him to that depot in the first place?”
Pike lowered his eyes.
“Because I was afraid of what would happen if I refused.”
“You were a deputy with a badge and a weapon,” Thomas replied. “Marcus was a child.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Pike looked as though the words had struck him.
“Yes,” he said. “I do now.”
Marcus approached the window but remained behind the counter.
“Did you know my father was going to die?”
Pike closed his eyes briefly.
“I knew he was in danger. I didn't know exactly what was going to happen.”
“Who put him in danger?”
Pike looked toward the street again.
“Richard Harlan was part of it. But there was someone else.”
“Who?”
Before Pike could answer, a second vehicle turned into Mercer Street.
It was a dark sedan with tinted windows.
Pike's face changed.
He stepped away from the door and looked toward the approaching car.
“Get away from the windows,” he said sharply.
Thomas pulled Marcus down behind the workbench.
The sedan stopped directly across from the shop.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the rear window lowered.
A man inside raised a camera and took a photograph of the storefront.
Pike reached for his phone.
The sedan accelerated away.
He watched it disappear around the corner.
When he turned back toward the shop, his expression had lost what little color remained.
“Who was that?” Marcus asked.
Pike shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. But I know what the car means.”
Thomas opened the door a few inches.
“What does it mean?”
Pike looked at Marcus.
“It means the people who wanted your father silenced now know you're carrying something he left behind.”
He swallowed.
“And if that recording contains what I think it contains, we have very little time to get it into safe hands.”
Aaron Pike remained outside Bell Electronics, watching the corner where the dark sedan had disappeared. The afternoon light reflected off the wet pavement, and the ordinary sounds of Mercer Street continued around him. A delivery truck rattled over a pothole. Someone laughed outside the bakery. A bicycle passed the storefront.
Nothing about the street suggested that a seventeen-year-old boy, a frightened deputy, and an aging electronics technician were standing at the center of a twelve-year-old conspiracy.
Yet Pike knew that the situation had reached a point where another mistake could cost someone their life.
“Let me inside,” he said.
Thomas Bell kept one hand on the door.
“Give me one reason.”
“Because if Harlan sends someone else, they won't bother asking questions.”
“And you expect us to trust you?”
“No.” Pike looked directly at Marcus. “I expect you to understand that I have information you need.”
Marcus stepped forward.